#BREAK HIS RIBCAGE WITH THAT POLE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 1 year ago

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Maniac

Ex!Aemond Targaryen x Reader + Rebound!Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Not everyone can take the pressure of being involved with a Targaryen. Beyond the heat the media give the powerful family, there was the heat of those in power within the house that stood between everything. This is what lead to Aemond letting you go and Daemon swiping you up.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: modern au, fem!reader, mention/depiction of sex, old money!targaryren, smoking, drinking, eternally smug!daemon, eternally annoyed!aemond, typos, etc.

A/N: this is a poll decided pairing (: . idk i thought of this plot while vibing to maniac by conan gray Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @lxdyred

"Hey puppy," I coo as I jog up to the door and cup Aemond's face. I pepper him with kisses before wrapping my arms around him, "how was work?" He looks at me, grabs my wrists, pulls my arms away, and speaks my name. I raise a brow, "Aemond?" "I'm breaking up with you."

The bass in the venue thumps in my ribcage. I hop around with the sea of people to the beat of some obscure EDM song. I throw my head back and cheer. I sway my hips after downing the contents of my cup.

I nearly gag as I burp. I wipe my lips as I still for a moment to get my bearings.

Fuck. If he knew, Aemond would be so-

I growl when I catch myself in the middle of that thought. I mess my already messed hair up and crush my plastic cup.

No, no. Fuck Aemond.

I shirk when the bodies around me begin to get too close for comfort. Time to get out of here.

I weave through the crowd, glad the sequins of my fitted red dress wasn't getting snagged into anyone's clothing. As I squeeze through a group of girls, I catch a face from the corner of my eye. His burning blonde hair looked pink under the lights; still, he was unmistakable, and it seemed so was I, judging by how he raises his glass to me after we lock eyes.

I look away. How dare he act so familiar?

I turn back to him. He beckons me over with a head tilt.

I scoff. Fuck you. How dare you tell me what to do after all the shit you put me though?

I take a split second to debate whether or not I want to deal with him tonight. It's probably going to be horrible if I do, and yet, my feet are taking me straight into the eye of the storm.

That was, until the bouncer in the VIP section blocks me.

I look up at him and blink, "hi."

"No sneaking in, love," he mutters.

"Let her through, Sandor," a voice calls, making the said man look over his shoulder and turn back to me. He steps away and unhinges the stanchion, motioning with his head.

I walk through, smile, and nod, "thank you, Sandor."

Sandor ignores me and goes back to his post.

"Hello, baby girl," the blonde says from the bar he's leaned on.

I sit down on the stool next to him and grimace, "hello, bastard."

He shifts on his elbow, "I'll have you know Rhaenyra's children have been legitimized following her marriage to Strong."

I pretend to hum in intrigue as I place my crushed cup next to his martini glass.

"But of course, you wouldn't know that because you were too sick to attend the wedding," he tilts his head, "or so Aemond says."

I shrug, "Aemond and I broke up."

"A mutual break up?" he quirks his brows, "I doubt that. What'd he do?"

I narrow my eyes at him, "what do you mean?"

"Oh come on," he waves a hand, "you wouldn't let me touch that kid with a 6 foot pole. What? Did he fuck your sister? Think it was you?"

I cringe, "that's something more on brand for you, Daemon."

"I'll have you know, I have perfect eyesight," he takes his glass, "my nephew however..."

I glare at him.

Daemon sniggers before he sips his drink, "see. Even now you're on his side."

I lick my lips in annoyance, "I'm not on his side."

"Worry not, darling," he turns and motions to the bartender, "the wraith is awfully attached to you." The bartender walks over. "You'll at least see him grovel and beg for you-- a cosmo," he turns to me, "right?"

I clench my jaw then shrug.

Daemon turns back to the bartender and nods. The bartender mutters 'you got it' before walking off.

"He broke up with me."

Daemon takes his glass but sets it down before he even takes a sip.

I look at him and feel irritation rise up my throat. I cough it out with a- "is that really so hard to imagine?"

He tilts his head, "I'm confused. You want me to think this makes sense?"

"I want you to remember how you laughed when Aemond's dad called me a bootlicking bimbo-"

Daemon chortles immediately.

"- and how you always remarked on the dresses I wore whenever I was around. Aemond's grandpa ended up giving me shit for it!"

"Woah," Daemon wheezes, "okay. Otto is a true cunt, to you especially, but can you blame me? You truly are distracting in those dresses, darling." He motions to my body.

I jump off my seat and shove his shoulder, "fuck you, Daemon. He called me a harlot when he thought I wasn't looking."

The next second, I'm walking away fuming, but the sniggering moron stands and grabs my arm, "look. It's funny because it's stupid."

I whip my head back and yank my arm away, "fuck you!"

"Why are you so bothered by what Viserys and that old fuck think anyway?" he gives a lopsided smile that didn't reach his eyes, "it's not-"

"Why would I care about what my boyfriend's father and grandfather think of me?!"

"Ex," Daemon shakes his head and rolls his eyes, "and you and I both know it's not true."

"It's true to them," I point to nowhere as I feel my eyes water at the memory.

"It's really not," he mutters, digging his hand in the inner pocket of his coat, " 's just some shit they said cos they're pissed."

I turn away from him and tilt my head back, fanning my face as I refused to shed a tear, especially in front of him.

Daemon watches and places a cigarette between his lips, "I know big brother didn't like the fact he couldn't find a reason to hate you."

I clench my jaw as I glare at Daemon.

He pulls out a lighter and opens it. The stick in the corner of his mouth wiggles as he speaks, "he had plans to match Aemond with a Baratheon girl."

A line forms between my brows.

He lights his stick and takes a deep swig of nicotine. Smoke comes out of his nose and mouth, making my face contort further. Daemon then swipes his thumb on the crinkle on my forehead, "trust me, Baratheons are boorish."

I feel my lips quiver.

Aemond told me not to worry about her.

I feel like my insides were being ripped out.

Don't you do it. Don't you dare fucking cry over-

"Baby girl-"

"Don't you fucking call me that, asshole," I hiss as saltwater begins to pour from my eyes.

Daemon feels immensely uncomfortable, "want a puff?"

I begin to feel my eyes burn because of my makeup.

I have to get out of here.

He sighs and rubs the tears off my skin before turning to the bar where the Cosmo was just placed. "If you're gonna cry over Targaryen," he mutters as he pulls out his wallet and settles his bill. He turns back to me, handing me he drink.

I do not get it from him and he sighs again as he places it down. I cringe at the smell of his smoke. He continues, "wouldn't it be better if it was because of my dick?"

My face contorts.

He draws in another deep breath and pulls the stick out of his mouth using two fingers.

"Fuck you, Daemon," I growl before turning away.

"My place then?" he follows after.

Daemon follows me outside.

I am booking a ride home on my phone

"Oh, don't be boring," he snatches the object and places it over his head.

"Daemon!"

"Don't worry," he looks up and cancels my order, "I already called one."

"Give it back!"

"Oh, come on, you want to wallow in your self-pity or have it fucked out of you?" he offers, "besides, the car will be here in five."

My eye twitches, "how is that even possible?!"

"Shortcuts, babes," he mutters as he bites his cigarette and adjusts it in his lips. He tilts his head, "you make a shortcut for a ride, put it on your homescreen, give it a push-- gods, maybe you are a bimbo."

I grunt and snatch his cigarette and put it out on his chest. He yelps and pulls back as it surely burned through his shirt.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I fake-pout, "I thought you were done with that."

Daemon glares at me as he brushes his shirt off, "oh, you want to mark me, do you, little girl?"

"I don't want-" the words retreat into my mouth when he marches over and I find myself pushed against the streetlight. His arms are on my sides, hands gripping the pole behind me.

"Don't want what?" Daemon leans in, close enough that I can smell the cigarette smoke and the cologne on him. It was an overpowering smell.

I feel my body warm as he laughs at my silence.

"You know, I always knew you'd burn Aemond's fingers. I just didn't know he'd pussy out and let go if you got too hot."

Daemon looks past me and leans back, taking my hand as a car pulls up, "I happen to bask in dragon fire."

"How original."

I let him drag me back to his place. I let him get under my skin, into me. The night was filled with spiteful remarks, mocking laughs, and rough kisses, but it was also surprisingly filled with whispered praises, reassuring touches, and unbroken promises of pleasure.

It was no competition though, and in the first place, I should not have been comparing one or the other. It was an unfortunate reflex as of late. And it was easy for my mind to think him when his uncle's hair fell on his face almost the same way his did.

Gods they even said the same shit, it was fucking with my head.

I ended up saying Aemond instead of Daemon at one point, and spent what felt like hours being punished for the mistake.

It was clear, twice that after it was rectified by Daemon, he wasn't Aemond. He was nothing like him. Daemon was a good fuck but we didn't do it in his bedroom. He didn't want to hold me after, nor did he make an effort to clean me (or himself) up. He called me good girl but didn't say I love you, for obvious reasons. He made my flesh sting but made no efforts to soothe. And when he marked my skin and called me his, I didn't feel like I belonged, I felt like I was owned.

He did leave me tired in his guestroom before getting up to sleep in his own bed. But I was not tired enough to resist the itch of getting on the internet the moment I woke up. I felt like I was on autopilot as my fingers moved.

I had to hold back a sound when I saw Floris Baratheon's post of her in the Targaryen estate's garden. I shudder at the caption. Luncheon date my ass.

Oh gods.

I could feel tears building up as I opened a browser and looked up Targaryen and Baratheon.

Relationship?

My heart was pounding. I sit up and push the sheets off me while I scroll through article after article.

"Oh, good," the door creaks, "you're up. Are you the one that's allergic to nuts or was that someone else entirely?"

I look up at Daemon as he peeks through the door of his guest room. His hair is damp, signifying a fresh shower. He walks in when I full on break into a sob. He curses then blurts, "does something hurt? Do you need something?"

"Aemond is with Floris?"

He stops in his tracks, "what?"

I drop my phone and retreat under the covers, "he told me he never even spoke to her, and now they're together?"

Daemon purses his lips then sucks in a breath, propping his hands right above the band of his red boxers, "right," he rubs his bare belly, "you want breakfast or not? Should I use almond milk? It's the only thing I got."

"FUCK YOU!" I growl and chuck a pillow at him.

The pillow misses Daemon by a mile and he stares at it as it flies off to the side. He turns back to me then wipes his nose, "fine. I'm putting the almond milk," he walks off, raising a finger, "also, I have work in an hour. If you stay, know your dress is on the couch. My cleaning lady might do something with it though."

Daemon's bare feet tingle against the cold tiles of the penthouse. He sniffles and turns on the fireplace with a remote before heading back to the kitchen.

One of the few things he could actually cook was oatmeal, and he was pretty good at it, if he did say so himself.

He furrows his brows when he hears the telltale button sounds of the front door. He turns to the digital clock on the wall and wonders if the cleaning lady was coming in early today.

Daemon is pulling out some fruit from the fridge when he hears a rather unwelcomed voice call out to him, "good morning, Uncle." Or should he say welcomed?

He looks at the him, unable to hold back his smirk, and sets down the things on the counter, "fancy a bowl of oats, Aemond?"

"Father instructed me to get the Harrenhal files from you."

Daemon chews on a raspberry as he mixes the pot of oats, "that's the longest no I've ever heard."

Aemond watches Daemon grab two bowls. He shakes his head, "I've already eaten."

" 'S not for you, darlin'," he retorts as he turns the stove off and pour the content.

In that moment, Aemond looks around and spots a glimmering dress on the couch. He involuntarily thinks it looks familiar but thinks little of it as he turns back to Daemon, "I didn't realize you had company."

Daemon snorts, "she's a feisty one. You'd know about that, right?"

Aemond does not react as his uncle grins.

He points to his chest, "burnt me with my own cigarette," he smirks, but it doesn't last. "Also, tell your old man if he asks the cleaning lady for my passcode again, I'm breaking his teeth."

"I'm just here for the Harrenhal files."

Daemon eyes Aemond before pouring the food into the bowl, "why? I'm coming to the meeting with it in an hour."

The latter tilts his head, "father mentioned you got into an argument and thought you might not show."

"So," the former puts the pot down with much more force than necessary, "he had his son break into my house?"

"I was going to wake you if you were asleep."

"And if I wasn't here?" Daemon leans on the counter.

Aemond shrugs, "I'd look for it myself."

Daemon is about to burst into a fit of High Valyrian curses up until his name is called out. Him and Aemond turn to the side.

"I showered in your bathroom and now I'm stealing your shit!" I call out as I rub my hair with a towel I found in his guestroom.

I look at my puffy eyes and purple neck marks in the mirror in his bedroom and hear Daemon call out, "what shit?!"

I go through his closet and grab a the first shirt I spot, "your watch!"

I vaguely hear him chuckle, "I don't have watches in my bedroom-

"Pity," I mutter under my breath.

"- but feel free to get whatever clothing you want!"

A generous statement, Aemond thinks. He used to watch his uncle bring back different women all the time when he still lived at the estate with them. He never once was like this though. He watches Daemon as he chuckles. He finds it immensely bizarre that his uncle seems so giddy. He's beckoned by him again, "sure you don't want a bowl, wraith?"

Aemond grumbles at the nickname, he always hated it, and merely clenches his jaw.

He shrugs, "suit yourself."

"Will you give me the files or not, Daemon?"

Daemon looks at him before grabbing two spoons from the drawer, "fine. Want them so bad? I'll give them to you."

"Thank you," he mutters in relief.

"Why don't you take a seat, scarecrow," Daemon adds, "you're going to spook the girl."

Aemond rolls his eyes as he moves over to the living space. He sits on the one sofa chair and eyes the red dress across him for a moment. He then looks out the window before pulling out his phone.

Daemon watches his nephew walk off. He holds back a laugh as he turns back to the oatmeal. He practically combusts with excitement when he hears shuffling from the left.

He looks up at me as I walk over to him.

"Morning, baby girl," Daemon coos and crosses his arms, "my stolen shirt suits you."

Aemond clears his throat involuntarily upon hearing this. He couldn't have whispered? He fishes for his earpods in his pocket and curses himself for not bringing it.

My eyes take in how Daemon's chest bulged. He takes in my puffy eyes as I retort, "want it back? You look cold."

Aemond finds himself eyeing the dress again after hearing that. Why does her voice sound like that?

Daemon lips quirk. He grabs the shirt I was wearing and pulls me toward him. I collide with his chest and his hand slips under the fabric, "naughty girl. You'd offer such a thing when you're not even wearing underwear?"

This is definitely not something Aemond signed up for.

I raise a brow at Daemon, "when did you become such a prude?"

He chuckles and places a hand on my shoulder. His thumb rubs the marks he left on my neck, "you want me to fuck you the counter?"

Right. Aemond stands from the couch and turns to Daemon, "just tell me where the file is and I'll get it myself."

I jolt and grab at Daemon upon hearing that.

Daemon breaks into a laugh.

I whisper-yell, "there's someone here?!"

Daemon pushes my hair back as he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. He looks over his shoulder, "actually, now that I think about it, I think the Harrenhal files are in the file cabinet in my office."

Aemond's fury blazes then dissipates in an instant. He is frozen in his spot when he locks eyes with me.

My body has a rather instant reaction to him. My mouth watered as though I was about to vomit. My hold on Daemon is released.

Aemond's mind was racing as he eyes my appearance. His throat constricts, eye almost flinching as he notices my pert nipples and the dark hues across my neck.

Daemon is the only one not petrified. He rubs my side before pulling away to get his bowl of oats. He eats a spoonful before muttering to Aemond, "it's in the bottom drawer, methinks."

Aemond completely ignores this, eyes fixed on me, "what the fuck are you doing here?"

Daemon raises a brow, "don't think that's any of your business."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I rebut.

Aemond scoffs, "what am I doing in my uncle's home?"

I scoff too, "it's not like you two were ever close, Aemond."

Daemon looks between us as he eats, "this is really good."

"So what?!" Aemond barks, "you're fucking him to get back at me?! A rather pitiful play on revenge, don't you think?"

The ferocity of his tone stabs through my chest. He was never one to raise his voice, and hearing his voice was already painful as it is. I am glad I have the wits to snark back, "why would I need to get back at you? You've been nothing to me for the past two months. I'm doing this because I want to."

Daemon licks his lips as he unabashedly chuckles.

Aemond clenches his fists.

I begin to heave heavily.

The longest of moments pass.

Daemon catches the way I begin to falter. He pushes the other bowl of oatmeal towards me, "eat before it gets cold."

I turn to Daemon after grabbing the bowl. I immediately stuff my mouth. I meant to give a really exaggerated reaction, but I find myself momentarily distracted by how genuinely good the oatmeal tasted. I mumble, "... this is really good."

Daemon smiles, "it is, isn't it?"

I tense when Aemond calls out my name.

Daemon's smile disappears as he turns to his nephew.

"Let's talk about it outside," Aemond mutters.

Daemon scoffs, "if she wanted to talk to you outside, she'd have said so by now, don't you think?"

"This has nothing to do with you, Daemon," Aemond rebuts.

I flinch when Daemon drops his bowl carelessly on the counter and straightens up, "this has everything to do with me. She went home with me; she's in my house, wearing my shirt, being demanded things by my stupid nephew, who, by the way, is now leaving."

"She's my ex-girlfriend," Aemond's neck strains. He steps forward.

"Yes, she was your girlfriend and now she wants nothing to do with you-- get out!"

The decay of Daemon's loud voice merely intensifies the tension in the room. I cannot express the relief I felt at the sound of withdrawing footsteps. I let out a sigh when I hear the door bang shut and bury my face in my hands.

Daemon shifts in his place and looks down at me, "pretty satisfying, no?"

"WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU TELL ME AEMOND WAS HERE?!" I explode and attack him with punches.

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bunji-enthusiast · 3 months ago

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Hello love, I was wondering if you could do a Tristan one shots with a female s/o, where Tristan gets protective and jealous of someone trying to take his s/o

Hello hello dear anon, here you go! I hope I did quite alright for this request of yours :)

"Hm." Straddled along the horses you were given, with a fellow body. You were able to make it to where you needed to go in no time, hopefully without complications in your journey. Which there was none so far, leaving you to breathe a sigh of relief each and every time at each potential mark of the road.

It was undeniably fierce, the rays of the sun beat down on the two of you hard. You had been sent down, and alongside you--at his insistence--Tristan. To which you had audibly sighed and rolled your eyes at when he had been very vocal about his disdain about you going alone to fend off the area of which the band of invaders were very unwelcoming in residing territory that belonged to the Kingdom Of Liones. You weren't sure about why he was being so quick to volunteer in coming along, or why his father complied with it in the first place either.

But nonetheless, what's done is done, and you couldn't really find it in yourself to stay mad at your boyfriend for long. He often times is far too kind and gentle, but firm when needed be, and you wished he was like that more often. Yet, he is fearful of his own power, and rather often this comes too light in many situations where Tristan is forced to resort to the use of his demonic abilities. The thought of the circling relations had confused you for a mere moment but you had steadied your busy mind.

"I think we're almost there." Tristan commented, snapping you out of your deep circle of thoughts. You turned your head, your gaze inquiring as he had immediately pointed ahead in the distance of which you had been needed to go. The end reach of your required destination. You nodded in return, and hurried along.

Tristan was surprised by your speed, but nonetheless decided to match your pace.

Each thudding of your footsteps, almost resounded harshly in the confines of your ribcage. The harsh thumping of your heartbeat, supposedly wrought a deafening feeling of something in the future that is possibly meant to be feared. You were readily reminded that your boyfriend was not far from you as you reached such a rabble of a building, which was lighted by torches and clear noises of busy bodies.

You let out a low groan -- mentally preparing yourself for the combat of reparations ahead.

"Okay, let's go." You said, nodding at Tristan as a means of reassurance. In return, he had done the same, steeling his nerves. Trodding your horses over, you went on down, and tied the rope which heeled your horse to a wooden pole. You began walking toward the entrance, almost crouching to conceal your presence, you casted a brief glance over at Tristan, who had mimicked your array of actions.

You wanted the assurance of surprise on the self-imposed band of invaders taking illegal residence inside the territory, you snuck by side the large doorway. You watched as Tristan went to the other other side, you murmured a small but surefire plan, enough to ensure that only Tristan had heard it. A small series of hand gestures accompanied your verbal plan, then with a small affirmation that he understood, you both nodded at each other. Which appeared to be a reoccurrence lately.

Jumping into action, you snuck around in the shadows. Picking off each bandit one by one, until you had been caught by one on pure accident.

"Hey you!" the bandit shouted, garnering the attention of the last few bandits left. "The hell you sneaking around here for little girl?"

Your blood had boiled at the man's insidious comment, but you were so desperately trying to break free. Even call on your abilities, yet, his grip was far too great.

'Tristan, please..' You thought to yourself, still trying with every inch of your being to get away from the bandit. Hearing a sharp skidding around the corner your head whipped around to notice the answer to your short-slighted prayer.

"Let go of her!" Tristan shouted, his hands laying on the hilt of his swords. The bandit laughed, leaving you to grimace at such a horrible one, you never wanted to hear it again.

"And what?" The man replied, "What can a little boy like you can do?"

Tristan didn't respond, closing his eyes and murmuring a silent prayer to himself. The man was about to ask what the hell he was doing, yet nothing came out, only sputters of blood spilling from his mouth. The gut feeling of which you did not want to look as the hand that held your arm so tightly had loosened, and then, fallen off with a hard thud.

You look around until you spotted Tristan, sheathing his swords with harsh, heavy breathing impounding the structure of his body. You noticed finally, that he had called on the use of his goddess powers. For the act of killing, you almost would've thought that he would've called on the use of his demonic side.

Yet it appeared, that his goddess side of which, still held such deadly results.

#Tristan liones #4kota tristan #tristan 4kota #tristan x you #tristan x reader

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duckymcdoorknob · 1 year ago

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𝓣𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓪𝔂 15: 𝓣𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝓮 𝓕𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽

Closest gif I could get of the two together 😭😭

Happy tkember and almost tkcember, chat!

I am loving one piece so far and I’m gonna make it everyone’s problem.

I’m listening to Ado rn :)

I had to throw in a little bit of ler Zoro bc have you seen him.

—This do have tickles below the cut ngl—

Tags: @chrimsss @trrickytickle @trans-ace-lee @giggly-squiggily @switch-writer

“I’m boooooooooored!” Luffy whined, hanging upside down on the bow of the ship. “Someone come play a game with me.”

“Busy,” the long-nosed pirate murmured, tinkering with some kind of device.

“But Usoooooooopp!” The captain moaned in agony.

How was he supposed to survive in these conditions? God gives his toughest battles to his silliest soldiers…

A glint of joy sparkled in his eye in a moment’s notice. “Hey! Wanna have a tickle fight?!”

The gunner visibly tensed, clamping his arms down to his sides. “No way! I’m- I’m working on something!”

“But you’re so fun to play games with! And I have to know if you’re ticklish!!”

Growing more flustered and frustrated, Usopp barked out an absentminded response. “Come over and make me then!”

“Hehe, okay,” Luffy replied with a Cheshire grin. He stretched his arm out to grab the pole next to his crewmate, letting his body cling to said position.

A small squeak left the gunner as his eyes widened. “Uh… h-hi.”

“Hi!” The stretchy boy cooed, “betcha’ forgot I could do that, huh?”

Usopp did not like the menacing look that was glinting in his captain’s eyes. He shifted apprehensively as he slowly tried to step back. He looked for an exit, eyes darting drastically around the ship. He locked onto Sanji serving some kind of snack to Zoro and Nami, opting to break into a full sprint toward the three.

“SAVE MEEEE! SAAAAAVE MEEEE!!!!!”

Six concerned eyes snapped to the frantic Usopp, who was running from a sadistically smiling Luffy. The three relaxed, realizing that Usopp wasn’t actually in any real danger.

“Well, what did you do to piss him off?” Zoro asked as the curly-haired male jumped onto him. “H-Hey! What are you-“ Instinctively, his arms closed securely around his shipmate.

“Zoroooo, he’s gonna kill me!” Usopp cried, drastically hugging the burly man holding him.

“NUH UH!” The captain called after them, making his way over, “I told you, I just wanted to have a tickle fight!”

“And I said I was- HYEAH!”

The long-nosed pirate was cut off by sudden, repeated pinches to his hips, jumping a bit in the swordsman’s tight hold. “H-Hey- EEP! S-Stahap Zoro!”

“What? I’m not doin’ nothin’… Jeez…”

“B-Buhut you a-ahare!”

“Hey! No fair! I was supposed to tickle him!!” Luffy whined, pouting with his arms crossed.

“Oh yeah? Well-“ Zoro hooked his arms under the gunner’s biceps, causing the latter to kick his feet in defense. “Go for it, Captain.”

That glint of joy and menace found its way back, with Luffy settling in front of his shipmates and reaching up to wiggle his fingers at their gunner.

“Waitwaitwaitwait! Can’t we talk about this?!?! I’m sure we can make some kind of ar-ahahahangemehehent! Nohohoho!”

The captain giggled along with Usopp as he spidered his fingers along the long-nosed pirate’s sides.

“Luhuhuffyhyhy! Zohohohoro! Stahahap!”

“Stop? Already? But this is supposed to be a tickle fight!” Luffy cooed, squishing the soft torso of their gunner.

“Yohohou’rehehe uhuhunfahahair! Luhuhuhuffyhyhy!”

“Unfair?! You can get me back anytime you want; I’ll even tell you that I’m most ticklish on my ribs! Hey… speaking of which…”

Usopp’s eyes shot open as he felt Luffy’s fingers worm up onto his ribcage. He kicked his feet drastically, accidentally slamming his ankle down on his captain’s shoulder. “LUHUHUFFYHYHY! HYEAHAHAHAHA!”

“Yeowch… No need to get so violent with him, Usopp.” Zoro quipped, clamping his own arms to his sides and trapping the latter’s there. He spidered his fingers under both of the gunner’s arms, cracking an evil smile.

“NGHAHAHAHA! GUHUHUHUYS!” The curly-haired pirate squealed as he threw his head back onto Zoro’s shoulder.

“This tickle fight seems pretty one-sided to me,” Nami quipped, casually chewing on a piece of cheese.

“Just glad it isn’t me,” Sanji retorted quickly, shifting a bit.

The two locked eyes… oh shit.

“MEHEHEHRCYHYHY!! I CAHAHAHANT TAHAHAKE IHIHIHIT! TOO MUHUHUHUCH!!” Usopp cried, head unmoving from Zoro’s shoulder.

Zoro ceased his attack, freeing the long-nosed pirate’s arms.

“LUHUHUHUFFYHYHY PLEHEHEHEASE! M’GOHOHONNA DIHIHIHIE!”

“Hey, enough kid.” Zoro scooped up the winded Usopp, whisking him away to safety.

“Oh man! I didn’t know that you were so ticklish, Usopp! That was fun!”

“F-for YOU! I thought I was gonna die you motherf-“

Sanji whizzed past the three of them, Nami hot on their heels. “NAMI NO- WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS!”

“You’d think with such long legs that you’d be able to outrun me, Sanji!” The orange-haired girl chimed as she tackled the chef, her fingers finding refuge squeezing at the blonde’s thighs.

“Heh, get his ass Nami!” Zoro called, still absentmindedly cradling Usopp in a safe embrace.

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

#t content #augtickletober2023 #one piece #one piece anime #luffy #monkey d luffy #Usopp #one piece usopp #one piece luffy #one piece tickle #lee!usopp #lee!luffy #ler!usopp #ler!luffy #tickletober #I am so late with these

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moodymisty · 2 years ago

Note

How does tech react to reader safewording out? Or just tech aftercare pls <33

Author's note: Yesss! I've been meaning to write about something like this, thanks for giving me the perfect segway.

Relationships: Tech/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lewd but not full nsfw, Mentions of sex and bondage, Fluffy fluff, Some gentle aftercare,

With you’re with Tech, one becomes distinctly familiar with experimentation.

There’s so many times where Tech has come to you wishing to try something new; To see how either of you will react. You’ve cum so many times at this point you feel like an absolute mess, barely able to tell up from down. Your legs hurt, arms, wrists; From where he’d previously had you tied to the support pole of the Marauder’s bunk rack.

You still feel your heart racing, but it’s no longer trying to break from your ribcage the way it had been earlier.

Tech however, laying beside you is also out of breath, but no where to the degree you are. He brushes a hand over his hair, looking over you.

“Are you sufficiently satisfied?”

‘What a romantic way to word it’, you think, with all the fondness in the galaxy. It’s Tech; He speaks his own language and you love every word of it.

“You can only fuck my brains out so much, Tech.”

Damn clone libido… It finally caught up with you.

Tech however ignores your quip much to your surprise, and instead begins searching for the bottom half of his blacks through the crumbled blankets and various other clothing items. You’d both snuck out into the Marauder while everyone else was off elsewhere, leaving the two of you alone for at least a few hours.

Needless to say, you’d taken good advantage of the time.

Finally having found the bottom half of his blacks, he slips them on and slides off the bunk, telling you he’ll only be gone for a moment. He just snags some water for the both of you, and returns to see you using the top half of his blacks as a loose top, handing you the container of water as he gently takes your wrist and examines it. He brushes his thumb along our skin, from where he’d tied you up.

“Does this hurt in any way?” He presses softly against the inside of your wrist, as you shake your head and hum. Satisfied that you weren’t hurt in anyway, he softly returns your hand. “Do you require anything, love?”

“A soak in a nice bath would be the dream…” You say it overly wistfully, as Tech moves to slide onto the bunk right beside you as you take a drink.

“The Marauder can only do a short shower as of this moment unfortunately,” Tech mumbles the second half of his sentence largely to himself. “Though perhaps I could include upgrades to the refresher on my current list of tasks.” Leaning back enough that you can do so, you move to lay partly over his stomach, chin against his sternum. He takes a moment to gently brush his hand over your hair, his touch soft.

“Tech, don’t tell me you’re already brainstorming.” He just barely cracks a smile, feeling your hands on him. He secretly loves the way you look right now in his clothes, he considers not mentioning that he needs it back soon it in the hopes you’ll keep it and use it more often.

“Not quite. Though this rare amount of quiet would nice applicable for that sort of thing.” Laughing you crawl up just enough to give him a kiss on the lips, his hands resting on the small of your back. One does leave however, and gently grasps you hand once again. You roll your eyes.

“Tech, I told you it doesn’t hurt.” He lets go only once he’s satisfied.

“There is no harm in being sure.” You don’t know how long the two of you just lay back and relax, before the idea of cleaning up is a little bit too tempting to take advantage of. Especially when the ship is currently empty other than you two. Speaking up, Tech’s eyes perk up to look at you from where they’d been resting and taking in the entire scene.

“How about a shower?” Tech’s eyebrows raise, looking at you.

“Are you merely stating your current intent, or is that an invitation?” Sliding off of his chest you slowly move to get up, and Tech follows; Holding out a hand for you just in case.

“That’s up to you~”

#tech x reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #Tech/Reader #the bad batch tech x reader #mywriting #reader insert #reader

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holly-louisexox · 6 months ago

Text

Ribcage X Andy Biersack- Part 20

Masterlist

"There's one thing you should know about me Delia Vincent, I don't date. Got no heart to break and emptiness is safe, keep it that way."

He was adamant in his choices…

…But then things changed.

"I'm giving you guys the all clear to go out tonight and celebrate after the show if you so wish to, it is important that you all stick together please. There is higher security in and around the venue, there will also be tighter security around you guys. Please do no feel threatened, they are simply there for your safety and the safety of the fans and nothing else. Any questions or concerns from any of you at any point do not hesitate to drop us a message."

—————————

"Seattle, how are we feeling tonight?" Andy asks into the microphone earning screams to fill the venue. "We're going to kill the vibe a little bit now, this is King of Pain."

Andy always used to hate singing this song live, he only did it for the fans, but note the word used. He would always filter his emotions as not to upset himself, but now, now all he could think about was how much he missed the attention of another. He almost craved the feeling of love again, but he didn't know how to show it, he had been wearing this mask for so long now that it was hard to remove it. He even wondered if he was confusing love with lust. Sure, he had slept around and found women who were insanely attractive and lust was in the moment, but this feeling lingered, it seemed strongest to him almost as if his body was screaming at him, as if his mind was begging for a release from all the pent up feelings and the pretending to be fine. It was almost as if he had a heart of fire that was burning for anyone to notice his cries. No, not just anyone, his heart was yearning for a specific someone.

"I cannot see what's become of life, it's all just passing by." Andy sings into the microphone. It was then he felt every emotion hit him. Every single thing he had kept locked away for so long came spilling out, he knew exactly why this was happening too. Looking up to where he knew Delia would be sitting he tried his hardest to continue the song and not let it show how much his body was begging for that emotional release, his body was close to betraying him, incredibly close, but he had to keep singing this last song before the encore. Despite how hard Andy tried to conceal every ounce of emotion he was feeling, Lonny saw right through the act; and recognised it as the same emotion Delia had poured out on him the night before. "So don't walk away, I'll keep you safe, forget promises that we made."

Delia noticed Andy looking at her again, she always did, but this time it felt different. Andy seemed vulnerable at this very moment, she could almost feel the sorrow radiating off him. The lyrics he was singing to her were different this time though. Normally, he would sing lyrics she guessed was him almost trying to steer her off track, this wasn't that though. It seemed he was almost trying to beg for forgiveness but Delia was not about to give him that, not after the way he had hurt her. Regardless, Delia could not get herself to look away from Andy, she felt as if something was pulling her towards him, she so desperately wanted to believe what he sang; she didn't want to walk away, she wanted nothing more than to be with him and feel safe in his arms, but with his unpredictable mood swings safe was one thing she'd never feel around Andy Biersack.

As the song comes to a close, Delia watches as Andy takes a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders evident, before raising his microphone to speak again "Thank You Seattle, you've been amazing!" The whole band are then running off stage.

————————

"Andy are you okay dude? You seem really on edge." Jinxx asks looking at his lead singer who looked slightly pale and was as stiff as a metal pole.

"I've made a mistake and I've been nothing but a dick. CC you were right, you were fucking right and I should have listened rather than let this fake ego of mine take over." Andy begins feeling the tears he was holding on to for so long start to fall down his face. "I slept with Delia, twice, and now... now I can't stop thinking about her. I think I've fallen for her."

"Andy, I'm... I'm so sorry. I didn't erm, I didn't actually want to be right man." CC trails off in both shock and sorrow whilst the rest of the band also stand there looking at Andy in shock.

"If you even want to stand a chance you've got one hell of an apology to make." Lonny starts "You hurt her a lot, I don't think she'll forgive that quickly, especially as she was growing very fond of you before you ruined it and went back to your ways by saying what you did the other night."

"I know, I know I've hurt her multiple times and each time it's killed me. I can't keep pretending like this." Andy sighs wiping under his eyes whilst trying to make sure he didn't ruin his stage make up "I'm gonna make it right though, I have to make it right."

"Well let's go smash out this encore then we work on that apology and get you and Delia your happy ending." CC smiles whilst patting Andy on the back which makes the singer nod.

——————————-

"We all survived lads!" CC screams as they approach the bar they were to go for a few drinks. No one felt comfortable with clubbing or drinking too much tonight but a few drinks would never hurt anyone.

"First round is on me, consider it your Christmas present from me!" Jake laughs as he walks over to the bar leaving the rest of the group to find a table.

The anxiety Andy was feeling was like nothing he had ever felt. Yes he had struggled with anxiety for a long time and the ADHD made it worst for him at moments but he had mostly had it all under control until now. It was almost as if he wanted to start bouncing off the walls or do anything to release this nervous energy.

Seeing Delia appear next to him very quickly and briefly made him want to just reach for her hand and hold it in his. To bring her close and just kiss her, right here in front of everyone. But he knew he couldn't do. He had fucked up possibility beyond repair. He had to repair this though.

Delia could feel the anxiety that Andy was experiencing. She wanted nothing more than to hug him and tell him it would all be okay and to try to bring the slightly older man some comfort. But he had hurt her, he made how he felt extremely clear to her so now she was left to try and pick up the pieces and get over him. Now she was left to try her hardest to ignore him for these last few hours she would be spending with him.

"So Delia, you got any nice plans for Christmas?" Lonny asks trying to start conversation at the table to make it less awkward, all the while everyone in the band were quickly passing glances to Andy to get him to talk to Delia.

"Not really, I'll just be going back to Ohio and staying with my parents. It's always just been the 3 of us." Delia smiles at the thought of seeing her parents again, she was definitely missing them despite having fun and enjoying every moment on this tour.

"I'm actually planning on visiting Ohio over Christmas, maybe we could meet up?" Andy suggests feeling his nerves intensify.

"I didn't think you had spoken to your parents in a while Andy?" Shevy asks in genuine curiosity.

"I haven't but I erm... I want to surprise them." He fakes a smile. He mostly wanted to see Delia if she'd let him but he supposed he should also see his parents again after cutting them off. It got to the point where they kept asking about Juliet and how he was doing and it became too much so he cut ties and didn't look back. Now he's realising the mistake in doing that.

"I feel like you'll be too busy with your parents to meet up with me by the sounds of it Andy." Delia shrugs slightly. The thought of Andy visiting her in Ohio made her stomach jump, but she couldn't allow that of him. She couldn't allow him to get close to her, not after how he's already hurt her.

"Delia, could we maybe talk to each other somewhere away from the group?" Andy suddenly asks, better to get it over with right? This sudden bold move from Andy shocked both Delia and Shevy whilst the band were sat there trying to hide their smiles that Andy was actually able to gain the courage.

"Sure." Delia nods standing up to follow him whilst mentally tying to put up her defences to prepare herself for whatever hurtful thing he was about to say. It not like she's see him again after tonight so it didn't really matter to her that much anymore. "What do you want Andy?"

"Look I've been a fucking dick and I know that and I'm so sorry. I know sorry doesn't cut it but honestly I really am." Andy is almost pleading Delia for forgiveness as he can feel his emotions coming through again, even Delia could see him becoming emotional but she wasn't about to let her guard down.

"Yeah, you're right, sorry doesn't cut it. You humiliated me Andy, saying what you said in front of the band made it pretty damn clear we had done something which, by the way, is the one thing you didn't want Lonny to spill yet you went and spilt it!" Delia growls slightly, she'd be damned if she were to forgive Andy after all the shit he'd put her through. "Honestly it was really a great act you put on. You made me think that you were actually starting to care for me and I like an idiot let you in, even Shevy and Lonny were convinced we could of had something but instead I'm the idiot sound tech woman who slept with the slutty lead singer and is left heartbroken."

"Delia, please understand, I never meant to hurt you, not like this." Andy pleads.

"Well you did!" Delia shouts back.

"Look Delia, I don't really know how else to say this." Andy sighs before placing a hand on Delia's arm gently.

"Get off me." Delia shrugs his hand off her. As much as she wanted to deny the frenzy her body felt from his touch she couldn't lean into it, she would not lean into it.

"The divorce with my ex wife fucked me up big time and I didn't want to get close to anyone, I didn't think I could deal with that heartbreak again so I turned off any emotions I may have had. But then you came along and it's like I forgot how to control my head. Suddenly it was you I thought about when I woke and when I went to sleep, it was you who flooded my every thought and being. The idea of never seeing you again after tonight hurts, it feels like my heart may burst from the pain of that thought." Andy confesses as he desperately wants to reach for Delia's hands but after how she shrugged his hand off her arm he knew that would not be a good idea.

"Yet you were the one who specifically said to me that you never wanted to see me again after tonight!" Delia uses his own words against him making Andy's heart shatter. He knew he fucked up but he didn't realise it was this bad.

"Delia, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." Andy begs feeling tears fall down his face "I know I've fucked up and said some awful things but please give me a chance to prove myself to you. One chance I beg."

"You know what Andy? Fuck you!" Delia shouts before slapping him round the face with an open palm leaving him stood there with a look of pure hurt. Seeing him look like that broke her heart, especially knowing she caused it but she could not forgive him that easily after all the pain he caused her. Instead, she decided she needed to get away, especially when she saw Shevy come walking towards them. Delia needed to leave this building and leave it now.

"Delia! Delia, where are you going?" Shevy calls.

"I'm going to the hotel." Delia tries her best not to cry.

"I'll come with you, it's not safe!" Shevy states "stay here and let me grab my bag and we'll go."

"Shevy I'll be fine, I just, I need to be alone." Delia shakes her head feeling the tears start to fall. At that moment Delia doesn't hesitate to walk out of the bar, not even taking a second look back at Andy or any of the band.

"What the fuck did you do Andy? You know what, I don't want to know. I hope you're proud of yourself though because now you've really fucked up. You just love to go that extra step don't you?" Shevy shouts at Andy who just stands there with tears rolling down his face.

"Shevy, it wasn't like that. I apologised, I told her everything. I... I've fallen for her Shevy but now it's too late, she hates me and it's all my fault." Andy sobs just as the rest of the band start approaching Andy to try and comfort him.

"Andy... I'm so sorry." Shevy gasps.

————————

Walking out of the bar Delia is instantly met with the cold night air which, in this current moment, she embraced and found comfort in. Delia never expected to actually hear Andy Biersack open up to her, yet alone to say he had fallen for her the same way she had for him. Seeing his tears had upset her but she couldn't forget how he had made her feel. Maybe she was a little harsh? Maybe she should turn around and go back in there? Wrap her arms around him and kiss the tears away like you see in those cheesy movies. But this wasn't a cheesy rom com, this was real life. With how his mood swings were, who's to say that he won't change his mind and go back to upsetting her, who's to say this wasn't all part of the game.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry!" Delia suddenly heard a voice as she feels a body barge into hers nearly knocking her over.

"No no it's completely fine, I was standing in the way so it's likely my fault." Delia smiles turning around to see a tall blonde man standing and looking at her smiling.

"I wasn't looking where I was going I'm equally to blame." The blonde guy continues to smile at her. "I'm Sam. Can I buy you a drink as an apology?"

"Thanks but I was just leaving." Delia nods awkwardly looking down at her feet.

"Oh yeah, course. A pretty girl like you must have places to go." He nods understandably. "How about we just hug it out?"

"Erm... sure." Delia replies a little confused, strangers normally weren't this friendly, but they were at a bar so maybe he had just had a few drinks and was feeling generous.

Hugging this guy was nice, but nowhere near as nice as Andy felt. He didn't have the same warmth as Andy. No, Delia was determined to forget about Andy and his ways.

As Delia pulled away from the hug, she suddenly felt something cover her nose and mouth and just as quickly as it happened, she saw the world around her going fuzzy and black; the last thing she saw was Sam was the one holding the cover to her face and he was grinning wickedly at her.

#andy biersack #andy black #andy bvb #cc bvb #jake bvb #jake pitts #jinxx bvb #lonny bvb #lonny eagleton #black veil brides #bvb #black veil brides fanfic #bvb fanfic

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nrcsfavoriteshrimps · 3 months ago

Text

Mother Dearest: Final Stand

Ai Lian scoffs, “Typical. Fine then, I’ll teach you a lesson!”

She stomps on the ground, causing the earth below to break and rise into jagged spikes. Without batting an eye, Wuzhi leaps from platform to platform, using his new staff as a pole vault. He lands perfectly in front of the rocks, his staff returning to his hand like a boomerang. “My turn!”

Wuzhi hops up and swings his staff. Ai Lian tries to block it with a wall of stone, but his staff goes right through it!

“Wha—AGH—” She doesn’t get to finish her rage-filled shouts, the end of Wuzhi’s staff slamming into her ribcage. She swings her fist, only for Wuzhi to dodge by turning into a sparrow.

He reforms into himself behind her. “Missed me~!” He taunts, leaning back on his staff. He bounces off the ground using his tail as a spring, launching a water attack at Ai Lian.

Ai Lian reflects the attack with a powerful plant spell, sending Wuzhi flying back. This time, instead of slamming into the wall like before, he lands on his feet, pushing against the wall to swing at her yet again. She takes the hit, countering with another earth spell that launches rocks straight at him. He blocks each of them, deflecting each by swinging the staff like a baseball bat.

“Why are you being so DIFFICULT?!” Ai Lian shouts, sending a flurry of various spells in Wuzhi’s direction. Yet somehow, he comes out unscathed.

“Because you’re only family by blood!” He shouts back, pulling some hair from her head and blowing on it. This causes each strand to turn into a clone of Wuzhi, each floating around and surrounding Ai Lian. Each one of them speaks, their voices booming in the corridor, “I was never allowed to be who I wanted! I had to conform to your rules, to your perceptions! And when I went to war, you didn’t care! You’ve done nothing but hurt me! You’re not a mother, you’re a monster!”

“NOW LET ME GO!!!”

Every clone syncs its attacks, all leaping to land one final blow on Ai Lian.

Dust fills the room. Once it clears, Wuzhi is standing above the unconscious body of his ‘mother’. He pants as he catches his breath, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. The golden circlet fades from view as his eyes return to their usual cool brown…but the tail stays.

“Haah…” Wuzhi sighs, snapping their fingers. The crimson spider lilies burst into flames, returning the lost magic to everyone.

He falls to his knees, clutching the staff like a crutch.

“…I…I won…”

#nrcsfavoriteshrimp #twisted wonderland #twst rp #twisted wonderland rp #disney twisted wonderland #twst oc #ai wuzhi #ai wuzhi: mother dearest

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babybluesquid · 2 years ago

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Consequences of Karrnath Session 27

Affection Strained to Breaking!

Our Players this week:

Dagne, Vengeance Paladin, an undead soldier created by the Odakyr Rites, but is now something else entirely. They are a Seeker sworn to protect the living. Has a skeleton horse mount from Find Steed named Coffin. They are the party leader and reluctantly serve under King Kaius III. Can be abrasive and dishonest, but they are ultimately kind.

Vaeren, Swarmkeeper Ranger, a blind Deathguard sent to investigate Dagne’s nature. They keep a spirit idol with five spirits of dead Deathguard: Galan, Kerxna, Paeral, Aelrie, and Nym, who can allow them to see, but from a third person point of view. They’re contemplative and disciplined, helping Dagne keep the party in line.

Syv, Glamour Bard, a traveling performer turned traveling adventurer. Her personas are Eshi, a sea elf, and Star, a shifter. They’re generally positive with a bit of a mischievous streak and hold a strong sense of justice, especially where they see discrimination against changelings. She is generally supportive of the whole group, emotionally and in combat.

Intending to join the new force, the undead combating Dagne disengages. As the thing falls back though, Dagne strikes it, hooks it by the back, and drags it back into place. Undisturbed, the thing reports to its companions, “Dagne prevents exit. Be cautious.” Two of the four reinforcements advance on Syv and Vaeren, both targeting the former. She avoids a forward thrust of a halberd, takes a cut to the shoulder, parries a second attack with her rapier, dodges a swing, gets clipped in the arm, and then takes a stab through the armor. Fortunately, the wounds are all superficial. Meanwhile, an archer lines up a shot against Vaeren, then two more. Nym intercepts two of the arrows, but the third strikes their armor. It doesn’t penetrate, only bruising them.

Fearing the situation will turn deadly, Syv desperately plucks out a tune on their kalimba as the undead attack. In the air above the enemies, and Dagne, a pattern of swirling colors and confusing shapes takes form. All are entranced, aside from Dagne, the archer, and one of the undead engaging Syv. One advances on Dagne, stabbing at them. Dagne hooks their poleaxe in its halberd. When it gets its weapon free, it attempts to hook Dagne, but once again gets tangled up. In that position, however, it manages to stab into the underside of Dagne’s elbow, slicing through their gambeson. They retaliate immediately, tripping it, then crushing its ribcage while it’s down with two powerful swings. It dies.

With it defeated, Dagne advances on the archer. It drops its bow and draws an arming sword, then tries to rush Vaeren. It’s stopped in its tracks when Dagne hooks it ad drags it back, reeling. Another undead skirts around them to attack Vaeren and Syv. Vaeren stabs it in both of its eye sockets, then Galan emerges from the spirit idol. He points his ghostly staff at the thing, and a magical hand shoots out and pushes it back, right into Dagne’s deadly sphere of influence and out of range of Syv and Vaeren. Suddenly, one shakes off Syv’s charm and then chops downwards at her! She just barely manages to step forward, so the axe swing that would’ve cleaved her skull ends up striking her with the pole of the halberd. The force knocks her out, and she crumbles to the ground. The undead then turns on Vaeren and thrusts, they parry but end up getting gashed on the arm as it draws its polearm back. A moment later, another wakes and turns on Dagne. It tries to hook them, but they step aside, it thrusts forward and the parry, then tries to cut them, but Dagne comes in close to avoid the strike.

Syv makes a death save. Nat 20.

Surprising the undead as she comes to her feet, Syv disengages and runs away from the melee, casting a healing word upon herself as she flees. Seeing her out of danger, Dagne enters a defensive stance and then attacks the undead in melee with Vaeren. They strike its leg, staggering it, then bring the poleaxe up to slam it in the shoulder, causing it to reel further back. The archer thrusts its arming sword right for their eye socket, but Dagne headbutts into the strike, before slapping the blade down and turning their arm to avoid its other attempts to get a hit in.

Still, another undead moves at Vaeren. It thrusts, and Vaeren turns aside its halberd with their rapier. Then, it attempts a drawcut, which Aelrie emerges to block, and a hook, which Vaeren dodges. Unafraid of the undead in front of them, Vaeren hurriedly draws Oathbreaker and fired at Dagne’s last target. Two radiant arrows explode against it, each impact driving it backwards a step and scorching its armor and bones. Two of the undead engaging Dagne attack at once, attempting to overwhelm them. However, Dagne blocks them at every turn, avoiding every strike except for one to the hip, and another hooking them behind the helmet. Still, they do not fall.

“Go Dagne!” Syv yells to bolster their defense, “I believe in you!” Then, they begin to play a song, focusing all their magic on one point: themselves. They strain the instrument to the highest volume it can achieve, slamming out the notes, feeling the crescendo as the music grows in force. Then, they grow. Syv extends and elongates, growing massive, standing above the street, a thunderherder. She turns her long neck towards the skeletons, raising one massive foot.

In light of their transformation, the archer begins to flee, barely avoiding Syv’s heavy stomp. Dagne stabs it with their spearpoint as it goes, and the thing wheels back around, understanding that they won’t allow flight. One stabs Syv in the leg, thrice, and only the third strike penetrates her thick skin. It seems to have no effect regardless. Vaeren fires two more arrows of light into another undead. Two more try to flee, but Dagne stops each in turn. Trapped, they stab at Syv. She slaps one with her tail, but it ducks under the swing just in time. Taking the opportunity, Dagne thrusts at it. Surprisingly, it isn’t caught off guard, and drives the strike upwards with its arming sword. Dagne draws away and then suddenly, brutally slams in in the side of its head. Its skull shatters in its helmet, and it falls dead. As this happens, the archer takes the opportunity to flee, narrowly missing Dagne’s attack.

Another tries its luck, but Dagne chops its leg, half-severing its bone. Vaeren follows that up by blowing its head off with a radiant arrow, then fires on another undead, exploding it in golden light. Both are burned to death. Finally, Syv advances on the last undead and sweeps it with her fail. It goes flying, striking the fleeing archer when it crashes back down. Neither rise. Upon checking, both were killed on the impact.

Then, in the distance, red flashes of light catch the party’s attention. They originate from the apex of the Crimson Monastery, firing down into the streets. The party guesses that its killing the undead, and decide to approach, riding Syv in the form of a thunderherder. As they progress through the streets, the party hears distant skirmishes between the city garrison and the undead force. Then, there is a street battle ahead. Twelve undead soldiers face twelve men, the remains of a force that used to be nearly double that, wearing red masks and carrying banners bearing an octogram and a symbol with an eye and three blades. They’re Red Watchers.

At Dagne’s behest, Syv drops her thunderherder form and then hurriedly spellcasts again, creating a song and a mystifying pattern above all the combatants. Instantly, all but three of the undead and three of the Red Watchers stop in their tracks, stupified by the magical display. Dagne runs up to one of the aware undead and splits its skull. Vaeren picks out another and shoots it, once, twice, three times, six times total, reducing it to ash. Syv and the three watchers gang up on the third, killing it. Quickly, the party goes about cutting down the nine enchanted undead, as well as disarming and tying up the Red Watchers. Alarmed by the sudden turn, one asks, “why are you tying us up? We’re trying to help.” “We don’t need help from the likes of you,” Dagne replies.

The party continues through the streets. Up ahead, a large force of undead is arrayed, fifty at least. But they don’t seem aggressive, and in fact are fighting against the undead soldiers. As the party approaches, the group seems to recognize them and doesn’t react with hostility. Then, a centipede-like amalgam of bones scitters into view, ridden by a young dwarf in chainmail and wielding a battleaxe. Dark ribbons cover half his face and arm. The new Bone Guardian has armor mixed into it and swords for teeth in its maw, seemingly made mostly of defeated Karrnathi undead soldiers.

“Hynek Mazal!” Dagne shouts in recognition. “That would be correct, it’s me. Things have been maddening the past few months, I would say,” in spite of his reply, he sounds remarkably calmer and more confident than he was all those months ago when the party encountered him in the Icewood. “What happened here?” “The Ministry of Dead responded to King Kaius’ order to dissolve. They’ve gone rogue. I left and have been trying to bring people to safety in the Crimson Monastery. I think they’re trying to take the city.” Dagne nods, “good work, keep it up As it stands, you seem to be the strongest force here.” He shakes his head, “the strongest force is holed up in the pyramid mostly, the garrison, some veterans, and a divine power burning away the undead that try to get in.” “Well, that’s where we’re headed. Good luck out here.”

As the party approaches the Crimson Monastery, they notice patches of ash, the spots where advancing undead were reduced to nothing. Directly outside the building, soldiers stand guard in a tight formation, Seekers proudly bearing holy symbols among them. Undead approach, and they draw their weapons, but a red beam obliterates these too, and they stand down. As the party approaches, a woman in brilliant silver armor emerges from the crowd. She wears a glamoured golden ring on her finger. She heads straight for Dagne, and then punches their visor with her gauntleted fist.

“Ivara,” Dagne says in a nonchalant tone. “Well, I’ll be damned. As captain of the royal garrison, I order you to get inside and out of my sight,” her voice is seething with controlled anger. “Yes sir.” As the party enters, Ivara and her subordinates take the Red Watcher prisoners and untie them, ordering them to join the ranks of the Crimson Monastery’s guard. They comply.

Inside, many of Atur’s civilians sit and stand in apprehension. Among them, many are wounded, and the guides tend to them. As the party passes, the faces of the citizens show recognition, but nobody approaches. Dagne looks around the room and spots Nenad Rukavina. They walk up to him as he bandages a severed hand.

“Hello again, Dagne,” his voice is tired, but strong, “I assume you’ve seen what’s happening.” “Correct.” “It’s started just now. We’ve been discussing staying here till reinforcements arrive, but these first few hours have been hard on the populous.” “You had some forewarning?” Nenad frowns, beginning to walk as he talks, “no, it came on us suddenly. It was all we could to to rush to the monastery. News had probably reached the army at this point though, so we shouldn’t be trapped here for too long.” Dagne pauses, then admits, “they’re after me.” “That’s concerning.” “Indeed.” “In that case, you should probably lay low. Stay here until the army comes and relieves the city.” Dagne continues, “I know why they’re after me. It seems obvious that as the proof of their sins, they need me eradicated.” He nods, “it is likely that the information you hold would turn away their allies.”

The two reach a quiet place, away from external conversation and prying ears, here, Dagne tells Nenad in a hushed tone, “I still have my soul. What does it mean?” Confused, he asks, “how do you know this?” “I remembered, I remember the Odakyr Rites.” Nenad’s black eyes become wide pits, “elaborate on the process then.” “As Al- I was dying, I was bound within my body. And there is something else, it knows me, what I know.” “That is concerning. Any idea of what it could be?” “No. What’s more, this is no accident. Dragons did this to me.” A couple beats pass as Nenad processes the claim, “you mean, made you more conscious than the rest of the undead soldiers? Dragons, you say. Never put it past them to do what can’t be explained.” “So what does it mean?” Dagne reiterates urgently.

Nenad considers the question for a long moment, then shrugs, “if you still have your soul, then that’s something which has never happened before. It can’t be know what it means, but, hopefully, since you can’t age and won’t die, you could find the end of the path. It’s a remarkable chance that you might bring down the tyranny of death at last.” The possibility leaves Dagne reeling for a moment, before they ground themselves, “but I’m not alive.” “That is why we don’t know. There is a small spark within you, but it could not be active without the vital flowing blood. It’s unclear what this means,” he says again, “no other martyrs still possess this spark.” “But… what if all my kind do?” Nenad scoffs, “if they all do, why are they reduced to implements of murder rather than people like you?” For a moment, Dagne grasps at nothing, then comes across the explanation, “it must be the other presence.” “After this is dealt with, I’d like you to find me,” Nenad urges, “follow me into the catacombs beneath the pyramid. There are others who know more that I do there. You should also stop adventuring, we don’t want you to die before we’re sure. It’s a chance that the living don’t deserve to lose.” “Understood.”

Vaeren stands nervously off to the side, while Syv absentmindedly plucks out a tune on her kalimba. Dagne returns to them when their conversation is over, but says nothing about its contents. Then, Vaeren spots a glint of gold across the hall, striding imperiously toward them. The figure wears a golden mask, identifying them as a priest of the Undying Court, a cuirass, golden bracelets embedded with red stones, and has a curved blade at their hip. Vaeren recognizes their eldest sister, the head of their family, Caira Daelion, immediately.

She approaches Vaeren, “hello, sister, it’s great to see you again.” Vaeren’s voice is a model of neutrality, “hello, Caira, surprising to see you here,” as Caira had been stationed on Sarlona, not Khorvaire. “I've been in Atur for a few months,” she explains, “since the situation on this continent and in Karrnath has been devolving. I’m here to activate our failsafe placed in these undead. However, I need to be in the vaults to do it. We can push through and disable the whole army in one action.” “It’s going to be tough to get out there and, though it’s a good idea, it makes me wonder how it’ll effect my mission.”

Caira dismisses the thought out of hand, “your mission is of little consequence. It was more a test to see how you’d operate for a long period on your own. The Undying Court has little care for Dagne. Now, we still need to convince the campatin of the garrison here to push for the vaults.” Vaeren’s face falls, but their mask obscures their disappointment, “oh, more tests, makes sense. Well, it shouldn’t be too hard to find the captain. She’s outside guarding the entrance.” Caira nods, she already knows, “there’s probably some other authority to talk to in the pyramid. Do you have any knowledge of this authority?” “Well, Dagne would know.”

The moment Vaeren utters those words, Caira is already striding towards Dagne. Vaeren follows. “Greetings to you, Dagne. I am Guardian Caira. I’m told you know the highest authority in the Crimson Monastery. I need to speak to them.” Dagne looks her up and down for a moment before responding, “no.” Undeterred, she continues, “my task here is the neutralize the undead force terrorizing this city. To do this, I need to speak to the captain of the garrison and the highest authority in the Crimson Pyramid. Once again, I ask who this is.” “Be gone from here, Guardian. Leave my party alone.” “I do not see the purpose behind your impertinence. Are our goals not the same? You know what was done to the undead. If we enact it, it will do great good to the people of Karrnath: there won’t be an army of heartless killers drawing the life out of the world.” When they do not respond, Vaeren jumps in, “Dagne, she needs your assistance. There is a failsafe, but she needs to talk to them in order for it to work.” “No. Mind your business. Get out of my country,” Dagne says bluntly. It seems their continued refusal is starting to anger Caira, “I would sooner incinerate you than speak to you, but given the circumstances I won’t. Now, will you tell me anything or will I have to look for other avenues?” “Get out out here, witch,” Dagne lets the insulting misnomer hang for a moment, “none of your meddling has been to our benefit. You serve yourselves alone.” “Alright, Dagne, you need to shut the fuck up. Tell her to leave and I’ll go with. And my apologies, Caira, I didn’t know they were still acting like a bitch,” Vaeren says pointedly.

“One would expect this ignorance from a Khorvairan,” Caira says derisively, “are you aware of the threat of the Vampire Queen Milenka in the city of Korth in 800 YK?” “I don’t care about your anecdotes. Get out of my church,” Dagne warns. Caira ignores them, “she killed dozens before I brought her down with my companions. Do you know how many times the undead have threatened your people and how many times the Deathguard stepped in to protect Khorvaire? Of course you don’t. There’s aa reason we are stationed across the world. The creatures of Mabar threaten it and life itself. How can you, a creature of dark power yourself, lecture me on the level of assistance I give to the living people here?”

“You claim we share a goal, but also admit you’d sooner incinerate me than work by my side. That makes you no ally, and our purposes are not the same. I will not betray secrets of my faith to you. If that means losing Vaeren, so be it,” Dagne declares, before looking to Vaeren, “I would prefer if you choose to remain by my side, though. Please trust me.” Caira also looks at them, her golden mask seemingly burning holes through Vaeren’s wooden one, “remember whom we trust in the most.” Under that scrutiny, Vaeren answers, “I’m staying with this party, but not for your sake. I don’t know that I want to trust you.” “Of course you can remain on your mission,” Caira agrees sweetly, “but first I ask that you come with me to find the authority here.” “Alright, I’m coming with you.” “No,” Dagne commands, “this information puts my community at risk. I cannot allow you to-” “Silence!” Caira gestures at Dagne and suddenly they’re unable to speak, “let’s get going.” Vaeren turns to Syv, “I’ll be back, I promise.” As Dagne’s voice returns, they hurry to warn the guides: the Deathguard are after Abactor Radosav. Syv leans towards them, “what the fuck just happened?” “They betrayed me. Now let’s hurry, we can’t let them find the Abactor,” Dagne explains. Syv stops short, “so, Vaeren’s leaving?” “I’ll be damned if I let this slide. They’ve gone too far.” “But they’ll come back, right?” “As long as they’re Deathguard, no,” Dagne declares. “I can’t have another person leave,” Syv counters in desperation. “And as long as their interests conflict, I cannot trust them to stay.” Syv opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it.

As Vaeren and Caira search the pyramid, she strikes up another conversation, perhaps seeking to ease the tension, “you’ve done quite well since you came to Khorvaire.” Warily, Vaeren responds, “yet you say it was all a test, not really of any significance.” “Tests are important. You’re still fairly new. The Wardens need to know how you do. There aren’t many Deathguard because of the trials required to join. Initial training doesn’t reflect the field, so after that real training begins, and when you get through that, you become known and respected. You’re doing well, it’ll probably take you less time to achieve that level than I did. The Warden of Khorvaire has been remarkably impressed with you.” “Clearly, battles here are much tougher than back home, but it’s food to know I’m doing well…” Vaeren is unable to fight the weariness in their tone, “I suppose.”

Noticing their hestiance, Caira continues with a reassuring smile, “consider this: finish this mission up, do a couple more, and then destroy a powerful undead, informal requirement you know, and you’ll join the rest of your family as a proper Deathguard.” Vaeren nods, “I want to make you all proud, if that’s possible. I want to climb the ranks and join you all.” They’re lying, and Caira does not catch it, instead she changes the subject, “are you ready for Dagne to snap? They all do. Eventually the power of Mabar drives one to kill. It’s inherently malevolent.” “I suppose, though I’m not sure that will happen to them. They don’t operate the same way.” “You should expect it. It’s nature. Eventually they all go, it’s why we bring them down before then. You wouldn’t want to leave a rapid dog alive.” “Alright, I suppose you’re right,” Vaeren lies. This time, Caira notices, “you’ve gotten too close to them, it’s creating a conflict of interest. You shouldn’t care about them. You should be ready to do your job once they turn or upon such orders.”

“If, Caira,” Vaeren is filled with exasperation, “if they turn. You don’t know what’s happening. You can’t tell me how to feel about your party.” Caira scoffs, “I’ve lived long enough to see it happen over and over again. The intelligent ones seem as people, but empathy and caring erodes with time. Eventually, you need to stop the threat. Why would you think Dagne is any different? The only thing remotely similar is already a killing machine.” “No, they have my trust that they won’t turn,” Vaeren realizes as they utter it aloud, “I’ve been with them, I’ve seen them grow. You know nothing of the situation. You are in no state to talk about something you don’t know.” “A few more decades should wash this foolishness off you,” Caira states dismissively. Without another word, Vaeren turns and walks off, trying to find Dagne again. Caira does not follow them as they disappear into the crowd.

——————

Highlights:

Brontosyvous! Syv became a big old dinosaur heck yeah!

Hynek Mazal is back! But he didn’t come back to bite us, he came back to help. Yay.

Ivara knows Dagne is not Iura Josan and she decked them. Deserved.

Caira was just, amazing. Such an arrogant NPC, the type I love to talk to.The sheer audacity of asking Dagne for secret information about the Blood of Vol inside their own church has me floored.

Dagne was amazingly stubborn this time, but I don’t believe that they were unreasonable. For many sessions, the conflict between them and Vaeren has been building.

It hurt when Vaeren decided to go with their sister instead of Dagne. Understandable, but ow.

Syv’s question about whether Vaeren was leaving the party, followed by Dagne’s confirmation, hit really hard.

Vaeren’s deception against Caira was a nat 20. Her insight was also a nat 20, so she won.

Session 28.

#shit's going down #!!!!!!!!!!!!!#dnd #d&d #dnd campaign #d&d campaign #dnd story #d&d story #dungeons and dragons #my post #my writing #consequences of karrnath #eberron #dagne #vaeren #syv #session 27

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t3nets · 15 days ago

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* ❪ ⛓️ ❫ : 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 to reject the determination of someone putting in their all to save you. by pure trust no less. she didn't know that he didn't deserve her help. didn't deserve the fear that plauges delicate features, derived by concern of safety over judgement of how this all came to be. no one was left in this condition without cause. not by mugging, not because he had looked at someone the wrong way. yet there she stood. firmly. hands up to calm a wild mustang, hurt and whale eyed as it limps on three working legs. the high that envelopes him is familiar, not by simple weed that grows in a garden, stench equivocal to a good night's sleep. it's different. intense. where greer should be begging for an ambulance, to set him free from the pain in any way imaginable, instead he's lost in a state of euphoria. numbness that clouds him horrendously. a cocktail of synthetic opioids that breaks him entirely of his sobriety, kicking in to mask the pleasure amidst the pain. despite it wearing off slowly, his senses are a separation from pain and pressure, providing a brief break from actuality. the lines of greer's face become grim, hardening as he stares at her, pupils blown out. soft brown corroded into an unnerving black. ❛ if i go to the hospital, they'll take my daughter away from me. and if they take her away from me, i will come for you. ❜ the severity in his voice isn't an indication of immediate violence. rather, space for her consideration. something promised with regret. but without hesitation. ❛ do you understand ? ❜

but he knows that she's stubborn. a bull with its horns poised for an impending attack. every muscle bracing for impact. two opposing forces, guided by an instinct to provide and protect. greer has seen her in the act: the way she moves around her siblings, her cousins who are just as high on the totem pole. fierce in nature and tenfold when something is awry. a stark contrast to the woman who heeded his every request.

selin. nour. he had to get to them. he needs to be sure they're okay. they're okay. they're okay. they're okay. the image of bright eyes widening with the shock that had set in when she first caught sight of his mugshot. pasted at every corner of his daughter's school. where shame usually had no place in greer's heart, it had rose from an unmarked grave, hands clawing at the dirt of an aching gut as it made way to a stuttering heart. settling deep behind his ribcage and making home there with a sinister gleam. neither of them deserved this. not even damla, a mother who risked being seen with him. every decision greer had made — coming home and leaving the woman he claimed to love, in tears. flaunting every night with the phones and duffel bags that had clanked on their kitchen table. the plate she had left out for him stale and cold as she tried her best to stay awake. titanium safes locked tightly and away from wandering eyes. a peacock fluttering its feathers without care — every single decision, made with utter selfishness. he was a fraud. playing pretend, pretending to care, to give a fuck. convincing himself it was all for them. history seldom repeat itself when you decide to change. decide to become a better person. but never when your history is all you ever were. a mangy creature, beaten and thrown into the brambles for its mere existence.

fuck that. there was no time for pity, no room for it when he had been through this times before, though motivation is no longer set in the ways of a man seeking adrenaline. instead, of a father. a father who wanted to see his daughter grow. sends him leaping despite the frost that he doesn't feel, numb to the cold that threatens to shut greer's system down completely. a compromise sets into his skull, pulsating as the concussion sends his vision into a blur once more, dried blood crowding around his eyelids in a ring of fire. �� i can't see anything. it's all— ❜ a hand waves in the air as a demonstration of mayhem. a muddle of gray and blue tones. ❛ if you're gonna stay. if you're gonna do this, can you— ❜ a gesture to slink underneath his arm, brows pulled together in a pleading expression. ❛ just tell me where to go. but don't lead me to a fucking car, damla. ❜ a pointed look; didn't trust her not to pull into an ER in an act of impulse. ❛ she lives nearby, i swear. that's all im askin.' ❜ a wince, ribs shifting underneath bulking weight as he stands up straight, already moving toward the direction of a melting pathway; with or without her help.

THE WAY HE HAULS HIMSELF UP JUST TO SNATCH HER PHONE — it’s as if the help she’s offered is a knife at his throat. she doesn’t have time to resist, mind stalling on his plea: no police. you can’t tell anyone. you have to go. her body stills too, and in the silence that follows, fear slithers in. she can taste it on her tongue, metal-slick, and she swallows around it with a throat that suddenly feels two sizes too small. she can't help but wonder what kind of terror would render an effigy into the mess before her. a pounding ache blooms in her chest, sharp and restless, like a second mouth threatening to tear through her ribs. she wants to listen. she wants to run. she stays.

it’s when he says bronte’s name that something inside her snaps, a wire drawn too far. the name hangs in the air, heavy and out of place. the nurse. damla pictures her bright face, her calm, the way she fits into damla’s life in a way so unremarkable it’s almost sacred. a friendly face, nothing more. certainly not someone who belongs here. confusion is a living thing, a swarm of gnats buzzing around her ears. the words that spill from her are sharp, stripped bare of any patience: “stop it, greer. you aren’t thinking straight.” but he doesn’t. rattles off a number, voice urgent, insistent. for a moment, her mind wavers. she could call. could walk away, leave him here — lungs rattling, eyes desperate — if only to avoid the same fate. but the thought sits rancid in her gut.

“i don’t — ” her voice wavers, thinning to mist as her gaze darts between his trembling hands and the heave of his chest. “i don’t understand. what’s she supposed to do?” a mass of feelings rising like water she can’t tread against. “you need — ” she hesitates, the word help burning her mouth, unspoken. damla feels torn, daughter and mother all at once, the weight of both pulling her under. the daughter in her feels the old wounds tear open with the sick twist of another child losing their father. the mother in her hesitates, unsure. fight or freeze. stay or run. and beneath it all, the fear: what if i make this worse? she swallows it. again.

with the ancient, glacial need to be the voice of reason: "no — i'm not calling anyone but a goddamn ambulance and i'm sure as hell not leaving until i know you're safe."

#* ❪ ⛓️ ❫ ﹕ ��𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝘀 𝗶 𝗱𝗶𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲. / thread.#* 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : greer & damla .#blood tw #injury tw #violence tw #drug tw #drug addiction tw #we can timeskip next reply to them being there !!!!!!!#holiday hours kickin my ass im sorry x100 </3 #rusticjpg.

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forever-rogue · 2 years ago

Note

Fluff idea: Eddie attempts to roller skate ?

AN | We have Eddie attempting to roller skate and fools in love! 🥰

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.1k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"This is absolutely ridiculous," it was a groan from the boy as he looked up at you from the ground. His plush pink lips were formed into a pout as you tried your best not to laugh at him. You held out your hand to help him up, but he shook his head and waved your hand away, "I can't do this."

“Of course you can,” a soft insistence followed by an even gentler smile as you crouched down so you were at eye-level with him, “it just takes practice and patience.”

“I’ve been doing the one and am running short on the other,” there was a boyish quality to his face as he slowly climbed and stumbled his way to his feet like a baby giraffe. He’d ignored your hand and chose instead to hang onto the nearby pole, “this is cursed! How can you do this so easily? Satan couldn’t do this so easily…you must be Satan! All wrapped up in a pretty, innocent package!”

“You better get on your knees and worship me then,” you teased and his cheeks went from a rosy pink to crimson red, “that’s what you do isn’t it?”

He almost fell again at your little wink as he murmured under his breath, “these things are coming off!”

“Calm down,” you giggled as you bent down to help him untie the laces to the roller skates, “wait - you think I’m pretty?”

“I…” oh shit. Eddie had meant it, he just hadn’t meant to say it out loud. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, gaping like a fish out of water. The little smile and those big doe eyes of yours was going to be the death of him, “I meant…ummm. I- ugh-”

“I’m just teasing Eddie,” you winked and loosened the skates on his feet. You hadn’t been teasing, you had wanted to know. That was the curse of being in unrequited love with your best friend; sometimes you couldn’t help but flirt. Then it came back without reciprocity and made you wish the ground would swallow you whole. But that didn’t happen so instead you focused on his feet, “alright, you should be able to step out of them now.”

You held out your arm for him to grasp so he wouldn’t fall, keeping your eyes away from his. You swore those pretty honeyed brown eyes could see right through you and he’d pick up on the fact that something was wrong. And Eddie being wonderful, loving, persistent Eddie, would never let it go.

His heart was raging in his chest, so loud and obvious to him that he was surprised you couldn’t hear it. He was even more surprised it didn’t crack and burst through his ribcage. His hold on your arm was so gentle and tender, his brain going into sensory overload at how impossibly soft your skin felt under his guitar string scarred and calloused fingertips, and it made him want to touch you all over, to map out every single curve and slope of your body.

He reminded himself that he was supposed to step out of the skates and pulled himself together just enough to do so, murmuring a soft thanks.

“I’m just glad I didn’t break an arm,” he joked, trying to force some semblance of normalcy back between the two of you, “couldn’t imagine not being able to shred for weeks.”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen,” you promised softly, skating over towards your shoes and tossing his sneakers over to him, “but if you don’t like skating, we don’t have to do it again. I-I dunno, it’s probably silly anyway…I just thought it would be fun to do together.”

His heart constricted at the way sadness colored your features. He hadn’t meant to make you feel like this was a bad idea or that it wasn’t fun - he did have fun, and was enjoying himself. You could have taken him to a lecture on different methods of whittling and he would have had fun. Everything was so much better with you; even on his darkest days your voice or even the smallest of your pretty smiles made everything better.

“I-I had fun,” he insisted, reaching to wrap his hand around your wrist. You’d moved out of his reach and started putting your own shoes back on, “really.”

“‘s okay,” you insisted with a meek little smile, “really Eddie.”

You weren’t convincing him or yourself and immediately his mind went into overdrive. He was going to make you see he was being serious and - if he managed up the courage - that his feelings ran deeper than just friendly. He just had to figure out how, but when Eddie Munson was determined to do something, he did it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next two weeks were torturous…Eddie wasn’t even sure how he’d survived if he was being quite honest. Even since the afternoon of failed roller skating you’d distanced yourself from him, and it just broke his fucking heart. Something had shifted between the two of you and he wasn’t sure how to address it.

He’d trying finding you at work at the coffee shop but you never seemed to be there when he showed up (you were busy hiding in the back, which you were both aware of), when he called you were never able to talk on the phone, when he stopped by your house you weren’t there (you were, he knew from the fact that your car was parked in the driveway), and when he’d see your friends you never happened to be around.

How convenient. But that wasn’t going to stop him. It might have made his job a little harder, but that wasn’t going to deter him. Not when it came to you.

So that’s why, one Friday evening while you were home, missing none other than Eddie Munson while you were moping about, you received a sweet little surprise. You were curled up in bed, nursing a pint of ice cream as you watched some cheesy old romance movie. You weren’t really paying attention, but it was just enough to keep your mind from spiraling too much.

When you heard the soft tapping on your window, you almost threw your spoon across the room in surprise. You clutched your rapidly beating heart as you set the ice cream down and padded over to the window. You were positive it was Steve coming to watch a movie or something, but when you pulled back the curtain your heart almost stopped when you found Eddie looking at you with nervous eyes and a wickedly pretty smile.

“Eddie?” you slowly opened the window and gave him a confused expression, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m here,” he reached behind his back and held out a small fistful of daisies, looking at you with a hopeful expression, “to see you, pretty girl.”

“Eddie,” you took the flowers with a tentative, shaky hand, almost joling when your fingers brushed against his. The small flowers were so pretty and made your heart soften. Eddie Munson had gotten you flowers! He let out a nervous laugh, “what are these for?”

“Daisies are your favorite,” of course he remembered. Eddie Munson remembered almost every little detail about you, “and I…fuck, I’m nervous. But umm…do you remember a few weeks ago when we were at the skate park and you asked if I thought you were pretty?”

“Jesus Eddie, it was just a-a joke,” you tried to play it off but he wasn’t having, “it didn’t mean anything.”

“Oh?” he cocked an eyebrow, “is that why you’ve been avoiding me for the last weeks? Because it meant nothing?”

“I wasn’t,” a weak little that held no weight.

“I’m a lt of things, but I’m not stupid,” he teased, “please…I…I did say that. And I mean it. I think you’re pretty - beautiful. The most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on.”

“Eddie,” you pouted at him, “don’t tease.”

“‘m not,” he reached over and put his hand under your chin tilting your face up so you were looking at him, “never. I…there’s so many things I want to say and I don’t think I’d ever be able to say them right and it might take me years to say them all because the list of reasons why I’m in love with you is crazy long. So I’ll start with yes, I think you’re pretty, beautiful, lovely, sexy, cute - all of it.”

“What did you just say?” you were either losing your mind or…Eddie Munson had really just confessed his love for you.

“Ummm…which part, angel? I’m kind of rambling here and just throwing it all out there.”

“You’re…in love with me?” your voice was barely above a whisper but his whole face lit up and fuck, it was a gorgeous sight.

“Yeah,” he nodded happily, “have been wfor a long time.”

“Oh…I…” words weren’t on your side so instead of saying anything, you leaned in and pressed your lip against his in a soft, saccharine little kiss. He seemed taken aback for a moment but then cupped your cheek tenderly, kissing you more and more until you were dizzied and breathless and smiling at him shyly.

“Can I take this to mean you feel the same way?” he’d ever felt so nervous in his entire life and he prayed that he hadn't just made a huge mistake, “or am I a big fuckin’ fool?”

“You are,” Eddie relaxed; that sweet little smile had made its way back onto his face, “but for a lot of other reasons. But I do feel the same way. I’m in love with you, Eddie Munson.”

“Yeah?” his smile was hopeful and his eyes were practically glittering with excitement. You worried your bottom lip but nodded slowly as you, “wow.”

“Oh Eddie,” it was a wistful little sigh that had him leaning in and stealing a few more soft kisses, “you came here right now for that?”

“And there’s one more thing…”

“Which is?”

“Will you, my angel, light and love of my life, go roller skating with me?” he reached behind his back and held up a pair of roller skates, flourishing them happily. The megawatt smile threatened to break your face as you looked at him with nothing short of reverent adoration.

“But I thought you hated it?” you asked softly but he shook his curly head.

“I hate being terrible at something that should be easy,” he confessed, “but I had a ton of fun with you. Even if you were picking me off the ground more than anything. I kinda…wanted to seem cool but I was anything but.”

“You’re always metal as fuck,” you grinned as he looked at you in surprise.

“Look at you cursing baby, I really am a bad influence on you,” he shot you a wink as your face warmed up, “what do you say? W\ill you teach me how to skate?”

“I dunno,” you teased and his mouth turned up in a small smirk, “you were pretty bad, Mr. Munson. If I agree, what’s in it for me?”

“Our first real date,” he suggested and fuck. You were practically melting into a puddle, “and lots of kisses. And cuddles. Andddddd more. Whatever you want, angel. I’m yours - fuck, I’m all yours. Always have been.”

“Alright,” you pretended to contemplate his offer for a moment, “I’ll do it. Your terms are reasonable.”

“Perfect,” he pressed a big, sloppy kiss to your cheek causing you to giggle, “let’s go!”

“Right now?” he nodded fervently, “it’s almost midnight!”

“No time like the present,” oh yeah. You were so in love with this fool, “it’ll be fun!”

“You are a most ridiculous man,” you padded to your closet to grab your own skates, “but you’re my ridiculous man. Let’s go!”

“There’s my girl,” he held out his hand to you, a touch you happily accepted, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you made a small sound as he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, “let’s go, Romeo. You’ve got a lot to learn!”

“Lead the way, Juliet.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #st

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arlana-likes-to-write · 2 years ago

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How Do I Say Good-bye by Dean Lewis

Holy cow two posts in two days! I guess that what happens when I get over my writer’s block lol.

The Adventure of Y/n Barton and Yelena Belova - Master post

Summary: After 5 years, the Avengers come together to rewrite the wrong that happened in Wakanda. What happens when your father returns from the time heist without the one person that was your constant for 5 years?

Warnings: major character death (sort of), angst, grief, guilt, mention of death

Word count: 5.6k

“Clint, where’s Nat?” You heard Bruce ask your father. You looked up from the book you were reading to calm your nerves while you waited for everyone to return. The spot next to your father was empty. He was on his knees showing an orange rock in his hands. He looked around the circle and his eyes landed on you. Your heart began to beat, you wondered if they could hear it in the silent room. Thud. Thud. Thud. The organ pounded against your ribcage. You saw mouths moving but their words weren’t registering to you. The room felt incredibly small. You jumped out of your chair, it fell to the ground but you didn’t bother to fix it. You took off running towards the door. By the time the New York Sun hit your face, you shifted to a husky. You felt the grass on your hands and feet as you sprinted to the dock that rested on the pound. Staring into the reflection into the water, you shifted back. Your jaw clenched as you kept the tears that threatened to fall at bay. The calmness and isolation only lasted a moment as you heard footsteps joining you. You knew who it was without looking over your shoulder. Your father knelt down next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. It was supposed to be an act of comfort but you flinched away. You stood up and leaned against a wooden post.

“Yelena was part of the Blip, right?” Tony asked, breaking the heavy silence. Your already broken heart shattered more at the mention of the blonde Black Widow. You felt sick.

“Yeah,” You said, finding your voice. It was shaky. You cleared your throat and hugged yourself. Your father was standing now, looking down at the wooden deck. Bruce was looking out towards the water as Steve and Tony were sitting on the bench. The God of Thunder was the only one not standing still. He was pacing. “Alexei and Melina are in St. Petersburg. We’ll or I’ll tell them.” You spoke with the Black Widow’s adoptive family a handful of times. Natasha tried to call them every once in a while to settle their nerves. But you knew the Russian needed a reminder of family, someone other than you. Thor stopped pacing and looked at you.

“What?” He questioned. You hummed questionably. “What are you doing?” The question directed at you got the attention of your father. The god closed the distance between you. You scrunched your nose as he reeked of alcohol. “You're acting like she’s dead. Why are we acting like she’s dead?” He asked, facing the group. “We have the stones, right? As long as we have the stones we can bring her back.” He faced you again. “Stop this shit. We are the Avengers.” He took another step towards you. If your back wasn’t already against a pole, you would have moved back to create more space between you and the God. “Get it together.”

“Step away from my kid.” Clint said. The God held your gaze. “We can’t bring her back.” Thor finally looked away from you and towards your father. “It can’t be undone.” You looked down at the dock. “It can’t.” Thor laughed.

“No offense but you are all very earthly beings, okay, and we’re talking about space magic and can’t seems very definitive. Don’t you think so?” You closed your eyes as they burned with unshed tears.

“Look I know that I’m way outside my pay grade here but she still isn’t here, is she?” Clint yelled. “It can’t be undone or that’s at least what the red, floating guy had to say. Maybe you wanna go talk to him, okay? Go grab your hammer and you go fly and you go talk to him.” He paused. You glanced up, looking at your family. Steve had a few tears running down his cheeks. Bruce ripped off a bench and threw it across the water. “It was supposed to be me.” Your head snapped to look at your father. He looked at anything and everything besides you. But you could see the tears in his eyes. “It should have been me.” He confessed again, this time looking at you. You were going to be sick. “She sacrificed herself for those goddamn stones. She put her life on it. We have to make it count.”

“We will.” Steve said.

“Wait,” you said, holding your hands up. “Are we going to gloss over the fact that he just said he was going to sacrifice himself for that stupid rock?” No one said anything.

“Y/n.” Clint said, slowly taking a step towards you.

“No,” You said, putting your hand up. “I am this close to losing my mind.” You rubbed your hands against your face. “For 5 years I was with her. I watched her mourn for Wanda, for Vision, for everyone.” You yelled. “I watched as she tried to keep the world together.” You looked at your father. “As she tried to bring you home.” You pointed to him. “And none of you were there.” You closed your eyes as your lips trembled. You knew it was unfair to spill these words at them. They all dealt with the Blip in their own way. But you were hurting and in pain and the one person that you were able to turn to for 5 years wasn’t there. You opened your eyes. “So yeah we’ll bring everyone back. But the one person who wanted it more than anything won’t be here to see it.”

You sat in your room while the others came up with the last touches on the plan to bring everyone back. You were resting your back against the headboard with a few polaroids you had taken over the years. They mostly consisted of you and Natasha making a mess in the kitchen. “Why did you leave us all behind?” You asked the photos. You didn’t know how to say goodbye to someone you’ve known your whole life. There was so much you wanted to say but there was no time.

“Knock, knock,” Your door opened and you watched as Steve came in, closing the door behind him. He sat on the edge of your bed. Steve was the only ‘non-active’ member of the team you saw constantly.

“I didn’t say you could come in.” You deadpanned, not looking away from the photos.

“No, but we both no you can’t say no to this face.” He managed to pull a smile out of you and you rolled your eyes. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not fair.” You finally whispered. “It’s not fair they both had to go there because no matter what I’d be losing someone I cared about.” You looked up at him. “She was my life line.” You hated the usage of ‘was’.

“And you were her’s.”

“How do I tell Yelena or Wanda?” You asked. “How do I look them in the eye and explain to them it was either her or my father?” Steve sighed.

“I don’t know, kid.” He answered honestly. “But you won’t have to do it alone.” Alone? You had the two things that you and Natasha dreamt about for 5 years, a way to rewrite the loss and the compound full of people. But she wasn’t here to see it. Your door opened and your father stepped in.

“Tony and Bruce finished the gauntlet,” he said. “Just waiting on you Cap.” Steve nodded and stood up. Clint took Captain America’s spot. The air in your room became suffocating. “I’m sorry.” He said. You looked at the man in front of you. He has changed so much since the last time you saw him.

“Sorry about what?” You questioned.

“I’m sorry I’m sitting here and she’s not.” Your jaw clenched as anger swept through you.

“That’s not -” You let out a shaky breath to calm your nerves. “Let’s just bring everyone back.” You stood up from your bed before putting a random photo into your pocket. It was one of Natasha decorating Christmas cookies and she was covered in flour. You left your room not even looking back at your father.

You walked into Tony’s lab while Bruce was walking over to the gauntlet as it rested on the table. “You saw what those stones did to Thanos.” He said, his voice was surprisingly calm. “They almost killed him. None of you could survive that.”

“How do we know you will?” You asked, making your presence known. Bruce picked it up and looked at you.

“We don’t.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. You ignored the look from your father. “But the radiation is mostly gamma.” He continued. “It was like I was made for this.” The Avengers looked around the room at one another as no one said anything to talk Bruce out of it. You bite your lip, keeping the snarky comments at bay. You needed all of them together, not fighting against each other because you were pissed off.

“Alright,” Tony said. “Remember everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago, you're just bringing them back now.” he gestured to the room. “Today. Don’t change anything from the last five years.”

“Got it.” He said, looking at the stones. You didn’t like this. A knot formed in your stomach. Everyone formed a circle around the doctor. Thor pushed Rocket behind him. Rhodey and Scott activated their helmet. Steve motioned for you to join him, the super soldier covered you with his shield. He gave you a reassuring smile but you couldn’t return it, you were too focused on Bruce.

“FRIDAY,” Tony said, activating his own suit and producing a shield to cover him and your father. “Do me a favor and activate the Barn Door Protocol, will you?”

“Yes boss.” The AI answered. You looked around as the glass roof was blocked by an additional metal roof. The same metal material covered the windows of the lab. You gulped and grabbed onto Steve’s arm.

“Everybody comes home.” Bruce said, putting it on. As soon as the gauntlet formed around his hand, the stones powered up. A surge of electricity ran through his arm and he fell to his knees with a pained groan.

“Take it off. Take it off.” Thor pleaded. Steve held up his hand.

“No wait,” he said. “Bruce, are you okay?” He didn’t answer as he was groaning in pain. Your eyes widened.

“Talk to me, Banner.” Tony said. He nodded.

“I’m okay,” he did not look okay. He looked the opposite of okay. “I’m okay.” He said again. You weren’t sure if he was trying to reassure everyone or himself. He yelled as he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Bruce fell onto his back as the gauntlet came off. You and your father were the first to move. Clint kicked the stones away from Bruce as you fell to your knees next to him. His arm was badly burned.

“No one move him.” Tony said. He used his suit to spray some sort of cooling spray onto Bruce’s arm. Bruce grabbed your arm with his non-injured hand. At any other time you would be worried if the Hulk grabbed onto you but it was different. You put your hand on his.

“Did it work?” Bruce asked.

“We’re not sure,” Thor said. “It’s okay.” You watched as the windows opened and Scott walked out. Birds chirping filled the quietness. That quietness was broken as you and your father’s phone went off. You stood up, walked away from the group and pulled out your cell phone and gasped. “Lila,” you said, answering the phone. You vaguely heard your father answer his phone with a soft, “Honey.”

“Y/n? Where are you? What is going on? I don’t understand.” She asked.

“Guys,” Scott said. “I think it worked.” You blocked out your sister’s rambling as the sun shining down was blocked. The hairs on your neck stood up.

“Take cover!” You yelled but it was too late. The blast sent you flying and the world went dark.

Your ears were ringing as your exhausted body slumped to the ground. The ruins of the compound were settling. Thanos was gone. Everyone was back and on paper you’ve won. But there was an ache in your chest as you watched Shuri work on Tony, trying to save him. You pulled out the picture from your pocket. The edges were ripped and it was covered in dirt but you didn’t care. You heard your name. It was distant and echoed as if you were sinking underwater. “Y/n!” It was much clever now as you looked up and saw Wanda running over to you. You didn’t have time to process it as she threw herself into your arms. You let out a pained groan. “I’m sorry.” She said, letting you go but she cupped your face in her hands. “Five years.” She said, “Strange said it’s been 5 years.”

“Wanda.” You said slowly.

“I don’t believe it. I don’t understand. We were here on second and it felt like no time passed.” You said your friend’s name again but it didn’t cut through her rambling. “Natasha. I need to find her.” The mention of your godmother’s name almost broke the dam you’ve been trying to keep up.

“Wanda.” You said a little bit louder. The urgency in your voice stopped the rambling. Your voice got the attention of Clint and Steve and they talked over to you.

“Where is Nat?” She asked. You looked down and removed one of her hands from your face to your temple. Her fingers began to glow and you felt her magic but she still waited for your consent. You nodded as her magic entered your memories. You showed her everything. The hundreds of movie marathons you had, late night meetings, and the days you found the Black Widow training to the brink of exhaustion so she couldn’t dream of the Battle of Wakanda. You showed her every laugh and every tear shed. Finally, you showed her when your father returned without her girlfriend by his side. She pulled back her magic and clutched her hand to her chest. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered. “She can’t be gone.” You pulled her into a tight hug as you felt her tears against your skin and her hands twisted in the fabric of your shirt. You closed your eyes.

I’ll make sure she’s alright, you promised.

A week. That was how long everyone decided to regroup back at Tony’s cabin to have a small service for those lost. It gave everyone enough time to regroup with their loved ones and heal from their wounds, especially Tony who survived because of the Wakandans. So you sat in the back of the car, head resting on the window as Clint drove back to the farm. Wanda was in the front seat. Clint insisted on her staying at the farm, you wondered if his guilt was eating at him. Soon the two story building you haven’t called home began to appear. The sound of the approaching vehicle alerted your mom and siblings as the front door opened and they came running out. Your father parked the car and turned it off. Once again, their voices were distorted. You vaguely heard Wanda say, “I got her.” It was your only warning before she opened your door. Her cheeks were still stained with tears and the smile she was wearing was forced. You wondered why you haven’t cried. You felt the tears but they wouldn’t fall. You felt numb. Crying for her made it real. “Hey,” Wanda said softly. “Your mom really wants to see you.” You looked over her shoulder and saw the tearful reunion between Clint and Laura. Natasha never told you in detail the crimes he committed as the Ronin. But you knew the blood shed had to be intense. You remembered one night sneaking out of your room to find Natasha at her desk trying to pinpoint a lead on where your father was. She had photos of bodies left behind. “Malen’kiy yastreb (little hawk).” Natasha’s nickname for you snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked at the Solovkian. Her faced showed the pained expression as she ventured into your mind. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head, closing your mind to her.

“No.” You said. There was too much going on for you to unload something else onto her. You got out of the car and mindlessly walked over to your family with Wanda close behind. Lila was the first to see you coming and broke away from everyone into a sprint. You caught her in your arms and fell to the ground. “I’ve missed you so much.” You whispered.

“I thought you were dead,” she said. “When I heard that explosion on the phone, I thought the worst.” You squeezed her tighter. You could feel her heartbeat against yours, it was erratic. You slowed down your own breathing so she could match yours. Her heart calmed down.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” You promised. You watched as your mom walked over to you, silent tears on her face. You let go of your sister, who went to hug Wanda.

“My baby girl,” She said. “You’ve grown up.” You stood up, folding your hands in front of you.

“5 years.” You said. “A lot happens in that time.” Laura let out a small sop and brought you into a hug.

“I’m so sorry.” You tensed up in her arms. She wasn’t the one you wanted an apology from. Once she let go of you, you gave a big hug to Cooper.

“Where is Aunty Nat?” Nathaniel asked, as you knelt down to his level to give him a hug. Your stomach dropped.

“Let’s go inside.” Clint said. You stood up as everyone headed inside. Your father had his arms around your siblings and Wanda was holding onto your mom like a lifeline. You looked up at the blue sky.

“How do I say goodbye?” You asked. “You gave Natheniel his name and you always saw what’s best in me.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

You stepped into your room, drying your hair with a towel. A shower was desperately needed after you caught up the rest of your family on what happened in the years they missed. You kept it PG, not wanting you siblings to learn who their father became. You were going to leave it to him to tell his wife. To your surprise Wanda fell asleep on the couch. You wrapped a blanket around her. Clint wanted to spend time together as a family but you wanted to be alone. You laid down on your bed, hair still wet but you didn’t care. It was weird. For 5 years, all you wanted was for people to be around but now that they were back you wanted to retreat. You wanted to crawl back into the bubble you created. You closed your eyes, hoping that you could dream away the past 10 hours. But the shrill sound of your phone ringing caused you to open your eyes. You were surprised it survived the fight but STARK INDUSTRIES made the best for a reason. You let it go to voicemail, it was probably an old school friend from school but you didn’t have the energy to deal with them. But your phone rang again. With a sigh, you stood up and grabbed your phone.

“Fuck,” You mumbled falling back onto your bed as you read Yelena’s name on the caller ID. Clearing your dry throat, you answered the call. “Yelena, hi.” Your voice was surprisingly steady.

“Where is she?” She asked. She sounded on the verge of tears. “Where is Natalia?”

“Why don’t you come to Iowa?” You countered. You knew it was best for this conversation to happen in person. It also allowed Yelena to not be alone.

“Iowa.” She said, slowly. “Is my sister in Iowa?”

“Well no but -”

“Then I won’t be going to Iowa.” She cut you off. The anger was replacing the tears. “So, where is she?” You took a steady breath. Your heart was beating in your chest again. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“She’s gone.” You said. “She’s dead. Natasha sacrificed herself to bring everyone back.” You explained everything to her. Staring with Thanos and his radical idea and how he planned to accomplish it. The battle at Wakanda and how the Avengers lost, resulting in half of the population losing 5 years. She didn’t say anything and half the time you thought she hung up but you heard her breathing. “We are having a service for her and a few others in a week. I can send you the address.” She still remained silent. “Yelena, please say something.”

“You got so much time with her.” You nodded even though she couldn’t see it.

“I know and I’m so sorry. I’m here for you.” She laughed bitterly.

“That’s not going to bring her back.”

“Yelena -” The line went dead. You redialed her number but the call went straight to voicemail. “Dammit.” You slammed your hand against your bed. Your room became suffocating, claustrophobic. Your lungs didn’t want to take in oxygen. You jumped off your bed and ran out of your room.

“Y/n.” Clint said as you ran past him. The commotion woke up Wanda but you didn’t care. You kept running until you reached the barn and fell to your knees. The dam was breaking. You could see the cracks forming and your breathing was erratic. Bile was moving up your throat. You were going to be sick.

“Sweetheart,” Your mom’s voice was breaking through the fog. You felt her hand on your back slowly drawing circles. “Breathe for me. In and out. In and out.” You copied her and soon your breathing evened out. You sat back, pulling your knees to your chest.

“Yelena called me.” You said. “I had to tell her that the sister she just got back is gone.” You shook your head. “It’s not fair. It’s-” You stopped yourself.

“You have to let it out.” She said, “Holding it in is going to make it worse.” You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell her what you were feeling because you didn’t know. Everything was all mixed up. “He told me.” You looked up into your mother’s eyes. “Your father. He told me what happened, all those years we were gone.” Ronin. It was the name given to him as he took justice in his own hands. Ronin. Ronin. Ronin. “Say what you need to say.”

“I want her back. But if I say that does that mean I wish my dad was the one to go?” You cleared your throat. “I don’t know how to say goodbye to her and I’m scared of what life is going to be like without her. She was all I had for 5 years and now.” You looked down. “And now she’s gone. She’s gone, mom. Why does she have to be gone?” Something inside you snapped. The dam broke and you cried. Laura caught you in her arms and held you tight as you sobbed. “How could she leave us all behind?”

The week leading up to the service flew by. You lived in a blur, things were just happening around you as you cared for those around you. You were a shoulder to cry on for Wanda and read stories to Nathaniel when his dreams haunted him. When sleep evaded you, you found Clint nursing some bourbon in the kitchen. You joined him, not speaking to one another. It was exhausting, this weird dance you were playing with him.

You were sitting on the porch, looking up at the night stairs. You were leaving for New York in the morning and you needed sleep but it was evading you. You wrapped the blanket tighter around you. Late night talks under the night stars were some of your favorite memories with Natasha. You learned quickly that the Black Widow didn’t know where the constellations were and the stories behind them. It made you feel special that you knew something that your godmother didn’t. So you began to show them to her and tell their stories. “Mind if I join you?” You yelped at the sudden voice and stared at the blonde Russian standing in front of you.

“Yelena,” You knew she asked you a question. She was waiting for your permission but your brain was trying to register her sudden appearance. “Yeah, of course.” She sat down next to you, rubbing her hands together. You gave her some of the blanket. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you know where I live.” She gave you a sad smile.

“Natasha gave me the address before I left the compound. She said,” her voice cracked. “She said I’d always be welcomed here, that I’d be safe.”

“She was right.” You sat in silence, allowing the gentle breeze and the crickets to tell their story. Yelena was looking up at the stars, dark circles under her eyes. “I was worried about you.” You finally said. “I tried calling you but the call went straight to voicemail.” She nodded.

“I broke my phone. I got a new one with a new number.” You laughed.

“That would make sense.” You watched as the Russian smile. “She talked about you all the time.” You watched as her shoulders tense up. “She was so proud of you. She loved you so much and just wanted you to be safe.” In the moonlight you saw tears leaving her eyes and running down her cheeks.

“It shouldn’t have gone this way. If I was there, I could have stopped it. I could have..I could have changed it.”

“Nothing was going to stop her, Yelena. You know Natasha.” She let out a soft sob, bringing her closed fist to her mouth. You’ve had the same thoughts. What if you conceived the team to be a part of the time heist? Could you have stopped her? “She made her choice.” You said to her echoing the same words your mom and father said to you. “We’re gonna have to find a way to live with it.”

“I loved her so much.” She confessed, looking at you. You nodded.

“Me too.” You whispered, smiling at her. “Me too.” Yelena shivered as a gust of wind blew through. “Come on.” You said, standing up and holding out her hand. “Stay the night. Please.” She hesitated but took your hand and got to her feet. You brought her inside. “We have a full house but uh you can bunk with me or you can have my room and I can sleep on the couch or..”

“The couch is fine.” She said, cutting you off with a smile.

“Right.” You blushed. “I’m upstairs, first door on your left. Come get me if you need anything.” She nodded. Without thinking, you grabbed her hand again. She looked down at your connected hands. “Anything, I mean it.” You squeezed her hand. “Good night Yelena.”

“Goodnight Y/n.” You let go of her hand and walked upstairs to your room. You were surprised to feel a weight lifted off your chest as you climbed into bed. Finally sleep came easy for you.

A gently knock woke you up. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and walked over to your door. Once again you were surprised to see Yelena standing there. Her cheeks were stained with fresh tears. You pulled the emotional Black Widow into your room and down onto your bed. “Nightmare?” She didn’t have to answer for you to know. “I’m pretty cold.” You said. “I can’t really sleep when I’m cold. Can you sleep in here tonight?” You pulled your sheets back. You had a queen size bed so you had the space. The entire time Yelena was watching you carefully. You sighed. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know.” She whispered. You nodded.

“We both need sleep.” You said, climbing under the covers. “The choice is yours obviously but here you're safe.” You laid down and closed your eyes.

Yelena stared at your sleeping form, extremely conflicted on the emotions running through her. She woke up from a nightmare she’s had before but when she woke up, a scream almost left her lips, you were her first thought. A stranger. Someone she barely knew. But she felt safe and at a sense of peace. Natasha was right, Bartons were a unique group of people. Natalie. Yelena bit her lip and rubbed the tears out of her eyes. She missed her sister so much. The Russian crawled underneath your blanket. She was surprised how warm you were, it lured her into a dreamless sleep.

The service was exhausting. Everyone said kind words about Natasha, Vision, and everyone that gave their lives to protect the world. You were more focused on Yelena during the entire service, who barely said a word. As it came to a close, you were standing with Bruce at the time machine. He was getting it ready to send someone to bring the stones back. “Let me be the one to put the stones back.” His head snapped to look at you, you were surprised it didn’t give him whiplash.

“Are you insane?” He asked. “Your father would kill me if we sent you back.” You rolled your eyes at the doctor. Your father was a lot of things but there was no way he’d be able to take on the Hulk.

“Bruce, please, I want to help. I didn’t do anything last time and -” Your voice trailed off. Bruce gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

“I get it kid. But it’s far too dangerous.” You sighed, knowing he was right.

“Who's going then?” He gestured over your shoulder and you turned around. Steve changed out of his suit and into his Captain America uniform. He had a small briefcase in one hand and his shield in the other. He was talking with Wanda and Yelena. You were too far to hear what they were saying but whatever Steve said made them smile. It was nice to see. After the service, you watched as your father, Yelena, and Wanda walked by the water’s edge. You wanted to give them some space so that’s how you ended up with Bruce.

“I tried to bring her back.” He said. You looked back at him, he was tinkering with the machine. He could only use one arm as the arm he used to snap was in a sling. “When I had the gauntlet and the stones I thought I could bring her back.” He shrugged. You weren’t sure how to respond as you knew the relationship between the doctor and Black Widow was complicated. “I miss her.” You could relate to that.

“Yeah, I miss her too.”

“Everything all set?” Steve asked, walking up next to you. In place of his shield, he was holding Mjolnir. The sound of leaves crunching behind you was the indication that people were walking behind you, a quick glance and you saw Bucky and Sam. Sam was holding onto Steve’s shield.

“All set Cap.” Before he moved onto the platform, you grabbed onto his arm.

“What are you doing?” You asked. He gave you a confused look.

“Bring the stones back.” He said simply. You let go of his arms. You didn’t believe him. Something didn’t feel right. He stepped onto the platform. You couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, it was a feeling deep in your stomach.

“Remember,” Bruce said. “You have to return the stones to the exact moment you got’em or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

“Don’t worry Bruce.” He hit his sleeve and his Captain America suit changed into the white tech suit.

“How long is this going to take? “ Sam asked. You bit your cheek. You were experiencing major deja vu and it was not a good one.

“For him, as long as he needs. For us, five seconds.” Bruce answered. “All right, we’ll meet you back here, okay?” He looked directly at you. His blue eyes looking onto yours. With a smile, he nodded his head.

“You bet.” His helmet went on.

“Going quantum in three…” Your heart started to beat. “Two.” You couldn’t lose anyone else. “One.” Steve disappeared. You held your breath. “And returning in five, four, three, two, one.” Bruce turned a switch. You heard it click but the platform was empty. You looked at Bruce who was looking at a small screen. Where is he? Panic started to spread through you.

“Where is he?” Sam asked. “I’m not sure.” You couldn’t do this again. Natasha. Vision. Hell you almost lost Tony.

“Well bring him the hell back.” Bruce pressed a few buttons and the machine came back to life. It was as if you blinked because the empty platform had two figures on it both wearing the white tech suits. You knew one was Steve as his helmet disappeared and you heard Sam and Bucky yelling at him for making them worry. But your attention was on whoever Steve brought back. Their helmet disappeared and you gasped.

“Natasha.”

________

Did we notice some moments from Hawkeye? So you may be asking yourself, Arlana does the TV series Hawkeye happen in this AU? The answer is yes and I will be writing it for one of my Christmas one shots!

Hope you enjoyed this. If you like my writing and want to support me buy me a coffee.

#The Adventure of Y/N Barton and Yelena Belova #yelena belova #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #black widow fanfiction #black widow one shot #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #wanda maximoff #wandanat #Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #marvel fix it

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needleanddead · 3 years ago

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remember when i was like ‘i will probably use this blog to write some horrible reader-insert fanfiction too’? yeah.

knife-edge, strade x reader, 3.2k

trigger warnings: not sfw, non-con, blood, violence, gore, references to torture/snuff films, honestly i figure you probably know what you’re getting into if you’re seeing this. reader uses no pronouns/neutral pronouns but is vaguely implied to be afab.

cross-posted to ao3

You do not know how you still have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg.

Well.

That’s a lie, really; you have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg, because you know that the moment you stop – the moment you let yourself truly succumb to that pit of nothingness that lies heavy and waiting in your chest – he will lose interest in you completely, and you will meet the same fate as all of the rest of them do.

Despite the shock collar that lies heavy around your throat; the proof that he had seen some value in you beyond what you might feel like if he tore you into pieces and let you rot, you know that any peace you have here is temporary. He’ll get bored. He’ll lose control. He’ll--

Sometimes you wonder if those things might be better. The idea of death hovers at the edges of your vision like a spectre, waiting for you – and you are a coward and you run from it, whimpering and sensitive with tears rolling down your cheeks whenever he takes you back down the creaking basement stairs and wraps rope around already rubbed-raw wrists.

You don’t think you’d recognise the sight of your own wrists without the rope burn any more. It seems so long since you’ve been anything other than captive. You’re not sure you even know who you are unless you have a blade half-buried in your thigh or thick fingers digging and reopening wounds or pliers too close to vulnerable flesh.

You think he likes that, too – that you don’t seem to exist unless you’re hurting. Delights that he’s broken you without breaking the part of you that he really likes; the one with the trembling lip and the gasping and the tears beading in your eyes. You beg less now; you have learnt that he’s always able to turn a ‘please, please don’t, not that--’ into something that’s somehow worse. But when you’d first woken up all rope-burnt and disoriented with your arms wrapped around a pole in a basement that smelt like copper and oil, you had begged until your throat was sore.

What you had gotten for your troubles was your own hand wrapped around the knife handle as you sliced into too soft, too giving flesh and stared in horror at bubbling rivulets of blood with the dim thought in the back of your mind; I did this to myself.

It’s a dangerous knife-edge that you’re walking; don’t fight too much, but don’t give in too much. Don’t break, but don’t entirely yield. If he gets bored of you, or if you push him too far – then the collar around your neck will be carefully unlocked and you’ll regret everything. You’ll meet the fate that you so narrowly avoided, bleeding and broken and disoriented as your life slips away to the tune of Strade’s fingers wrapped too hard about your throat.

Or worse, you’ll meet the fate you’ve seen some of the ones who have broken too early become acquainted with; bandana wrapped around his mouth and camera painstakingly readjusted to perfectly centre a sobbing, terrified face. You have been far too close to the ones who end up that way; brought down to the basement and given a nail gun as you’re shoved onto your knees in front of a girl who might once have been pretty but is a little too matted with blood and bruises to be called the same any more.

“I thought they might like to see someone else hurt her this time, schatzi,” his smile had not dimmed a watt. When you had first met him, that smile had put you at ease; his eyes had reminded you of honey, and you’d been so flattered, so warmed, to have the attention of someone who oozed easy charm--

You know now his eyes are not the soft amber of honey but the sharp yellow-orange of a hawk; a predator. When he had smiled at you, he had not been thinking of the kindness of making someone feel comfortable – he had merely been imagining how prettily you would break. Which, as he had not failed to tell you after you’d sobbed out every plea you could and had jagged stitches and broken bones and blood crusted on your face to prove it, had been even more lovely than he had imagined.

The nail gun had been too heavy in your hand; the trigger sweaty, because Strade himself was over-excited and flushed dark pink under tanned skin and excitement beading at his brow. Your fingers had slipped all over it as he’d murmured;

“They want you to put a pretty pattern in her up her shins to her knees. Start at the . . . haa, start at the ankle--”

You’d felt something inside of you snap as if it was very far away as you stared at her legs; already cut up a little and stitched messily, as Strade is so wont to do to make sure his captives last longer. You hesitate too long, because suddenly thick, strong fingers are gripping your jaw and squeezing too hard as they turn your face towards the camera like a rabbit caught in headlights.

His fingers will bruise your face, you know – and he will see it tomorrow, and dig them harder, make the bruises deeper until you can barely open your jaw--

“Ah, they think you’re cute, mäuschen,” Strade says, an uncomfortable lilt in his voice that sets your teeth on edge. “They’d be happy to see you as the star instead – and I’m sure our other guest would much prefer it too.”

(The girl in the chair leans forward, babbling words that don’t make sense; bubbling drool slips from her lips, tinged pink, and you think that this one must have talked too much and Strade has done something to her tongue).

“Now,” his tone is endlessly patient. “You know I want to keep you, ja? You’re very sweet. I like you a lot - so be good and do what the audience want, and I won’t have to do something I don’t want to, will I?”

He is hard to read. Cheerful to angry in moments; snapping and bouncing from side to side with a laugh and a wild light in his eyes that you don’t understand. He does like you – insofar as you think Strade is capable of really feeling for other people – but you can’t wager your life on him bluffing. The girl looks at you with agonised eyes and you pull the trigger, the nose of the gun pressed against her ankle.

You hear her scream – wet, through a throat clogged with blood, the sound mixing with the disgusting crunch-squelch of the nail being driven into her skin too close to the bone – and it echoes far longer in your head than it actually lasts. You feel far away as you trail the gun further up her leg, pulling the trigger, your marks on her surprisingly straight considering how much the both of you are trembling – but you know you’re crying because you can hear Strade breathing a little heavy, see the bulge in his pants (level with your face) from the corner of your eye as you finish the first leg and move to the second.

It’s not the last time he makes you hurt someone on stream. Sometimes, he checks the stream whilst you’re there and whichever poor soul he’s got taped to a chair whimpers and squirms, whistling cheerily through his teeth as if the situation is perfectly normal. You see the comments as they scroll by; asking you to do horrible things, the ping of donations, the occasional plea to dig a screwdriver into your eye socket and make you scream or pull out your teeth with pliers or slash a heavy knife through your ribcage and fuck the wound he leaves there--

You think he lets you see them on purpose, as a reminder of what he could do to you. He always makes sure the stream sees your face perfectly clearly, too – and you never fail to think; ‘he is making me an accessory to his murders’.

(It is not just you; you find out that Ren is subjected to this same treatment, this same reminder that Strade’s moods are volatile and he loses self-control too quickly and there’s every chance that one day, he will go too far. You do not share your thoughts with Ren that even if, by some miracle, the two of you found yourself outside of Strade’s control, your face is probably plastered all over the darkest shadows of the deep web. You never talk about what might happen. You do not quite trust each other beyond sharing in patching up each other’s wounds, occasionally seeking one another out for company, trembling in the night. There is a kind of tension between you; fear that the other is the favourite. That Strade perhaps isn’t capable of keeping both of you long-term.

It makes Strade himself laugh when he sees that you’re on edge around each other and he leans forward to rest elbows on knees and tells you with a wicked glint in his eye that he just wants the both of you to get along. Perhaps you two need to share something very special, like what he shares with the both of you.

When he tells you to hurt one another, Ren has the advantage of animal nature. It’s clear to you where you stand in the pecking order of predators. You think, too, that Strade prefers you there. Master, fox, mouse.)

You never hear anything from the room designated as yours; it doesn’t escape notice that there is no other bedroom, aside from Ren’s domain and the one that Strade himself barely uses. Nowhere for someone else, if Strade were to take it into his head that another captive would be an interesting pet to keep--

It has been long enough that there are some things you have asked for, tremulous and whimpering, decorating surfaces and scattered about the room. There are also reminders of Strade, too; a hammer and nails on a chest of drawers, a knife in the bedside cabinet, too many things that could be used as weapons at the same time as being summarily excused as simply the detritus of a man doing home improvements.

You’d woken up that morning (you know it is morning because early fingers of dawn have penetrated even through the curtains you keep closed) to see Strade silhouetted in the doorway, smile on his face, shirt spattered with dark red and brown. You know that expression. You sit up, letting the covers fall, and he keeps smiling as he closes the door behind him and approaches you like a wolf approaches a frightened rabbit.

“Last night was disappointing,” he says, his tone light. You’d heard a thump in the middle of the night; assumed it to be Strade dragging a body down to the basement, and had resolutely buried your face into your pillow and pretended you heard nothing.

It’s easier to think of Strade’s other victims – the ones not so lucky as you or Ren – as faceless, foolish creatures. Food. Sustenance. Not people.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, cracking. Strade reaches across and chucks your chin, too fondly, bright smile and bright eyes.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. He’s pleased with the apology. He likes it when you’re polite. “It just means that I’m feeling a little . . . ahh. Restless. You’ll help me with that, won’t you?”

“Of c-course I will.” The stutter; he likes that, you know. He shifts as he sits on the bed.

A chuckle.

“You’re always so well-behaved,” he tells you. “sehr süß.”

The knife-edge you walk; the tight-rope. Well-behaved, but not broken. Responsive, but not troublesome. You’ve gotten it down to a fine art.

He’s on top of you before you can respond, knees shoved between your legs, your hand shoved hard against the bedside table so it knocks uncomfortably against hard wood and you flinch at the shock of pain.

The brief pain, though, is nothing to the anxiety that crawls up your throat as you realise he grabbed the hammer and nails as he walked in.

He chuckles as he sees your eyes widen in fear, cooing softly to you;

“That expression. So hübsch. Stay still for me.”

Your wrist is shaking as Strade carefully places a nail right in the centre of your hand; testing the angle, the positioning. His breath is uneven and panting in excitement at what he’s going to do – and excitement, too, that he knows you won’t pull away. Because you know if you do, it will not merely be a nail through one hand, but perhaps through your other and your knees and your feet, perhaps a knife slicing through you like butter, perhaps the feel of chisels and needles and sharper and more painful objects (knife, pliers, screwdriver, chisel, bradawl, drill--).

He lifts the hammer. He watches intently. His eyes are lit with bright excitement, chest heaving, sweat-soaked and greasy. You taste copper and realise you’ve bitten through your lip.

You’ve grown used to the smell of copper and motor oil and meat. If it weren’t for the flood of blood across your tongue you doubt you’d have noticed.

Crack. The first blow. The pain is blinding.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Every single hit of the hammer sends a new shock of pain through you that echoes through the inside of your arm through to the bone marrow, shaking you. It’s not the most painful thing you’ve felt at Strade’s hands; but you are still partly asleep, still not quite aware, and you are simply looking at your hand with the crunch of fractured bones (twenty seven bones in the human hand; is that your capitate, that’s been splintered through?) and the sick wet noise of blood and muscle and you can’t think.

You stare, unblinking, at where your hand is nailed to the bedside table - the gore and blood that oozes from the wound as he uses the clawed end of the hammer to drag it out again. Strade’s smile is beatific, eyes wide and bright, sweat dampening his collar and his cheeks flushed and ruddy.

You’re unable to process anything for another long, agonising second; relief flooding you when finally, you respond. The whimper a delayed reaction, the tears that roll fat and hot down your own face taking a beat longer than usual.

You fear that you’ve broken for the moment you’re staring in horror; that he has finally, well and truly snapped you in half. Because if you’re broken, that means he’ll lose interest, and that means the basement and the fear of death finally catching up with you.

Occasionally the thought flits across your mind that death perhaps would be preferable; but you are a coward, and you have hurt people (even if it was on Strade’s command), and you do not want to know what awaits you on the other side of a non-beating heart and the light in a tunnel.

Strade chuckles, affectionately rubbing his nose against the line of your jaw, teeth digging just a little too hard into the flesh of your neck.

“You had me worried for a second, mäuschen,” he practically purrs. “I thought I’d heard the last of your squeaking.” Big fingers, tugging at your thighs, guiding you to wrap them around his hips. Despite the softness of his body, the proof that he enjoys lazing around and cheap beer and meat a little too much, there’s raw muscle beneath the chub. Even his hands on you are a reminder of how strong he is.

(Strong enough to drag dead bodies across floors, to lift them into kilns, to hold down unwilling, screaming captives and make them regret they ever laid eyes on him.)

“Unzip,” he tells you. One of your hands is free; unpierced, though scarred from being pressed against stove burned and soldering irons and heat guns, from grabbing the blade of a knife when he’s told you to fuck yourself with the handle, from sanders applied to formerly soft skin. You do not use that hand.

You force yourself to move the one dripping in your own blood, the ruined hand pierced straight through. The movement of your fingers burns, sending shock waves of pain all through you; but you tug at the zip of his pants nonetheless. You get blood all over his clothes but he just chuckles low and dangerous, as you reach into his underwear too and squeeze your eyes shut when you feel how hot and hard and heavy his cock is in your grip.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you, soft, and you force yourself to open them. He drinks in the expression on your face like he’s a starved man and it’s his first meal.

There’s a bloody handprint on his shaft when your fingers and wrist finally give out and your hand falls onto the sheets and pillows beneath you, staining them too, and you think that Strade is going to drive more nails through your hand just to prove a point about not doing as he says.

But his cock presses hot and needy against your inner thigh, smearing blood and pre-come on your scarred skin, and he’s panting and practically drooling as he murmurs;

“You know you’re not going to break, schatz. You want to live too much.” He leans his face further down. He does not kiss you so much as take control of you; worry teeth into your bottom lip, transfer his own saliva into your mouth, conquer the cavern behind your lips and teeth (one of them is loose; from being hit and squeezed. He pushes his tongue just a little too hard against that one and your body contracts, a whimper transferred from your throat to his mouth, and he swallows it up like your protests are a fine steak). “Ah. That’s what I like about you.”

Are you going to break? The push of him pressing inside of you makes your toes curl, a soft noise that might be a moan escape; Strade laughs, again, the sound too hearty and friendly to come out of the monster that you know he is.

“You like it,” he presses, as his thumbs come to your hips and dig into wounds that have been stitched together; you hear the stitches pop, feel him re-open barely healed gashes. “You like being special to me. You like this.”

You don’t think you do.

You don’t think you like any of this; his body on top of yours, the pain, the mistrust, the fear that prickles hot and sharp and sour in your throat whenever you hear the door (the one you can’t go near) open. But you also know that saying that is the wrong answer. Hitting and screaming like a wildcat is the wrong answer. Saying nothing at all is the wrong answer.

So instead, you open your mouth, you shiver and shudder as his thumb presses deeper into the re-opened wound, and you manage to choke out a mouse-squeak of;

“Pl-please—”

It’s the right answer. His face does not soften; but his smile widens, his hips tilting until you’re so full you can barely move and you ache everywhere, and Strade simply smiles down at you as whatever passes for affection for him leaks into his tone and he coos;

“Don’t worry, mäuschen. I’ll give you exactly what you want. For as long as you need.”

[german translation dictionary; schatzi - sweetheart/dear/darling/treasure mäuschen - little mouse sehr süß - very sweet/very cute so hübsch - so pretty idk how accurate these are i am just using google translate always]

#strade x reader #strade x you #btd strade #reader-insert #not sfw #non con tw #gore tw #torture tw #i think this is the nastiest thing i've written but it's probably just gonna get worse #🦇 pip writes #i had to delete a lot of old fics from an old ao3 for this so it wasnt in the same place as my other reader-inserts dfvnnjbgf

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wwilloww · 5 years ago

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you’ve got a friend in me | knj

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Smut

Rating: Explicit

WC: 3k

Summary: Your best friend and roommate proposes an interesting idea to decrease both of your stress levels.

Warnings: Super awkward conversation. Cockwarming. Cockwarming that turns into sex. A sprinkling of dirty talk. Cumshot. Cum eating. Cuddling.

A/N: Thank you to @kinktae for the title and to @ot7always for thirsting with me the other night and inspiring this story into being. Also this piece was written with two glasses of wine and is largely unedited. So proceed at your own risk of grammatical errors.

|| masterlist ||

YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND IN ME

You and your roommate had come to a very strange arrangement.

It had developed out of the strangest of circumstances. Two broken hearts. Finals approaching. Namjoon had lost his anxiety medication. You had been working so hard on your latest piece of research that you had ended up neglecting your entire social life.

“I think you should just put it in,” you stand, hands on your hips in the kitchen.

Namjoon is shirking in the doorframe.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You were the one who suggested it.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen. “I didn’t mean it!” he defends.

“You can’t just suggest putting your penis in my vagina and think I’ll take it as a joke! You know I take these matters very seriously!”

“Please don’t call it that,” he grimaces. “And yeah, you’re right, you do. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But you did.”

Fifteen minutes later you were sprawled on your back in Namjoon’s bed with the man himself straddling your waist.

“You could at least take your shirt off,” you suggest. He tugs it off in one go and you make a note to ask him later how he did it so gracefully. “The whole point is literally skin on skin contact.”

He starts to align himself with you before you place a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Lube, darling.”

“Why?”

“Do you think vaginas are just walking lube machines? It takes work to get all oiled up and ready to go au naturel and I don’t see you doing any of that kind of mechanical labor.”

Namjoon shrugs off of you, grunting as he leans over to the bedside drawer, grabbing an opaque bottle. He squeezes some of the liquid onto his hand and then, eyes darting up to you, very quickly strokes himself to spread the lube thickly and evenly.

Averting his eyes from you, he lines himself up and pushes in. Joon is big and because you haven’t had any preparation you wince just a little when he finally bottoms out.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, wiggling your hips to adjust. “Just, you’re really big. Give me a minute.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, doing your best to relax around him. It takes a minute, but you succeed, and finally, a gentle warmth begins to blossom out from your abdomen. When you open your eyes again Namjoon is holding himself as far away from you as possible, his arms trembling with the effort.

“This is supposed to be very good for our relationship, too,” you say, matter-of-factly, as if your best friend hasn’t just shoved his monster dick in your cunt as an act of platonic anxiety management. You take your hand and run it up his arm, beckoning him closer to you.

He feels so snug against you, his weight resting on top of you, suppressing any thought of strangeness or distraction or what you’re supposed to be doing. As you settle into the delightful comfort that is Namjoon, a yawn ripples through your body.

“Am I boring you?” Namjoon gapes. “My dick is in your--your hole, and you’re yawning?”

“Joonie!” you scold. “Unless you want me to be fucking you--like really, genuinely fucking you--I’m going to relax! And you should be as well!”

Needless to say, the first time didn’t go very well.

Two weeks later you are both done with your final projects for the semester and had journeyed out to your favorite pub, O'Reilly’s, for what was probably one too many beers and four too many tequila shots.

“I don’t think we did it right,” Namjoon blurts out as you traipse down the moonlit sidewalk, taking turns swinging around the streetlights.

“Whatcha mean?” you ask, twirling around a pole.

Namjoon laughs and steadies you as you wobble off balance, dizzy from spinning around so many times.

“The, ah, peen, vajayjay cuddle sitch.”

“Cockwarming. It’s called cockwarming, you dumbass.”

“I just mean to say I think we did it all wrong. I should be spooning you rather than on top of you. Like, for the extra cuddles.”

You search his face before speaking slowly. “Is this your way of trying to get me in bed with you?”

“Wha--no! I just genuinely think we did it wrong the first time and owe it to ourselves to try it again. And--” he grins at you. “It would make me feel reaaaaally good.” Your face flushes at his words, but you don’t say anything. “Please, just let me put it in for fifteen minutes.” He does his best impression of puppy dog eyes. “You yourself! You yourself told me that it was good for my health. Hm? Whatcha say to that?”

You laugh. “I don’t know, Joonie.”

He becomes serious. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t push you. Just say the word.”

You bite your lip, considering, even though you already know what you want. You just need to decide what’s right. “Okay,” you say sheepishly, surprised by how shy you feel in the face of your best friend.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

You peek over your phone at Namjoon as he strips down to his birthday suit as you lay popped up on his pillows.

“Aren’t you going to take your clothes off?” he says, standing fully nude at the foot of the bed. Your eyes trail down his planed chest, trying not to linger too long on the supple definition of his pecs, or the way his skin seems to glow beneath the dim light--and definitely not trying to dawdle on the way his cock is already standing at attention, a thick vein tracking up the underside. You gulp. There’s definitely something to looking at it, that makes you want him in you now.

For cuddling purposes, of course.

“Ah, yeah,” you say, hurriedly undressing and tossing your clothes off to the side of his bed.

“Lube?”

“Um, I think I’ll be okay.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. You flop on your side, presenting your ass to him and he plops down on the bed, shuffling over until he’s pressed against you. You can feel his fingertips fluttering above the skin of your hip.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “You can touch me.”

His hand comes down on your waist, pressing lightly into you. It’s the simplest of touches and yet it sends goosebumps prickling all the way up your spine.

“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” Namjoon asks, always the one to be overly clear, even in bed.

“More than okay.” You push your ass back just enough to signal your green light.

You imagine that behind you he’s got his lip caught between his teeth in the way he does when he’s thinking too hard, that he’s looking down at you, hand wrapped around his own cock as he presses up against your pussy.

The sensation of his head spreading through your lips has you biting your tongue, doing your best not to react.

“Relax,” he murmurs in your ear, the hand on your waist coming to brush up and down your side. “Ready?

“Mhmm.”

And with that he’s pushing into you, this particular position leaving you tighter than you were last time. He slides in slowly and you relish in the feeling of his cock head gripping against the ridges of your walls. Finally, he’s fully inside you.

“Ouch,” you grumble, his hip bone pressing uncomfortably into you.

He shifts, his hands on your hips, trying to get you comfortable. But instead of easing the sharp pain, the feeling of his cock shifting within you sends a surprising wave of pleasure through you and you moan. You freeze, clapping a hand over your mouth as if the action could wind back time and erase the lewd utterance that had just slipped through your lips.

“Did you--did you just moan?” Namjoon says astoundedly against your back. You say nothing. “Did you like that?”

“No?” you squeak out, your voice breaking underneath the lie.

Namjoon laughs, a big and belly-full laugh, one that spreads through his whole body. He’s shaking against you, causing his cock to rub delightfully within you, circling rhythmically against your walls. A small squeak of frustration and pleasure forces its way out of your throat.

“Oh my god,” Namjoon says, still cackling. “You like it! You like my cock!”

Even in your compromised position, you manage to cross your arms and pout.

“You keep moving, you dumbo, how do you expect me to react?!”

Why were you so damn sensitive to him today?

“I didn’t expect you to fucking moan like I was making love to you or something!”

As his laughter rolls through him, you can’t help but feel the pleasure build within your cunt, a warmth growing and spreading through your abdomen. It was not only the fact that his cock was pressed deliciously within you, filling you out in a way you had never been filled before, but it was the sensation of his joy, rippling through him, and pressed right up against your back. As much as you wanted to push it away, your years of friendship made it impossible to deny how good it felt to have him here, inside you and so joyously laughing.

“I mean if you keep moving like that you might as well just fuck me!” you say in one final show of frustration.

The arm Namjoon has wrapped around your waist tenses and falls still. You squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck.

And then. And then his cock fucking twitches. You gasp, your cunt clenching involuntarily, wrapping tightly around his length. A shiver shoots up your spine as you instinctively push back on him, taking him even deeper into you. Now, your ass is pressed flush against his pelvis.

Namjoon‘s hand tightens around your waist, the other one slipping beneath your body to wrap around your ribcage and pull your torso flush against his. The two of you are clinging to each other, pressed together as tightly as humanly possible. You bite your lip; your cunt continues to throb around Namjoon, desperate to pull him even deeper, desperate to find some kind of--really, any kind of-- satisfaction.

Wrapped up in his arms, you can almost grasp onto that sense of security and comfort the two of you had set out to find together. It’s there, singing on the edge of your consciousness. But any semblance of peace is split by a desire for more, for him to move against you, to allow your bodies to map each other out in pleasure, for him to fuck you.

As if he’s read your mind, his hips begin to slide backward ever so slowly, as if he means to leave the warmth of your cunt. With the speed of light, you reach your hand behind you, bringing it to his hip. Gripping it--hard--you push him back into you.

“Please,” you whisper.

Namjoon stutters beneath your touch. Your voice is filled with need, a note threading through the sweetness of the sound, urging him forward. Even as your begging turns him to putty, his cock hardens at the thought of you wanting him. Of you needing him. So he grips your hip and twines his other hand up to press between your breasts and drives into you.

The force with which he’s just rammed into you shudders through your entire body. It brushes against something so deep in you, you’re not sure if it hurts or if it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. The whine that comes out of you splits through the stale air of the bedroom and Namjoon curses at the sound.

“God, you’re so tight,” Namjoon hisses. He nuzzles his head against your neck. When you push back against him, rotating your hips in a circle, his teeth find the skin of your shoulder. He bites down into the skin.

Namjoon is big. As he begins to push in and out of you, his head drags against the slick ridges of your walls, almost as if he barely fits. Your breath comes in pants and gasps as each new sensation rips through you, driving you closer to your own release.

“Joonie, please, harder,” you gasp. He punctuates your question with a particularly strong thrust. “More.”

Namjoon slips the arm he’s got beneath you down to your waist. Now both of his hands are on your hips and he draws his cock out of you slowly until only the head is resting at your entrance. You whine, trying to move your hips in search of any kind of friction, but his tight grip on your hips holds you in place.

“Please!” you gasp, squirming. He chuckles into your ear and the sound goes right through you.

“When you stop squirming, I’ll fuck you.”

You fall limp against his hold, desperate for him. He waits for what seems like forever as you feel the tension in your belly begin to recede.

Your breath is rammed out of you as he snaps his pelvis into your ass so hard you know there’ll be a bruise there tomorrow. He fucks into you, his hips driving with more power. But it’s the grip he has on your hips that makes all the difference. He moves you like a doll to his own will. He maneuvers you at just the right angle that the both of you are gasping in pleasure, his pace unrelenting.

You’ve never come from just vaginal penetration alone, but if he keeps doing this, you think you just might, the force of his thrusts rocketing through your entire body. Still, you reach down, slipping your fingers between your dripping folds, finding your clit. You build up a slow pace, circling around the hardened bud as he continues to ravage your pussy.

The combination of your hand and his cock has you tipping over the edge in less than a minute, the dual stimulation unleashing streams of pleasure you’d never known before. You throw your head back, your mouth stretched in a silent “oh.”

Namjoon lifts his head to press his cheek against yours, the sweat of your skin sticking the two of you together. He can hear the way your breath comes out, ragged and in tatters. And still, he never falters.

At this point he is chasing his own pleasure. His pace slows slightly as he circles his hips against your ass, relishing in the way your cunt spasms around him, flooding him with warmth and the delicious drip of your cum.

As you regain your senses, the feeling of his cock drawing through your sensitive folds is overwhelming.

“Too much,” you gasp, the sensation sending sparks through your body.

“Can you take it for just a bit longer?” he gasps.

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Yes,” you breathe, finding pleasure in the overwhelm and wanting to see him come undone for you. His thrusts have become fast and sloppy, losing some of the power and replacing it with speed. You can hear him whining against you, the sound so need-filled and wanton that you can’t help but clench around his length again.

You reach back, your hand brushing up against his side so softly and delicately. It’s this that has him squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to hold back the stampede of his orgasm.

“It’s okay, you can let go,” you say. “I wanna see you cum for me.”

His hips stutter to a full stop. He pulls out of you and you whine at the loss of him as he comes to kneel over you, one thigh on either side of your hips.

You watch as his head tips back, his lip caught between his teeth. Somehow the crease between his brow is the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. His hand works over his cock with quick, practiced strokes. You want to memorize the way his wrist twitches, the way his fingers quickly circle his head, or the flex of his forearm when he tightens his grip as he nears the base of his cock.

“I-I’m cumming,” he groans. You look back up to his eyes, now open and looking down on you, unfocused as he takes in your bare body spread before him. He’d never thought he’d have you like this, but now that he does, he’s not sure how he’ll ever go back.

“Cum on me,” you command. “I want it, Joonie.”

With a groan, Namjoon grips his cock tighter and sends spurt after spurt onto the softness of your stomach, some of it landing directly in your belly button.

He collapses onto the bed next to you, sprawled out and panting. You gaze over at him lovingly, stretching out your hand to brush the sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. You stay like that for a minute, him panting, you just watching him, before you come to your senses.

“I wouldn’t call that relaxing, but it definitely made me feel better,” you joke.

Namjoon pushes you gently, a grin spreading across his face.

“I should probably go, uh, wash up,” you finally say, sitting up on your elbows.

“Stay?” Namjoon flops on his side, fluttering his eyelashes in a poor attempt at begging. “Please?”

“If I’m being honest, I really don’t want to fall asleep with your cum in my belly button,” you laugh.

Namjoon leans over the bed to grab something before rolling back to you--and over you-- somewhat crushing you in the process. With his weight resting on your legs he looks up at you, his gaze intense as he dips his head down to your belly button, lapping up the cum that’s come to collect in the valley of your stomach.

Heat floods your cunt as you watch the white release rest on his pink tongue before he closes his mouth and swallows. You gulp.

When he’s done, he takes the t-shirt he’d grabbed and gently wipes you down, his movements gentle and

“You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay. Just tonight.”

“Just tonight.”

Namjoon grins at you, his dimples showing, before he pulls you against his torso in a position now all too familiar to you.

|| masterlist ||

#ksmutclub #btsgoldnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #namjoon smut #rm smut #knj smut #smut #fanfic #bts fic #rm #namjoon #knj #bts #bts ff #bts smut #friends to lovers #spooning

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toweroftickles · 3 years ago

Text

UNCATEGORIZED FILES: Completely Random Ticklish Character Examinations

Exploring the multiverse for ticklish test subjects is surprisingly tedious sometimes. There’s so much data to sift through, tons of organization, and you’re often stuck with the same popular victims.

It’s fun to go after underutilized, unknown, or obscure entities. As of yet these personality profiles cannot properly be sorted within existing folders.

Mary Smith (Mary & The Witch’s Flower)

Most Ticklish Spots: Arches, Belly, Knees

A kind but proud witch student…skillful, protective of own image. Can’t stand being tickled - considers it humiliating and frustrating. Post-release, will immediately curl up into a ball, or cover her stomach with her arms and pout.

Sad-sounding laughter that really lers you know that she hates it. Helplessly begs for it to stop.

Will react with fury, and fight back.

Tickle Talk: Playful teasing with plenty of giggles, if she’s the one who starts it. If enacting revenge, however, she taunts aggressively and angrily to embarrass her playmate as much as possible.

When allowed the use of magic, imaginatively utilizes tickling finger spells, as well as object manipulation and stasis.

Teased about how ticklish she is by her boyfriend Peter. Tickle fights common.

Add. Notes: Comparisons to (her contemporary) Kiki are all but inevitable - not quite as ticklish but much less open to enjoying it. Direct side-by-side comparison may be beneficial for studying the impact of magic on sensitivity.

Razor Lemay (Starlink: Battle for Atlas)

Most Ticklish Spots: Feet, Abs and Belly Button, Upper Ribcage

This no-nonsense metal band pilot is highly resistant - use stronger restraints in future. A violent thrasher. Headbanging skills came in handy when freeing herself.

Never ceased to let me know that I’m a “sick weirdo.” Consider this possibility.

Though toned and muscular, her skin is surprisingly soft. Weak to any kind of tickling.

Most effective tool: backscratchers

Has an airy laugh that is mostly gasps and wheezes; runs out of breath quickly.

Used the phrase “oh my god” more than any other subject studied so far. Offered up nonstop torrent of swearing, violent threats, and begging for mercy.

Jojo McDodd (Horton Hears A Who)

Most Ticklish Spots: Sides, Feet

Hates it. Becomes embarrassed and angry when tickled. Will frustratedly sulk rather than fight back or seek revenge.

Usually groans through teeth but can’t prevent the odd chuckle from slipping out. Skilled at holding his voice in. Press the matter further.

Involuntary reflex - noodly arm flailing if not restrained.

Very responsive to poking and light, fluttery touches.

Often depressed. His mother, Sally O’Malley (who, according to him, is also quite ticklish - investigate) used to tickle him in attempt to cheer him up, but abandoned this years ago upon realizing it bothered him.

When his younger sisters want to pester him, tickling is a go-to option.

Add. Notes: With their long, fuzzy, highly-animated fingers, natural mischievous mirth, and piano-playing aptitude, the Who species has evolved anatomy well-suited for tickling others.

Schell The Spacewitch (Yooka-Laylee)

Most Ticklish Spots: Belly, Armpits

Considers tickling to be her “one true weakness” - doesn’t hate it, but it renders her utterly incapacitated.

Has one of those hearty laughs that carries well over distances.

Feathers are very effective.

Will eagerly return the favor - once used feather tickling as an interrogation method on a fellow spacewitch.

Interplanetary adventures have put her in conflict with various alien plants and monsters, some of which accidentally tickled her with tongues or tentacles or the like - take samples for further lab testing.

Sphinx (Sphinx and the Cursed Mummy)

Most Ticklish Spots: Belly Button, Feet

The adventurous and heroic sort, he’s a little bit cocky….tickling is a good way to make him slightly less so.

A surprisingly effective technique is to tickle his stomach with his own tail. Good results.

He himself occasionally uses his tail this way to flirt with girls.

Not excessively ticklish, but ticklish enough. Will at least squirm and try to pull away.

Doesn’t show much strong emotion…more vaguely weirded out by this than anything else.

Pipirika (Magi: Adventure of Sinbad)

Most Ticklish Spots: Toes/Balls of Feet, Ribs, Inner Thighs

Unusual Ticklish Spots: Inner Elbow

Loud and rough, unrefined. But also very friendly, excitable, and loves to laugh.

Like all Imuchakk people, huge in stature and musculature. Between her large size and insistence on always going barefoot, she’s a tempting target.

If you ask if she’s ticklish, or for permission to tickle her, she’ll gladly say yes and volunteer with a big smile on her face.

That said, she frequently seems to find herself much more ticklish than she remembers.

She likes it but she’s a kicker. Hard to pin down and will not hold still. Tough restraints essential.

Will always seek playful vengeance or start a tickle brawl. Loves to tickle her brother and friends. Often giggles and laughs more than the people she tickles.

Hearty, rumbling belly laugh. Very cute.

Can’t keep a secret; will tell others if you like tickling. (Not out of malice - she thinks it’s hilarious.)

Fire (Adventurers: Masters of Time)

Most Ticklish Spots: Feet, Lower Tummy, Belly Button

Self-described as “a total tickler. You better watch out!”

Her default attack when trying to escape an enemy’s grip is to tickle them. Has done it more than once. It’s canon. So there.

Claims to have used her school’s time travel computer specifically to visit and “play tickle pranks” on famous historical figures. Seemed very excited by the multiversal capabilities of the Tower.

Spunky and playful. Very energetic. Tickle Talk: mean, merciless, and will make fun of her victims for being so ticklish and weak.

Apparently aware that her constantly-exposed belly invites tickling. Will dare others to start a tickle fight with her “because you’ll lose.”

Most vulnerable to rough tickles (especially brushes).

Always laughs wildly and tells her tickler to stop, but seems to enjoy it at less-intense levels.

Add. Notes: I like this girl. She could be very useful.

Saki Amamiya & Airan Jo (Sin & Punishment/Smash Bros.)

Most Ticklish Spots (Saki): Feet, Belly, Lower Ribcage

Most Ticklish Spots (Airan): Toes, Sides

Virtually inseparable couple. Could not tickle one without the other.

A highly skilled gymnast and gunner, Saki will jump out of his skin when tickled. Airan will lash out physically or curl up into a defensive ball.

Saki is the more ticklish of the two. He’s a live wire of sensitivity; a poke can cripple him. Has a high-pitched giggle.

Airan has a low, wailing laugh. Quickly tears up and complains about how much her tummy hurts when tickled.

Airan sometimes tickles Saki awake in the morning and teases him when he squirms.

Both hate being tickled: feel it’s a silly, embarrassing vulnerability.

Neither are particularly touchy/physical and never really tickle each other. Don’t think about it often.

Saki eventually develops Ruffian physiology after an experiment with his blood - effects of this on ticklishness unknown.

Tess Darrett (Pole Position)

Most Ticklish Spots: Arches, Armpits

Unusual Ticklish Spots: Upper Back, Under Chin

Rarely far separated from her stunt rally cars and spy technology. Exceptionally difficult to apprehend.

Resourceful and skilled in combat. Exercise caution.

Once captured by a criminal organization and interrogated with feathers to make her reveal the access codes to her stunt car computer AI, Wheels. Strong willpower - laughed and laughed but refused to talk.

Otherwise is only ever tickled by her younger sister Daisy (who reportedly is also very ticklish, and has also been interrogated to force her older siblings’ hands).

Not usually a tickler. Avoids going after her younger brother, because he’s not ticklish and would definitely get her back.

Typical sibling relationship: her brother used to pin her down and tickle her when they were kids. She hates it.

Add. Notes: If a woman who is deeply entrenched in the seedy underworld has big 70s/80s hair and often wears a jumpsuit, just assume that she’s tough but with a soft side and also very ticklish. (See also: Fujiko Mine, Carmen Boom, April O’Neil.)

Conclusions:

I might indeed be a sick weirdo. This merits further study.

Breaking character…yeah, IDK what the hell this is and I’m assuming none of you care. Just kinda wanted to blow off steam. I like weird characters that nobody else really cares about.

And why the hell do I even write some of my blog entries this way? Deliberately making things “less fun” seems kinda like a bad idea.

#tickle blog #tickling #tickle #tickling community #tickling headcanons #headcanon #tickle fic #tickle headcanon

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dadsbongos · 4 years ago

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shallow

Insert Coin - Chapter 2.b / Series Masterlist

His hair is sprawled out below him and his lips are pulled into a fragile smile when she enters, the smile only widens once he notices her, “(Y/n), what a pleasant surprise!”

Taking in the boy’s predicament, she fully studied how Nagito was tied up - chains tightly binding his arms and legs and attaching him to a heating pole in the back of the room.

“And you’ve brought food - you really are the best, just as expected from an Ultimate,” he noted as (Y/n) sat beside him, “My sincerest apologies for burdening you with this task, if you wish, you could let me starve.”

“No, you need food, Nagito,” the peacekeeper refuted, setting down the plate and bringing a hand to the boy’s face, lifting his head and resting it upon her lap so he wouldn’t choke when he tried to swallow, “Besides, I volunteered to be here.”

“How lucky for me,” Nagito grinned, eyes closed and tone light, as if he didn’t know why he was tied up in the first place, “I get to be with the Ultimate Peacekeeper. I’m not sure how trash like me could ever be of assistance in that, but I’ll do anything I can.”

“Just eat, for now,” she mumbled, gathering some eggs on toast and folding it in half before holding the bread to Nagito’s lips, “I’m sorry for how awkward this is, but please bear with me. You get that I can’t undo your restraints at the moment, right?”

“Of course, anything you Ultimates need, I’m of service,” he didn’t resist any bites and was oddly cooperative for a man held down against his will. Even doing his best to keep his lips from accidentally brushing (Y/n)’s hand as they reached their final bits of food.

It was once they were down to his bottle of milk that Nagito spoke up again,

“I just hope you don’t catch anything from having to feed me.”

(Y/n)’s brows shot up as she opened the bottle, “Do you have any bugs or diseases?”

Suddenly, the expression on Nagito’s face soured, brows furrowing and lips tugging down into a soft frown before he shook it off, “Nothing contagious.”

“Then we’re good, yeah?” she waited for his nod of agreement before carefully, carefully, carefully lifting the lip of the bottle to his mouth, “Keep your head still, okay? I’ll go slowly.”

He nodded, but the easy-going, calmed look was gone once again. Instead, he seemed as though he were a caged animal. A kenneled dog, sad eyes and pouting lips. Even as he drank, he looked so dismal. And after he was done, the look didn’t wash away.

“I’m sorry we acted so quickly, really I am, but in the panic there must’ve been the feeling this is all that could be done,” (Y/n) ran her fingers through Nagito’s hair, hoping to relax the poor boy, “Do you want to move?”

“No,” he sighed, “besides, I understand. If everyone desires to feel safe, who am I to get in their way? I’m barely even worthy of being their stepping stone let alone part of their discussions.”

“Of course, you’re worthy, you’re a breathing, thinking, living human being - you always have a say in what happens to you.”

Despite her words, she still couldn't forget. He was the reason Byakuya was dead. He was the reason Teruteru would never escape.

(Y/n) looked down at the boy, who’d shifted to lay on his side with his head still in her lap, “I’ll be around a lot, so I hope you don’t mind my presence.”

“I never could,” Nagito weakly responded, eyes locked on the wall across from them, “You shouldn’t have to stay with me. You can leave now and I’ll tell the others you were here.”

“No,” she wanted him to know how badly what he’d done hurt her - hurt all of them, but she was sure there was something behind it. Nagito didn’t wake up that day and decide he’d be the reason two people died, there has to be something else, “I want to stay here. With you.”

“You’re too sweet, much too sweet. I don’t deserve this.”

“You deserve at least the minimum, and I’m sorry that’s all I can provide right now.”

There was a knock at the door, Hajime peeking in a few seconds later, his eyes immediately landed on the position between Nagito and (Y/n). He rose a brow in question but didn’t bother vocalizing it, instead, he entered further, “Can I speak with you,” other than a fleeting glance, he didn’t bother acknowledging Nagito, “alone?”

(Y/n) nodded, gently maneuvering Nagito off her thighs and back onto the ground, she gave the boy a smile, “I’ll be back, okay?” at his nod, she left to the hall with Hajime.

“You okay? He hasn’t… tried anything, has he?” Hajime whispered the last part. Worry etched into each of the lines drawn within his face.

(Y/n) shook her head, placing her hands on each of the boy’s shoulders and enforcing eye contact between them, “I’m fine, Hajime, I can handle things.”

“If you’re sure,” he relented before going back to his original thought - the reason he was there, “Anyway, a new island opened up,” leaning in, he murmured, presumably so Monokuma didn’t hear, “Monomi destroyed the Monobeast blocking one off - apparently. I investigated it a bit already, it doesn’t appear particularly dangerous but I’m still wary. You should check it out too, maybe take a break from… him.”

“No, I’ll stay here,” (Y/n) denied, feeling her heart drag despair against her ribcage with every new pump, “I have to watch Nagito.”

Nobody else would.

Nobody else wanted to.

“It’s sort of my responsibility anyway, you know?” it’s her fault she couldn’t keep the peace, her one talent. The one thing she’s good at, “I need to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone. And that nobody tries anything with him. Besides, you’re all doing fine now, right? You don’t need me.”

Who needed a worm who couldn’t perform in their own niche properly?

“It’d be nice to have you, to know you’re safe,” Hajime looked down at his shoes, pursing his lips, “If you really want to stay, I won’t stop you. But if anything, anything at all, happens, I’m here.”

It’s what she’d said to him that fateful day.

She smiled and nodded - empty and hollow - before reaching for the door handle to the room, “I will, Hajime. Don’t worry about me.”

As the boy turned to leave, (Y/n) watched his figure grow smaller against the walls before calling out once again,

“Keep them safe, please?”

He paused mid-stride, turning to the Ultimate Peacekeeper. His heart tore at her expression. Deep sorrow. Deep pain. Deep despair. He wasn’t stupid - she must’ve been blaming herself at least somewhat. All Hajime could do was nod and smile - empty and hollow - before continuing down the hall and out of the old building.

Returning to the room, (Y/n) was quiet, watching as Nagito hummed to himself, facing away from the door.

A particularly off-key hum brought her from her trance, the boy sighing to himself and shaking his head, “Of course…” before starting again.

(Y/n) swallowed down the lump in her throat before walking over to Nagito, gently settling him over her lap once again. It brought him minor comfort to know someone cared - even if he was unworthy.

“How do you feel about exploring the island tonight?”

“Hm? I thought you couldn’t untie me.”

“I can’t, not now, but at night - everyone’ll be asleep anyway, they won’t even know... but I’ll have to tie you back up.”

“Okay,” Nagito smiled slightly at the woman as she brushed hair out of his face, “I’ll be quiet.”

“Good,” she returned the gesture, “Then once we’re sure they’re all asleep, we’ll go.”

#insert coin #nagito komeada x reader #komaeda x reader #sdr2 x reader #sdr2 reader insert

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