#People are bound to get shot if ignoring warning shots

[kaisaerinlover]

blue lock yanderes!!

who i think is most likely to be a yandere + what are they like ? ;o

characters: sae , rin , kaiser , nagireo (as a duo)

pls if ur triggered by or simply just dislike violence or themes of kidnapping and unkindness pls don’t read ;< i write a lot of dark content with these themes and it will be here too so pls scroll if u feel uncomfy with it sorry

sae seems the type to want to do it for convenience to me, from everyone i picked he’s the most nonchalant, so i feel like it wouldn’t really be a big deal to him, he would just simply kidnap you and you would be confused at first since he wouldn’t really talk to you or anything D: you might think he hates you, but honestly i think sae is just cold and bad at talking to people. he would be maybe the worst yandere to have also, because he would just tie you up and leave you whether it be in his bedroom of a lavish mansion of his or the hotel he’s staying at right now because of playing soccer abroad. to him he’s just glad to have you there and not talking to anyone else, and doesn’t really understand he can’t just not talk to you ;-; if he realises, i’m sure he would try and be nice, but it’s a long shot. he just does it for convenience. he’s probably also not against punishing you for trying to escape and stuff, i don’t think it would be anything too bad, just a slap or a punch or something, or threatening words. to me he has the most intimidating aura from all of these hhhh so empty threats would be enough to scare you into docility :< he would probably just grab you and pin you to the wall and warn you that you’re his now and not to try and escape. he would probably keep you dressed up all nicely too for when he gets back from soccer practice, but his uses for you won’t always be for sexual gratification, he seems like the type to just bring you and lay you down on his bed sometimes and just stay there with you, scratching your head and inhaling your scent and just looking at you. it would probably be really awkward too, unbeknownst to him. he would probably give you a lot of kisses, neck kisses and stuff, and probably bite you from time to time. he sees you as more of a toy than a lover, but he also does love you. it’s complicated for him. he’s just less in tune with human sentience okay. when he’s angry, he would take it out on you somewhat, but he doesn’t seem like the type to be out of control with his emotions really, i don’t think he would shout, he would just insult you in a cold manner and be very monotone in terms of voice, and maybe be that one extra bit cruel to you, maybe he’d give you less food or something, or just call you pathetic or worthless or a slut or something of the sort. he’d probably also seek out more sexual gratifications when he’s angry from soccer, because he has nowhere else to take it out. you would be sucking his cock whilst still bound, just on your knees in front of him instead, and he would be silently amused at you choking on his cum. he’s not one for words but over time you will learn he’s not so angry anymore after he pets your head and gives it a kiss after he’s finished using you however he thinks will make his anger subside the most. i think he would have a level temper though, so it’s less often than not that he would act like that to you. maybe he’s not the best yandere to have because he’s ignorant to other peoples needs and kinda cold but if he realised i’m sure he wouldn’t be as bad!!!

his brother on the other hand, i feel they’re kinda opposites but the similarities are there. rin would probably take you because of a fear of being abandoned and not wanting you to leave, but maybe convenience is a bit of a factor. maybe you were an old classmate or a girlfriend of his that he really doesn’t want leaving him. maybe he wants to bring you to blue lock too and keep you there as some weird trophy/reward for when he wins a match idk or just simply keep you in his bedroom ! he’s probably one of the nicer ones in general to have as a yandere, but he’d have his moments. he’s just scared of you leaving him like sae did so he didn’t have a choice :( !! he wouldn’t kidnap you if he didn’t have to!! he’s more emotionally in tune than sae, sae is cold and rin is, well, lukewarm. he understands that you have your own needs to a degree, so while he’s not around, he won’t always tie you up, you’ll just be forced to stay in his room and not leave. but maybe if he’s in a sour mood he’ll tie you up or chain you to something. but mostly he’s pretty nice. he doesn’t neglect you and tries to talk to you when he can, and he’s a little better at talking to girls than sae is, especially if you were a past girlfriend. he probably sees you as an angel of some sort, or someone who’s just so sweet for putting up with him and he didn’t wanna let that go ;-; he’s also not really someone who seeks out much sexual gratification from you, he just lays in bed with you at nights and cuddles you and holds you close, and maybe sometimes you can hear him sniffle and mumble that he doesn’t want you to leave :< he’s pretty loving and you can just tell he’s a big baby who wants to be loved and not abandoned. but when he’s in a bad mood from soccer, oh he won’t be nice at all, he’ll snap at you if you try to talk, he’ll berate you and insult you, and he’ll give you (accidental) hot and cold treatment. rin has a nasty mouth when he’s mad, so you would probably cry a lot. he doesn’t have patience for that really, so i don’t think he would comfort you until he’s in a good mood again. he would feel bad though for making you cry, he would bring you back a cute trinket, like a plushie or keychain for a bag that you’re never going to get to use outside of this. he’s more caring than sae, in the way that he’s more sentient. i don’t think he is a bad yandere to have as long as you can learn to love him and comfort him, he is very broken after all.

kaiser to me is a whole other world of evil, like i just don’t think he cares. he might kidnap you for convenience or simply his own pleasure, because he has the money to get away with it anyway, so why would he care? he likes the sight of you tied up, or chained to his bed, so you’ll find yourself like that often. i feel he would also be very degrading, he would put you in some collar kind of thing, simply to just degrade you, and because he likes the sight of you like that. he is not really able of showing a lot of love or care, because he didn’t receive it growing up, so i can’t imagine being the apple of his eye would be very pleasant. he would be probably the smartest yandere here because of how much reading he has done on psychology etc. he would be very good at manipulating you and making you believe you love him and don’t want to leave. at night when you’re in bed together trying to sleep, you might hear him sniffling and holding onto you crying into your neck ;< poor baby, of course you will comfort him ;-; sometimes he’ll let you and other times he won’t, he is just as broken as he’s making you, and you know that !! you can hold him and comfort him all you want in the night, because the next day it won’t matter. he will completely gaslight you into believing it was just a dream and never happened, and the way he acts completely the same and like nothing did happen, you believe him, you believe everything he says because what else do you have? he would definitely be someone who seeks out sexual gratification from you too, but if you were a virgin i feel he would have a soft spot for you, he would be a bit gentler with you, and hold your hand during, because he knows he fucks hard, and he kidnapped you because he feels some affection for you, so it’s pointless to be nothing but cruel. other than that though, he just does what he wants. if he wants to be rough, it will be rough, and if he wants to be nice, it’s for himself not for you. when he gets home from practice and he’s mad, sometimes you’ll be an outlet for it, other times he’s just mad at himself. kaiser is not against abuse, because he grew up that way, he doesn’t really know anything else, so expect to be punched at times, or choked, or have your hair pulled, or anything like that. he probably likes the marks they leave too, seeing you like that because of him is probably a turn on, because it shows how much power he has. he’s a sadist, but i feel like he just needs you to show him a bit of love, so if you can do that, similarly to rin, he would be a fine yandere.

nagireo!! i think that you would be kidnapped because nagi took a unique interest in you, and reo, being the friend that he is, simply just gets you brought to them. i think they would be like kaiser, and treat you as more of a pet at first, but not from any sadistic desire, just because neither of them really know what they should do with you. so you’re some domestic pet to them at first. nagi gives me very incel vibes, but not in the way he’s angry at women, he just can’t get laid hhh reo is the opposite; he could, he just doesn’t care. at first he would be uninterested in you, he only bought you because of nagi. nagi is the one who plays with you mostly, he literally treats you like some pet cat or something. he feeds you from his hand, lets you drink from his bottle and puts it to your mouth himself, pets your head, goes pspspsps to you etc. reo thinks it’s kind of amusing at first, but after a while he has to teach nagi that’s not really how you talk to girls, but hey, it works for nagi so he’s not so bothered ;p nagi would care about using you for pleasure, to a degree, mostly he just wants you to sit on his lap whilst he plays games, or just wants a pet to play with that he doesn’t have to take care of much because you can do some stuff for yourself, or reo just does it for you. but it’s not a hassle feeding you or anything, since he just feeds you from his hand anyway. maybe sometimes he’ll expectantly push you off of his lap between his legs and put his cock on your plump lips expectantly, he doesn’t really like doing anything that requires effort, so he just leaves you to it. if you don’t do anything though, reo will just push your head down and look down at you condescendingly. neither of them like mess, so you have to swallow, and besides, nagi thinks this can be your lunch of the day hhhh reo also eventually starts taking an interest in you, he treats you a bit more human than nagi treats you but still as some domesticated pet nonetheless. you can sit on his lap and he’ll scratch your head, or he’ll bring you nice things back from shopping sometimes. him and nagi start sharing you, you have to sleep between them in bed, you have to spend time with them both at once, if you do any sexual favour for one, you’re going to be doing it for the other, and especially when they’re in a bad mood from soccer. none will just harm you outright, but they’ll both be neglectful. they want you to put them in a good mood again cause that’s what pets do!! so you better go act sweet and cuddle up against their legs and play like a good cat or they won’t pay any mind to you til their next win :< they love you, but you’re like a mix of a cute house cat and a girlfriend to them, it’s a weird dynamic, but overtime they might start seeing you as more of a human, only making you play the role of a sweet loving pet when they feel like they want it. not bad yanderes to have at all, they’re pretty nice compared to the others!!

[satorusugurugurl]

Romance for the Recently Deceased

Summary: When Choso and his family Move into a farmhouse on the countryside. He’s very pleased to find a ghost living in his attic.

Characters: Kamo Choso x AFAB!ghostreader

Warnings: Language, mentions of death, drowning, sex, ghost sex! 😘

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N Kinktober day 10! Beetlejuice! So I kinda took some themes from Beetlejuice and made it a short romance! Like parts from the movie and musical.enjoy!

Moving to the countryside had been a complete shock to Choso. He had been frustrated leaving behind Tokyo and all of his friends. But seeing Yuuji and the girls running around the halls in the large countryside home made it tolerable. Well, that, along with the attic.

They had been living in the house for nearly a month, and the last moving truck had brought the rest of their stuff from Tokyo. Choso walked in, holding a bag full of books in one hand. He had just returned to town after walking the kids to school when he heard footsteps from the kitchen. He followed them, rolling his eyes as he watched his adopted dad’s Gojo and Suguru fighting over a box full of plates.

“They’re original Suguru, plus they’re super cool and fitting for the house!!”

Suguru snarled before yanking the box of plates out of Gojo’s hands. “Satoru, if you don’t let me gut out this house and make it my own, I will go insane, and I’ll take you with me.” Upon hearing that, Gojo promptly releases the box with a pout.

“That’s just cruel. The last owner of the house must’ve loved them. I don’t see why we have to give them away.” Choso shot a glance towards the stairs. “

“Well, that person doesn't get a day on what tableware we use now.” Suguru huffed, blowing some of his bangs out of his face. “We have our plates, and people in desperate need of plates could use these.”

Yeah, that was something you would say.

“Hey.” Choso finally announced his presence, walking into the kitchen and heading straight for the fridge.

“Hey Cho, ya’ get the kids to school, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick them up in a bit too.”

Choso grabbed a bottle of water before slowly making his way out of the kitchen. “Oh, Choso, have you seen the skeleton key around? The realtor said she dropped it off, but we can’t find it anywhere..” Suguru asked just as Choso rounded the corner to bound up to his favorite part of the entire house. “We wanted to get up to the attic to clean it out. But I can’t find that damn key.”

Choso gently grabbed the edge of the wall, pulling himself back to look into the kitchen, ignoring the weight in his pocket because of said skeleton key. “Nope, I haven’t seen it all.” His adopted father shared a look before shrugging.

“Oh well, we’ll get to it when we can.”

Yeah, there wasn’t a chance in hell they were ever getting into the attic. That was going to be a sanctuary, the one place that was left untouched by their hands. Even if he had to change the locks continuously, he would.

Because that was your space, you were the house's original owner before death. All your items were there, and you had made yourself a lovely little studio apartment—one that Choso found peace in. The attic and you had been the best part of this move.

When Choso first moved in, he was given the skeleton key by the realtor herself. He fully intended to use that key to get into the attic, which was mysteriously still locked, no matter how many times they tried to open it and make it his space—having three younger siblings and two adoptive dads who were constantly on top of each other. It made it difficult for him to find peace aside from the college courses he took online.

He can still remember that day you met. He had opened the attic door with ease. Slowly creeping it open, it was surprisingly dust-free. That itself should’ve been his first sign that something was going on. There was a sudden crash from off further inside before you came, stumbling out, wearing nothing but a sheet with holes in it. Choso was surprised to see somebody was in the attic.

“What the hell?” He asked, more annoyed than scared at this point.

“Oooooh~~!” You wiggled your arms underneath the sheet, trying to be menacing and scary. “I’m a scary ghost! Begone human!”

Choso snickered, pinning a brow at you as he crossed his arms over his chest. “This is supposed to be scary?” he questioned, biting back a laugh as you stomped your foot on the ground.

“Yes!”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, honey bee, but it’s not.” He shook his head, pulling his cell phone out and snapping photos of you. “What’s going to be scary is when Suguru finds out you put holes through his Egyptian cotton sheets.”

Choso flipped through his camera, looking at the photos he had just taken of you, surprised to see your feet weren’t showing up. He zoomed in and out and realized that not only were your feet invisible, but your little hands peeking out from under the sheet weren’t visible either. He blinked, looking back at you with curiosity.

“What are you?”

That’s when you pulled the sheep down, revealing your pretty face. “I’m a ghost, dammit!” Choso couldn’t help but stare. You were so lovely, your skin was flawless, and your hair was beautiful; the frustration that was etched into your features was cute.

“You don’t look dead when I imagined seeing a ghost dealer usually mangled their gross and decaying.”

“Well, I guess I’m one of the lucky ones!” You paused for a long moment. “Wait.” You blinked, eyes going wide. “You can see me?!”

“Yeah.” Choso grinned while walking towards the sofa and flopping down on it. “Ya’ know, you’re really pretty for a ghost.”

He swears that even to this day, he watched you flush at his compliment. “W-Well, thank you. But you’re kinda strange” You folded the sheet up and placed it on a table with a stack of books.

“I myself am strange and unusual. I’m Choso, what’s your name?”

That night had been the beginning of your strange and unusual friendship. One that was constantly full of laughter and jokes. Along with heartache over what had happened to you. You weren’t allowed to leave your house for the next fifty years, stuck on earth until it was your time to go to the afterlife. And the seven months had been exhausting. You couldn’t remember a lot about your death. But the people in town said you had saved a little boy from drowning in the river just by your house.

So many people called you a hero, but you just saw yourself doing the right thing when no one else would. That, along with your personality and looks, made it relatively easy for Choso to fall in love with you. A ghost of all people. But that didn’t change how he felt about you.

No matter what happened, he would ensure your attic, the space that had grown to be both your space sacred. He would never take that away from you because he refused to let anything happen to you.

Reminiscing over the last month made the long path to the attic stairs short. As he approached the door, he was welcome to buy the soft beat of the music playing, only loud enough for someone to hear if they approached it. He knocked three times before opening the door with the skeleton key in his pocket.

“Hey, I’m back.”

Choso looked around the attic, finding you swaying to the music as you dog through one of the mini boxes still lingering around the attic full of your stuff. You were so cute in your maroon hoodie and leggings. You hummed to the lyrics he didn’t care about before he snuck up on you, grabbing you by the waist.

“Ah!” You screamed as he scared you, the ghost of the attic. “Oh shit Cho you scared me!”

He hummed with a soft chuckle before bearing his face in the side of your neck. For some unknown reason, he was able to touch and feel you. Making it so much easier to fall for you, even if you were a ghost. He inhaled deeply, pressing kisses along your neck before you leaned back into him, letting him lead you around the attic toward the couch.

“God, I miss you, " he whispered, holding you close. I missed you so much.”

You melted into him, for once feeling human. You hummed, wishing you could be more to him than he was to you. Alive and real. But to Choso, you were alive and very much real to him.

“Did you have a good morning?”

“Mhmm, I got the kids to school before I stopped at the bookstore and grabbed the newest book in your favorite series.”

You gasped, glancing at the bag he had brought in earlier. Choso honestly spoiled you in every way, shape, and form. “Oh my, you're the best!” you rolled so you were sitting on your knees, looking down at him. “What could I do to repay my big, buff, gothyfriend~.”

He smirked, flashing you his white teeth, “You want to thank me.” He grabbed you by the ass and pinning you underneath him on the couch “I think I know how you can.”

He hovered above you before slipping your leggings. You felt heat rush to your cheeks as he tossed them across the room. Every little thing the man did got you going; from the most gentle touches to the talking, you were constantly wet and willing for him. He yanked your panties down before settling between your legs, moaning as he pressed his nose against your curls. His hot breath and stubble tickled your thighs and pussy as he inhaled.

“God, I want you constantly,” His tongue darted out, licking ever so slightly at your folds, “you have no idea how down bad I am for you.” He breathed against your cut, pressing his tongue flat against you and sliding it up and down your pussy.

Choso licked and lapped at you till you were a withering and sweaty mess. He had complete and total control over your body, bringing you close to the edge of an orgasm before pulling back. He knew how to touch you. That tracing slow lazy circles over your clit drove you insane; how to quicken the pace and when to stop before you went over the edge.

‘Choso, please,” you pleaded, “I need you, fuck me, please.” it came out as a wordless moan, but you still managed to get the words out. He leaned back, licking the traces of your wet arousal off his slightly swollen lips, “Please.” you begged, reaching up and tugging at his shirt.

That was all the encouragement he needed as he stripped quickly, ridding himself of his clothes. He was bare naked now, sitting in front of you, his hands pulling away your bra and t-shirt, leaving you completely bare in front of him before Choso lined himself in front of you, his forehead against yours as the tip of his cock pressed against your opening.

‘I need you too, Honey-Bee.” He whispered as he pushed himself into your aching wet cunt, pushing himself in until he was balls deep inside of you. You both panted against one another's lips, taking in the feeling of becoming one with each other before Choso started moving against your much more relaxed body.

His thrusts were lazy, rhymed, and slow-paced. In and out of you, he was making sweet love to you. As his hips moved, Choso placed sweet-mouthed kisses against your lips and neck while he grunted and whispered your name against your cool skin. Your fingers scratched into his back while the heels of your feet dug into his ass, pulling him deeper inside of you and bringing you to the edge of a powerful orgasm; you whimpered, biting at his shoulder as he kept you on the edge, not quite ready to let you cum just yet.

“Choso, fuck baby.” His slow pace began increasing as he started grunting himself, all while trying to hold back, “fuck me right there, please.” you gasped out as the head of his cock brushed against your g-spot, “Choso, nnngh fuck baby.” he thrust deeper and harder against that sweet spot until you were clamping down on him cumming hard. “Choso.” You were about to start screaming his name to the heavens, but he silenced both of you by sealing your lips together as he followed you over the edge.

The warmth of his seed coated your walls as he grunted into the kiss, continuing to thrust, milking himself inside of you. All the while, you whimpered and moaned into his mouth as you pulsated and clamped down on him. The two of you worked each other through your orgasms before he collapsed on top of you, panting roughly.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” he whispered, holding you close ‘God, I do. You’re the best thing about this whole move, and I hope you know that.”

“And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me while in life and death. I think I’m falling for you too, Choso.” You both lay there in silence, content and happy that he was in your attic, where you met the man of your dreams.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918

Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[dixons-sunshine]

Yielding Isn’t My Middle Name—Chapter Six | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl’s worry for you only grew as the rain fell down heavier and heavier. He would not stop fighting until he got you out of that well, no matter what stood in his way—not even a set of chains.

Warnings: Angst all around. Swearing, allusions to death and torture, blood, near death experiences. Just read with care.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Only one more chapter to go, and then the epilogue. Thank you all for sticking with this series for so long! You all are amazing.

Taglist: @dixons-girl89 @jupiter1700 @enlightndone @shadowcitrine @angelwings-crossbowstrings @holdmytesseract @secretsicanthideanymore @remuslittlesister @daryls-wife @crazyunsexycool

Crash!

Rumble!

Boom!

Whether those deafening sounds came from the harsh thunder or the gun shots of the intruders that had managed to push past Liam Davis’ defenses, Daryl did not know. What he did know, however, was that the rain had not let up even the slightest bit. If anything, it had gotten worse, immensely so, and the crossbow-wielding archer had no idea if the doors to the well you were being held captive in had been closed after his involuntary departure. And when Daryl had asked Lucas about it, he had not gotten the response he had hoped for.

“My wife. S’she gon’ be okay? S’someone gon’ close those doors? Answer me, goddammit!”

“Shut the fuck up! Can’t you see there are more pressing matters at hand than that little whore of yours? Now sit down and be fucking cooperative!”

That had been over an hour ago, and Daryl was nowhere closer to getting himself out of the shackles that bound him to the wall than he was all those weeks ago. He pulled, yanked, leaned all of his body weight forward in the hopes of pulling the chains from the wall, but to no avail. The chances of him getting free was slim, if not nonexistent.

Daryl was extremely worried, and on the verge of a panic attack. He knew for a fact that with the war that was raging on outside in the storm, nobody would care enough about you to ensure your safety. Hell, if they cared about you at all—which they had made abundantly clear they did not—they would not have thrown you down into that well in the first place. These people had proven themselves to be cold, heartless monsters, and if the opportunity presented itself, Daryl would love to watch them, as well as this godforsaken supposed safe zone, burn to the ground.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he gritted his teeth together and leaned all of his body weight forward once more. “C’mon, Dixon,” he muttered to himself, his voice gruff and strained due to the harsh pressure he was using against his shackles. “C’mon, goddammit! Fuckin’ break! Break!”

The chains, ignorant to the archer’s command, did not break. All they did was make a ‘clink’ sound as Daryl leaned back against the wall, his expression one of defeat. Unwillingly, a lone tear trickled down Daryl’s cheek, his heart shattering at the knowledge that he was failing you. You were in danger and he could not save you. He was breaking the one promise he had sworn to himself he would never dare break; he would always protect you.

“So much for that,” Daryl grumbled to himself with a broken scoff, swallowing hardly to prevent himself from full-on sobbing. “Yer fuckin’ useless. Can’t even protect yer wife, not to mention yer unborn baby. Yer a goddamn failure.”

And Daryl truly believed that. He felt like an absolute failure at that moment. He failed his family, he failed his unborn child, and most of all, he failed you. You could be dead in that well and he would not be able to do anything. He was supposed to protect you! To ensure your safety! How could he fail at that? You were the most precious thing in his life, and he was failing you.

He was failing you. He was failing you. He was failing you.

The sound of keys jiggling caught his attention and prevented him from succumbing to the abyss that was his self deprecating thoughts. He looked up and attempted to see who was on the other side of his cell, but he could not. Despite only being midday, the harsh storm outside made his cell appear pitch black, so all he could see was a silhouette. And then another. And another. And then…

“Daryl!”

Daryl’s heart both sped up and stopped simultaneously. He had never once thought that he would be as happy to hear that voice like he was at that moment. The gruffness of the voice, mixed with the southern twang of the accent was one Daryl was all too familiar with.

“Rick.”

The door to Daryl’s prison flew open with a loud bang as soon as that name left his lips, soon accompanied by the sound of footsteps rushing into his cell. The beams of multiple flashlights fell upon his face, and the light made it possible for Daryl to make out the faces of his rescuers: Rick, Michonne, and Glenn.

“Daryl, oh my god,” Michonne gasped, her eyes trailing over the multiple injuries on her friend’s face.

“M’fine.” Daryl was not fine, not even in the slightest, but it was neither the time or place to fill them in on what ached and what did not. “Jus’ get me the hell outta these fuckin’ chains. I gotta get Y/N!”

Daryl did not even have to say that, because whilst he was still talking, Rick had already dove down and began breaking the shackles with the bolt cutters he had with him. However, he had gone in expecting to find two people he would need to unchain, but other than Daryl, the cell was otherwise empty. And Daryl’s words, the urgency in his voice when he said he needed to find you only further increased the brave leader’s worry.

Where were you?

“Daryl, where’s Y/N?” Rick inquired, helping his found brother up onto his feet.

Daryl looked at Rick, terror in his eyes. “Hopefully not where I think she is.” He wiped his hands on his tattered shirt. “Get a long rope and meet me at the wells. M’gon’ be at the one with the wooden doors.”

Before anyone could make any inquiries as to what he meant, Daryl pushed past them, taking off in a dead sprint out of the cell. He ran up the stairs of the basement, up into the living room—the location where it all went wrong—and out the front door. The rain fell down on him heavily as his bare feet made contact with the muddy ground below him, but he did not care. He only had one destination in mind, one goal in mind; he had to find you. He just prayed to whatever higher entity was listening that he was not too late.

The seemingly endless amount of wells soon came into the archer’s view. He sped up his pace, if that was even humanly possible, and begun heading straight for the one that stood out from the others—the one with the open doors. His suspicions had been right. The bastards had not even bothered to seal you away from the increasingly worsening weather.

The icy water droplets fell onto his body in a cold shower as he skidded to a halt in front of the well. He braced himself on the edge of the well and peered down, his ocean-coloured eyes zoning in on the sight below. At first, he could not see a thing, his vision obscured by the droplets that fell into his eyes due to the wind that blew them in his direction, but then he saw it. He saw you, floating at the bottom, the well already filled with water.

“Y/N!” Daryl called down. At first, he had feared his voice was drowned out by the storm, but when you looked up at him, he felt relieved.

“Daryl!” you called up to him, your voice tinged with absolute terror, making Daryl’s blood run impossibly cold. “Help me! Please! I can’t get out!”

Daryl heard his name being called, and he looked over his shoulder. He saw Carol in the distance, accompanied by Abraham and Rosita. He did not wait for them to catch up to him. He needed to help you.

Hoisting himself up onto the edge, he jumped down into deep hole, completely disregarding his own safety. His body soon collided with the chilling water below, and when he only narrowly grazed the bottom with his feet, he realized that the water was deeper than he had initially thought.

He resurfaced and took a deep breath, wiping his wet hair out of his face and looking around for you. When he spotted you, he swam over hurriedly, his heart pounding against his chest.

“Sweetheart, oh my god,” he panted breathlessly. He took your face in one of his hands, his thumb gently rubbing over your cold as ice cheek. “Yer okay. I gotcha. We’re gon’ get out, alright? Rick’s here and he’s gon’ bring a rope and we’re gettin’ out.”

“Daryl,” you began with a broken sob, “I can’t get out.”

The archer frowned at that. “What? Whatcha mean? ‘Course yer gon’—”

“I can’t,” you insisted through your tears. “I can’t free my legs.”

Daryl’s heart stopped at that. He removed his hand from your cheek and ducked down beneath the water. Although the water made it hard to see, he could make out the faint, unmistakable glint of chains that were similar to the ones that had kept him shackled in his cell. That knowledge made the archer’s heart drop to his stomach.

When he resurfaced again, Daryl looked at you, and he could see the terror on your face. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and reassure you that everything would be okay, but he could not do that. You needed to stay afloat, and Daryl needed to come up with a plan—fast.

“Daryl,” your broken whisper reached his ears, and it shattered his heart into pieces. “I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.”

If there was one thing about you that Daryl had initially been drawn to, it was your fearlessness. The reality of the world you were forced to live in had toughened you up from that scared, meek woman he had met at the quarry. You did not scare so easily, so hearing those words come from you made his body fill with dread.

“I know ya are, Sweetheart. But I’ll figure it out. I won’t leave ya here.”

Where the hell was Rick? He needed those goddamn bolt cutters! However, Daryl supposed he could not be mad at his found brother for taking so long. The discharge of multiple weapons had started again a few minutes ago, so it was clear that he was not taking his time just to be spiteful.

The water had risen immensely in the mere five minutes that the archer had been down there with you. The water surrounded your body almost entirely, save for your neck and face, although those too would soon be emerged under water if Daryl did not think fast.

You would drown if he did not do something.

Reemerging beneath the icy depths of the steadily rising water, Daryl swam over to the shackles that bounded your feet to the concrete below. Perhaps the water would played to his advantage and would have weakened the metal. Or maybe it would serve as some kind of lubricant that would help you slip free. He had to hope for the best.

Daryl began tugging at the chains, and similarly to his own ones he had sported earlier, they would not budge. Despite every pull, yank, and kick, the metal did not budge. That was a problem. That was a major problem.

His lungs burning and in desperate need for air, he swam up and resurfaced, taking a big breath. However, his breathing got choked off when he noticed just how quickly the well was filling up. The water was now up to your mouth, and you had to tilt your head back to prevent the water from entering your mouth.

“Shit!” Daryl cursed loudly. “Just hold on, sweet girl. Hold on. Yer gon’ be okay.”

Daryl knew his words were futile. The reassurance that he was throwing your way did not mean a thing. The chains would not budge, despite his best efforts. The water would soon engulf your entire being, and Daryl was powerless to stop it.

He was failing you. He was failing you. He was failing you.

You sent him a strained smile as the water begun filling up around your face. “I love you,” you told him softly. If you truly were about to die, you wanted the man in front of you to know that you loved him. That was what you wanted your last words to be. Not your admission of fear, not begging for Daryl to save you. You wanted to leave this world having let your amazing husband know that you loved him. That was how you wanted to go out.

Your mouth got submerged under water, soon followed by your nose, and all Daryl could do was watch. Watch as your entire body got submerged beneath the water. Watch as you closed your eyes as you begrudgingly accepted your harsh, undeserved fate. Watch as your life slipped away, and he was powerless to stop it.

Refusing to accept what was happening, Daryl ducked down beneath the water and once again attempted to free you from your chains. He tugged, he pulled, he kicked and bashed, but it did not work. He could not save you. You were drowning, and Daryl was forced to watch. There was nothing he could do at that moment.

Daryl could see the moment you lost consciousness. Despite being underwater, Daryl saw when your body went limp. In a last ditch effort, the archer swam over to you, grabbed your body and begun tugging you backwards with all the might he had. However, it was not enough. Nothing he did was enough. You were dying, and he could not prevent that from happening.

The need for air soon made itself known to Daryl, and it forced him to let go of your body and swim up to the surface. When he did, however, he heard his name being called. He looked up and strained his eyes, and he could see Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Abraham, Rosita, and Carol standing there.

There was still hope. “Rick, throw the bolt cutters, and prepare the rope!” he yelled up at the group as loudly as he could. Thankfully, it was loud enough, because the object soon came hurling down at him, splashing into the water.

Daryl wasted no time. He dove back down into the water and grabbed the sinking bolt cutters. He quickly swam over to the shackles and proceeded to try and cut them loose. It took a couple of tries, but thankfully, he managed to do it. Your body—now free from its confinement—drifted to the top, right where it needed to be.

Releasing the bolt cutters, Daryl hurriedly swam up and grabbed your body. He resurfaced with you in his arms, tugging your body up so that your head was above the water. Luckily, the rope that Daryl had requested was already thrown down and ready to be used, much to his great relief.

“Jus’ hold on a bit longer, Sweetheart. We’re almost there,” he mumbled to your unconscious body. With great effort, he swam you both over to the rope. He quickly tied the rope around both of your bodies and held you tightly in his embrace, trusting that there had to be enough manpower up there for them to be able to pull you both up in one go.

“Alright, pull us up!” he called up at the group.

The next few moments passed in a blur. Slowly, but surely, you and Daryl got pulled up from the well. Daryl kept whispering words of reassurance to your limp, possibly dead body, praying that you would be okay. He hoped that he was not too late.

You and Daryl got helped over the edge of the well by multiple people. Daryl looked up momentarily and could make out that there were a lot of people there, even some people in the community he did not know that well. However, his attention soon turned back to you.

Quickly removing the rope from your bodies, Daryl laid you down on the ground. He situated himself over you and pressed his hands against your chest, before beginning a steady rhythm of CPR. He could feel droplets trickle down his cheeks, and whether they were from the rain or from his tears, he did not know, nor did he care.

Ah, ah, ah, ah. Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive, and repeat. That was the stupid motto you had drilled into his mind back when you were being taught to do those types of medical procedures by Hershel. He had offered to be your test dummy, and you had kept singing that particular line of that song over and over again. He had thought it was stupid back then, but now it was coming in handy. He just hoped it would work.

Daryl could vaguely hear panicked voices around him, followed by people darting towards the approaching threats and ridding them of their weapons and forcing them to the ground, but he paid them no mind. His only concern was saving you. However, it did not appear to be working. You were not spitting up any water and gasping for precious breath. You simply laid motionless, possibly dead.

“C’mon, Y/N. Wake up!” he muttered desperately. “Wake up, please!”

As a last resort, Daryl did the one thing he never in his life wanted to do to you; he began hitting you, against your chest, hard. He repeated it once, twice, three times, when it finally happened. It finally happened, much to Daryl’s immense relief.

You woke up abruptly, coughing up water. Daryl helped you lean forward and patted your back, helping you rid your lungs of the liquid in them. You inhaled shuddering breaths, falling back against Daryl’s chest and closing your eyes as your husband wrapped his arms around you.

“Daryl,” you whimpered out brokenly, seeking the comfort of the man you loved more than life itself.

Daryl pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, closing his eyes as tears trickled down his face. There were so many people around the both of you, but he did not care. He was just so glad that you were okay. Nothing else mattered.

“M’here, sweet girl. M’here,” he muttered into your hair that was drenched in water. “Yer okay. I gotcha. I promise I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ else happen to ya.”

And for the first time since setting foot onto the cursed grounds of the Sunny Meadows community, you truly felt safe, at home, in Daryl’s arms.

[more-lavender-syrup]

Power Play

Description: You knew something was wrong when you awakened to Daemon missing. However, when he comes home wounded, you do your best to comfort him in every way possible. But it would be much easier if Daemon didn’t turn everything into a power struggle Word Count: 3,083 Warnings/Notes: this is pretty much entirely smit, oral (m!receiving), PIV, riding, reader stitches Daemon's wound, reader has prophetic dreams that people ignore, Daemon can’t handle being taken care of so he turns it into a power play Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!WifeReader

It was the same melody, played over and over again. It was a song of screams and fire.

He was hurt; you knew it. You had felt it, as if you yourself had been maimed. But, despite the terror that coursed through you, your eyes still searched the darkness. 

Your hand searched for a warm form in the bed. But, when nothing was found, you opened your eyes only to see the empty space that remained. 

You had been wrong before. It didn’t happen often, but you had been wrong. 

Cold night air bit at your skin as you pushed yourself upward. The blankets that covered you slid downward, pooling at your torso to expose your naked form below.

“Daemon?” You called. 

He had been there when you had fallen asleep. But, now the only proof that remained of him was the indention in the mattress beside you. 

“Daemon, please?” You called again. Yet, there was no answer. You quickly pushed yourself out of bed and reached for the thin nightgown that he had expertly stripped off of you hours before. 

Pulling it on, you searched for any sign of him. Somewhere in the hall, you heard someone speak.

“Daemon?”

You quickly stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind you.

A group of handmaids were lurking in the hallway. They each turned their tired eyes to you, searching for some kind of explanation.

“Are you alright? We heard you yelling.” One of the women asked as her eyes dragged over your thin gown.

“Where’s my husband?” You asked.

“The king said that he left. His majesty said that Prince Daemon was needed for something. I think he said something about a crab, but I didn’t hear what.” It was clear that the handmaid was exhausted.

“When did he leave?” You asked. But the woman could only shake her head. She had no idea.

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath as you rushed down the hallway. Surely someone who could help would still be up. Perhaps the maester was still awake; he was usually willing to humor you.

You bounded down a staircase and then made a sharp left down a tiny corridor. But, as you rounded a corner, a set of arms shot outward and quickly clamped a hand over your mouth. The form pulled you backward before your back hit the wall beside you.

Panic shot through your body as you remembered the stories of maidens being taken in the night. You struggled in the darkness, only to hear a familiar story slice through your fantasies.

“It’s just me.” Daemon whispered as he pulled his hand away from your face. 

“Where’s your guard? Do you know how easy it would have been to snatch you and vanish into the night?” He scolded. You rolled your eyes. 

“The only person attacking people at this time of night is you.” He frowned at the comment. You squirmed in his arms, however he did not release you. Instead, he began to inspect you, searching for some idea as to what you were doing out in the middle of the night. You could feel his heartbeat through his thin clothes. Warmth seemed to radiate off of his skin, warming you to your core.

As his body pressed against yours, you felt a hot rush of liquid soak into the material of your dress. He was bleeding.

***

You had insisted on helping him back to your shared room. However, with each step, he scoffed and told you that he was perfectly fine. The blood that was dripped from his leg with every step told a different story. 

When you reached the room, you helped shuffle him to the bed. Then, you rushed to get the small kit that the maester had left behind for you. The maester was well aware of Daemon’s aversion to help; the hope had been that Daemon was more willing to accept help from his wife, rather than the maester. And, on occasion, that had been exactly the case.

You glanced over at the bed, only to see Daemon watching you like a lion watches his prey.

“Pants. Off. Now.” You instructed as you began to make your way back to the bed. He rolled his eyes, however he did as he had been told. 

He began to undo his pants. As he worked, he emphasized each movement. You watched as he stripped down, checking for any new wounds that would require your attention.

As he pulled his pants downward, his already hard cock sprung free.

“Now, if this is what you wanted then you could have simply asked. It’s a prince’s duty to never leave a lady in need.”

“I’m well aware of what you think your duty is.” I mumbled. 

There was a gash that covered the side of his calf. Blood wept from the wound, staining the blankets below.

“What happened?”

“A man took a cheap shot. Luckily it wasn’t valyrian steel or else I would have lost the leg.” Daemon said it so casually. 

You quickly knelt downward and began to poke and prod at the wound. You removed the small pieces of shrapnel and dirt that had sunk into the wound. After a moment, you began to speak.

“You could have died.”

“And yet,” he waved a bloodied arm to demonstrate his point, “I’m still here to piss you off.” You rolled your eyes as you carefully finished cleaning the wound. 

The gash was deep; but not so deep that you needed to send for a maester.

Once you were satisfied, you reached for the small sewing set that lay at the bottom of the box. Daemon watched you thread the needle with a deep fascination, though when you actually began to work, he turned his attention to the ceiling above him.

“You shouldn’t be up at this hour. You also shouldn’t be wandering around without a guard.” He scolded.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You said as you carefully sewed the wound shut. Each stitch was carefully placed. You just needed the wound to close and heal properly. It didn’t need to look pretty.

“Then you could have called for one of your handmaids to keep your company.” Daemon said. He didn’t want you to be alone at night; not when there was a chance you could be hurt. “You can’t do this again. Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for you to have been killed?”

“I’m not going to force someone else to endure my paranoia.” You said as you tied a knot on the end of the thread. 

“I don’t want you wandering around at night. Not when anyone could be roaming around.” You reached for the scissors that you had placed beside his thigh. You carefully snipped the thread, content with your makeshift patch that you had sewn on his leg. It should hold for now; at least, long enough for him to heal. 

“I had a dream about you. That’s why I went looking for you.” You said. That was enough to make Daemon’s face twitch. “I dreamed that you were injured. That you had gotten shot off your dragon and that you were lying somewhere.”

His face twitched again. He would never admit it to you, but that was far closer to the truth than the story he had told you. He had lied to you to keep you from worrying; maybe if you thought that he was never in any real danger, then you would be fine.

You pushed the needle back into the pin cushion and then dropped it back into the box beside you. He turned his gaze from the ceiling to you.

You lay a hand on his leg. His skin was speckled with flecks of blood. New bruises painted his skin and they would only get darker by morning. As your fingers traced his skin, his mind drifted to less tender things. You didn’t even notice until something glinted faintly in the candlelight. 

Clear fluid was leaking from his cock.

“Daemon.” You said. His eyes burned into your skin. He didn’t bother to answer. He already knew what you would do; you had always been so sweet to him. You had always been such a good and dutiful wife.

You watched his cock bob against him. He was aching with need. 

Maybe if you were very careful then it would be fine.

You sighed as you crawled closer to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You said. 

“Shouldn’t I be worried about hurting you?” He asked. It was true; Daemon had always been overly gingerly with you, even when you had asked him to be rough. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you. He adored you too much. 

“Just let me know if something hurts. Okay?” He was coated in so many new bruises that you could easily cause more harm than good. But he just looked so desperate. 

You leaned forward and gently wrapped your hand around the base of his cock. You stroked him twice before you leaned your face downward.

You carefully took him in your mouth, sliding him as far back as you could take. You closed your lips around his length. A hand landed on the back of your head. He closed his fingers in your messy locks, easing you down on his cock.

Salty fluid dripped from his tip as you began to bob your head up and down. He needed a release. Badly. His face twitched with every movement. 

Your tongue slid against the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock. He groaned, lifting his hips up to sink himself deeper in your mouth. 

But it wasn’t enough. He missed the feeling of you curling around him, desperate for more as your hips ground together.

“Need to fuck you.” He groaned.

Fuck, that sounded perfect. 

You pulled your head back, allowing him to slip from your lips with a soft ‘pop.’

“You have to be careful.” You warned him. He frantically nodded; it didn’t matter what you said; he could have agreed if it meant that he got to be inside of you. 

He began to push himself off of the bed, however you quickly stopped him. 

“I want to ride you.” You told him. He grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You quickly pushed your dress off of your shoulders and let it fall downward. It slipped down your body, exposing your bare skin below. Once  you were free of the thing, you pushed it into the floor with Daemon’s pants. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He said. His eyes drank you in as you crawled closer to him.

“Lean back.” You ordered. Without hesitation, he laid back, pushing himself against the mattress. He was desperate. A thin sheen of sweat had taken over his skin.

One of your legs slipped over his hips. You were careful as you straddled him, making sure not to brush the stitches that you had just given him. You slipped one of your hands down into the space between you and carefully wrapped your hand around his velveting length. He was still slick from your spit. You guided him between your folds. Then, in one fluid motion, you slid downward, taking in every inch of him all at once.

“Fucking hell.” Daemon groaned. He stretched you out, making your body spasm to accommodate him.

After a moment, you lifted your ass upward, sliding his cock almost completely out of you. Then, you dropped downward again, fucking yourself on him.

You felt the back of his thigh brush your ass as he moved his legs. He wanted to fuck you harder; deeper. However, it also had the unfortunate side effect of pulling on the stitches that adorned his leg. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You warned him. However, he seemed keen on refusing any kind of self-preservation. He moved his legs again, pulling on your patchwork.

“Daemon, you need to stay still before I tie you to the headboard.”

“Oh?” He took it as more of a welcomed suggestion, rather than a threat.

He lifted his hips off of the bed.

“Stop. You’re going to pull on your stitches.” You ordered. “I won’t move until you stay still.” 

He furrowed his pale brow; he took your commands to be challenges, rather than orders.

“I’m fine with the stitches popping. Quite frankly, they’re annoying so it'll be a relief to see them go.”

“Your lack of concern for your own health is horrifying.” You told him. 

“I’m not going to die from a little blood loss. And if I do, then frankly I was already too weak; no point in living when a little nick can take me out.”

“When you get a chance, please write that down so I can remember to share that with my future suitors when I become a widow.” Daemon grinned to himself before he ground his hips against yours. He curled his arms around your waist. He wanted to get more control. 

You were not going to let that happen.

You rolled your eyes. You quickly grasped each of Daemon’s arms. His skin was hot to the touch. You leaned forward, pinning his arms over his head. All the while, you kept him buried inside of you. 

Daemon was allowing you to hold him there; you knew for a fact that if your prince had wanted to, he could have easily flipped you over and had his way with you.

“Just let me take care of you without you hurting yourself.” You said. 

“I’m not helpless.” The prince scoffed at the notion.

“No, but you are hurt.”

He rolled his eyes before he shot upright, breaking free of your weak hold. He bolted upright and frantically reached out for you. He curled his arm around your waist, pulling your small frame as close to his chest as possible. He lifted you upright slightly; not enough to pull out of you, but enough so that you were no longer perched on top of him.

Then, without warning, he slammed his hips inside of you, hitting so deep that you saw stars.

“Daemon!”

His arm slipped from your waist, dropping you down on his cock once again. Both of his hands moved to your shoulders, where they slowly began to trace downward. 

“What’re you doing?” You asked. But, instead of answering, Daemon leaned in and captured your lips in an all consuming kiss. Unfortunately, the kiss was a mere distraction. 

After all, he was a master of strategy.

While your lips danced over his, tongues tracing one another’s mouths, Daemon curled a single hand around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. Once he knew he had trapped you, he returned his other arm to its previous position on your waist. You pulled your lips away from the wet kiss just in time to feel him lifting you upward once more. 

“Daemon,” You gasped. With that, he fucked himself into you again. He couldn’t help but grin at how your toes curled and the air hitched in your throat. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You said. Your arms struggled against his iron grip, but he did not let go.

“Now weren’t you the one who started this whole mess?” He taunted. Instead of pulling out this time, he left his cock buried inside of you and gave you the chance to grind against his hips. The friction was beautiful; it was enough to make your head spin as you rocked yourself against him. 

“I thought I was going to hurt myself.” He taunted again. He felt you flutter around him as he slowly pulled his hips backwards, readying himself for another thrust. “What do you want?” He asked.

You looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Your concerns about hurting him had melted away as you drifted closer to the edge. Now, all you wanted was him. You wanted his touch and the pleasure that only he was able to give you.

Daemon leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Come on. I know you can do it.” His voice was low and needy.

Your bodies moved in time with one another; your hips met every thrust, grinding yourself against him before you moved your hips upward again. Every movement was lined with desperation.

Then, the spring that had been twisting inside of you snapped. Pleasure shot through you, making your toes curl and your head fall backward. 

Daemon quickly released your arms. His free hand shot up to the back of your head, pulling you close before you had the chance to move away. He pressed his mouth against yours as your body was flooded with heat. You fluttered around him, overcome with pleasure. Daemon fucked himself into you again. That was all it took for him to tip over the edge. He groaned into your mouth as his cock twitched, filling you with everything that he had to give.

You curled your now-freed arms around his neck, holding him close as his lips danced over yours. 

Your lips remained locked as pleasure overtook your movements, allowing you both to ride out the highs of your orgasms. 

After a moment, your bodies stilled their motions. You pulled your lips free from his. You opened your eyes, searching for something in his face. He offered you a soft grin as he traced a hand up your spine.

The room had gone quiet. The only sounds left in the space were your mixed heartbeats and frantic breathing.

The world seemed so much more peaceful now.

You glanced over your shoulder. His legs were folded slightly, though the stitches that you had given him were still completely intact. He wasn’t bleeding and you hadn’t caused any more damage than he had come home with.

That was good enough for you. Daemon was still curled around you, pawing at your skin as he came down from his high. 

You turned back, meeting his gaze for a moment before he buried his face in your neck. 

You carded your fingers through his snowy locks, trying to catch your breath. His lips ghosted over your throat, pressing soft kisses every so often.

He was so beautiful like this. He seemed so gentle. The only thing that contradicted that idea were the dark bruises that were blossoming across his skin. 

“My sweet prince.” You whispered.

Daemon grinned against your skin at the notion of anyone thinking he was sweet.

[iloveoldermen-posts]

Idk if you do these kinds of things but I kinda wanna get this off my chest. 141 or whoever you chose with an actual ghost reader? Like they kinda haunt the base and leave little trinkets and notes. Uh little ghostie has taken a liking to them and vice versa. The boys like to sometimes leave little things they find for her to eventually move somewhere else either for a prank or a pick me up to show she’s there. This is my first time ever doing a request so feel free to ignore if it’s too much

- ♠️ s

My Little Note I'M SORRY BUT THE CREATIVITY. My god this ask ateeee. I will try my hardest to bring the vision to life, thank youuu for suggesting it!!

Warnings: open ending, slight swearing, unsure about continuation of the one-shot, gender neutral however i have not proof read ୨୧

Everybody knew the base was haunted, I mean with how many people had died, with how many souls that were lost - it was bound to happen. The ghosts pretty much kept to themselves, wanting to finally be at peace. So unless you were a real pain in the as, they left you alone.

The 141 thought it was all a myth, something to make soldier's feel better about being afraid of their past haunting them. That was until 'little ghostie' took a liking to them. At first it was just the taunting of the man who dared call himslef 'Ghost', he hadn't reached that stage yet and Ghostie thought he shouldn't foreshadow the loneliest part of the cycle of life.

Ghostie thought it was funny seeing these big, wise men pracically shit themselves at the creak of floorboard, especially since everybody else knew about the base and accepted the idea of it being haunted.

When the 141 finally accepted Ghostie was there to stay, they started noticing things, trinkets of sorts. For example, leaving a bar of soap on Johnny's pillow, him replying 'real funny Ghostie.' Eliciting a gentle giggle to be heard and echoed through Johnny's mind for the rest of the week.

Or when Ghostie left a little ghost plush for Simon in his regular seat in the meeting room. He smiled under his mask and stuffed it in his pocket. Later that night when Ghostie was doing rounds of the base, they noticed Simon fast asleep with the small teddy almost engulfed by his arm muscle.

Gaz was given a drawing of himself sitting next to an empty chair filled with small orbs. Gaz classed it as a masterpiece and not only did he hang it up but he had it framed and placed on a wall in their common room, not even caring about the design rules.

Price was the last to recieve any gift at all, some of the boys even had multiple before he recieved his first. He didn't care about all of that when he recieved his gift - a beautifully written cursive letter explaing to him who Ghostie really was and how happy they are now they have all met.

The letter included the fact that when a ghost finally reaches full contentness, they either pass over or come back from the land of the dead.

That was the last time they heard from 'little ghostie' for the past week, unsure of what they finally chose..

My asks are currently open so get the requests in, and check out my masterlist.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! -> ALL REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!!

[prozacwhorehouse]

pacify her (soft brat!tamer cooper x fem!reader)

this is a longer one shot of a headcannon from my cooper headcannons! i am a strong believer in brat!tamer cooper, and the tied up time out just makes sense because…yes.

cooper punishing his baby girl is very important to me nuff said

DNI if you’re a minor or just aren’t into it…nsfw 18+ no smut but mature themes, dword used, restraints, gagging, brat taming, age gap, reader is in early 20s cooper is in 40s

they’re arguing because she’s bored. In the house she stays, locked away all day. she can’t leave - then people would know where she went - she’s been missing for months, and she’s okay with it. she prefers her safe life with cooper to her dark past. but she’s staring to drive herself insane - pacing the same rooms. staring at the same walls. she just wants to go out. then she threatens to leave. you and cooper both know that can’t happen.

“in the bedroom.” he glares, clenching his fist together on the table. shit. she knows she’s in trouble.

she gulps and slowly turns on her heel to make her way over to their room. he watches her leave, letting out a sigh and running his hands through his hair. he comes to terms with the fact that it’s finally time she’s punished. she’s never acted up, never been yelled at. tears prick at her eyes thinking that because she was a bad girl just this once, he’d always see her as one.

she opens her mouth to say something, quickly cut off by cooper. “quiet” he commands. she shuts her mouth instantly. her eyes follow him as he walks over to the dresser, pulling out the top drawer. his back is to her, so she can’t see what he’s getting. her mouth falls open when he turns and reveals two long pieces of rope he begins to unwind.

“please cooper, im so-so sorry,” she sniffles and moves back on the bed towards the headboard as he stalks towards her, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. he’s never done this before.

“shh. you’ve always been such a good girl. but this is an important lesson for you to learn. im sure after this, you’ll be my good girl again.” She whimpers when he’s hovering over her on the bed, wrapping the rope around her wrists in front of her, finishing it with a nice tight bow. she tries to pull her ankles in to protest a second set of restraints, but he quickly grabs and pulls her ankles towards him, wrapping the rope around and finishing with another bow. it settles in that he’s not going to show her mercy, but she can at least try to get him to change his mind. she thinks maybe her sobbing will she doesn’t even have to try, she’s crying anyway, she can’t believe she let him down like this. she’s always so good. why’d she have to misbehave?

“honey, you have to be quiet. i don’t want to have to make you,” he says. as messed up as it is, she’s kind of interested. so, she ignores, and continues sobbing.

“please daddy please, ill be a good girl i promise!” she pleads to no avail, causing him to sigh and tsk.

“I tried to warn you, babygirl.” her eyes widen when he reaches in the bedside table and pulls out a ball gag, one she’s never seen before. it’s new, he bought it for this purpose. he knew deep down that someday, living locked away, she’d break, and he’d need to calm her down.

“nonono” she tries to squirm away, bound wrists and ankles making it more difficult. he catches her quickly, and her pleas are suddenly muffled and her eyes squeeze shut as the gag is forced into her mouth, securely buckled behind her head.

“there we go. shhh, baby.” her sobs are muffled now, but her tears continue to flow non stop, which he attempts to wipe away with his thumb as he caresses her cheek. he scans her body, and he can’t help his pants tightening about his crotch when looking at his girl, all tied up and gagged for him. he feels in control, he’s never felt like he’s owned her more.

he’s only used to seeing his victims like this - completely at his mercy. except this time it’s different. his other victims have resentment in their eyes, hers have regret. she lives to please him.

“you just need some quiet time, alone with yourself and your thoughts. ill be back when i think you’ve learned your lesson.” he presses a kiss to her forehead, and she cries one more time, begging him not to go, but it’s inaudible. the lights switch off, and the door closes. she’s alone - she can’t move, see, or speak. she can only choke on her own cries, and wriggle against her bonds. time out is worse than she ever thought it’d be.

after an hour, she stops crying. it’s no bother. he can’t hear her anyway. even if he could, she didn’t want to upset him even further by not keeping quiet like he’d asked.

she’s tired herself out anyway. struggling in her restraints, heavy breathing through her nose in panic, and bawling.

cooper stops by the door and puts an ear to the wood, listening for cries. he doesn’t hear anything, now that she’s calmed down he can go in and talk to her.

when he enters the room, the light coming through the crack in the door spreads onto her frame. she’s facing away from the door now, a sign that she struggled, tried to move off the bed, but no success.

he doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep. time outs are hard work!

“baby?” he whispers, brushing the hair that’s managed to slip out from under the leather straps out of her face. she rolls over, her eyes flutter open, and she pinches her eyes shut at the sudden bright light. she lost track of how long she was in the dark.

“do you understand why i put you in here? why you had such a long time out?” he says softly, with a hand on her shoulder.

she nods her head softly, looking up at him with doe eyes through her lashes. she looks so perfect like this- part of cooper wants to keep her like this. she’d be his forever.

he unbuckles the straps from around her head, she gags when the ball is pulled from her mouth. “there we go baby. it’s okay.” he rubs circles on her lower back before moving to untie her.

“do you still love me?” She finally speaks up, looking at him like a lost puppy, eyes glassy. his face softens, and he pulls her into his lap so she’s straddling him, her arms around his neck.

“oh, sweet girl. of course i still love you. i did it because i love you. you just need to be a good girl for me, okay? for this to work, i need you to do as i say. okay?” he asks her. she nods, “yes.”

“yes what?” he raises his eyebrows, expecting her to continue her sentence.

“yes daddy,” she says, and he smiles and cups her face to kiss her. “good girl.”

this is so filthy I’m sorry

[7ndipity]

Soulmate AU Scenarios

Jin x Reader, Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: only partially edited, not proofread

A/N: These have been sitting in my drafts for soo long, I don’t even remember when I wrote them tbh, but I figured since I didn’t have anything else ready for today, I’d share these with the class!

(Note, these are part of my Non-Linear series, which means they’re unfinished and ask motivated, see m.list for details)

Masterlist Non-Linear m.list

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

J: (Feeling a shock when you touch your SM)

Jin braced himself as he wove through the crowded streets, trying to avoid bumping into anyone as the static air began to make his hair bristle.

Everywhere he went, tiny zaps of electricity would hit him, sometimes from just the slightest of touches. It was like wearing a wool sweater all the time, and it made him tense and anxious every time he left the house.

He had gone to multiple doctors and specialists to try and figure out what was going on, but all they could ever come up with was he was just hypersensitive to his type of soulmark, feeling things too intensely.

He had hoped that they would be able to help him find some sort of treatment or solution to his problem, but all they had basically told him was to try wearing extra layers to lessen the sensation and to just ignore it as best he could.

He made his way slowly down the crowded sidewalk, trying to avoid getting too close to anyone, but it was almost impossible to avoid bumping into a few people. By the time he made it to crosswalk, he could hardly stand the static buzz around him anymore, more than ready to just go home

Suddenly, he heard a small curse as someone behind him stumbled, falling against him.

“Yi-aish!” Lightning shot up his arm, sending him flying back in shock and pain. Heart pounding from the sudden jolt of electricity, he looked up to see you sitting on the ground, gripping your shoulder in pain from the shock.

Realization hit him as he stared down at you, his fingers still tingling from the intensity of the shock.

“A-are you okay?” He asked, hesitating for a moment before offering you his hand.

Glancing between it and his face, you cautiously accepted it, your expression mirroring his curiosity and concern.

This time, when your palms touch, neither of you felt a painful jolt, but rather a soothing warmth that spread up your arm, like sunlight in your veins.

He smiled shyly at you. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Jungkook:(sharing a very specific mark with your SM, SM’s tattoos/scars appear on your skin)

For the nth time today, you tugged down the sleeve of your sweater to cover your right hand, hiding the writing and designs that decorated your skin.

Having the same tattoos and scars as your soulmate would be enough to make anyone feel a bit self conscious at times on its own, no matter how beautiful you might think they are, but when your soulmate was someone famous, having such a visible marker of who you were bound to made you a target for all kinds of attention, some of which could even be potentially dangerous.

So many people tried to copy tattoos, trying to pass themselves off as the real deal, the only way to know for sure was to get some kind of test to know if it was regular ink or a ‘soul mark’ as they were sometimes called.

When the marks first started showing up, you were in complete denial, but the collection of designs had quickly grown beyond the point of denying, so you had switched to ignoring/hiding them. Lots of people chose to ignore their marks and make their own lives, and you knew enough about your soulmate to know there wasn’t a real possibility to be together.

Until your manager came by to tell you that you would be giving a tour of the venue/museum/historical site/smth where you worked to some very important visitors.

When you walked out and saw him standing there, it was like the world stopped. Everything seemed to slow for a fraction of a second, your breath hanging in the air as your eyes met.

But then, painfully, the world kept going. Everyone kept talking, your manager introduced you to everyone and left you to show him and his members around.

Pushing your initial shock aside, you focused on leading them around on the tour, answering any questions they had and chatting easily. You actually found yourself having a really nice time with them, almost forgetting your earlier nerves, until you noticed Jungkook's eyes on you, or more specifically, your hand.

As you had been pointing out something, he caught sight of the dark patterning over your knuckles, just barely peeking out of your oversized sleeves.

You tried to tuck your hand out of sight, but he was too quick, stepping forward and catching your arm, tugging your sleeve up to reveal the numerous, interweaving tattoos that covered your skin.

You locked your eyes on the floor, afraid of what he would say.

“Finally.” He breathed, making you look up in surprise.

He smiled down at you in disbelief. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn

[imaginaryf1shots]

My Girls (VI) | Max Verstappen

Words count: 3.7K

Driver!oc X Max Verstappen

Platonic!Driver!oc X the grid

Summery: Cecilia Hansson daughter of a Swedish billionaire, a race car driver, with a dream of making it big in Formula 1. However she has a few secrets that may hurt her as women are disliked in the sport.

Series Warnings: google translated french, dutch, cursing, child abandment, absent father, drinking, car accidents, Jos Verstappen, misogyny, Christian horner (tell me if i missed anything)

This is a secondary blog so I won't be able to respond but I'm adding you all to the taglist.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Max Masterlist

Previous || Next

Leaked

Cecilia, Lando and George were on a private plane from Italy to Germany, Cecilia said goodbye to her daughter at the airport, the girl was with Cecilia the last month travelling and spending time together, her dad was in Italy for work so on his way back to Monaco he took his granddaughter with him on his plane.

The three drivers were on the plane with a few Mclaren personnel, they had fun the three of them on the plane, Cecilia happily showed Geeorge some of the photos she took of Nattie in Italy. 

The moment the plane landed, and the airplane mode turned off, quite a few phones started buzzing with incoming texts, by a few, I mean every phone minus George.

“Whoa, is Mclaren having an emergency?” George commented, the plane hadn't even stopped when they all started turning the airplane mode off. 

“Fuck.” Lando mumbled, his eyes snapping up from his phone to Cecilia, Cecilia’s PR manager quickly picked up her phone and made some calls.

“What? What happened?” George looked at Cecilia’s phone, the female looked stunt, the only one that hasn’t moved since she opened her phone. “Oh Cece, I’m sorry.” George knew how much Cecilia tried to keep her daughter out of the public’s eyes. So many questions will rise and so many speculations will start, everything the female didn’t want, not mid season, not like this. She knew that one day she’ll announce her daughter to the world, but she wanted it to be on her terms. 

“Cecilia.” Lando said softly, he moved from his seat across from her, he placed his hand on her knee once he kneeled down. She looked up at him and he tried to not look surprised. She didn’t look sad like he expected, no, she looked mad, mother lion just came out to play. You don’t poke a bear if you’re not ready to face it. 

“I’m fine, it was bound to happen.” She says pushing her hair out of her face.

“Still doesn’t make it right.” George stated.

“No it doesn’t, but nothing is right and nothing in life is fair.” She shrugged and pursed her lips, she closed her phone and sighed, she looked at her manager. “Can we deal with this at the hotel?”

“Yeah, it’ll be better then.” 

Once at the hotel, a couple PR managers and a few of Mclaren’s team were in Cecilia’s room, her suite had a living room and a bedroom, on call was the legal team, they were all talking about what to do, if they can sue, and all that. Cecilia was silent the whole time, her phone kept buzzing but she ignored it, so many people she hadn’t talked to in years were calling and texting, she shot a text to her family, Max and friends telling them she’s okay and to sit tight,

Cecilia was over this by the time they were an hour in and nothing was agreed on, she turned to her team principal who sat next to her.

“Can we just not sue anyone and just either not say anything or let me post a picture on instagram, and let us be done with it, it’s not like I did something wrong.” Cecilia asked in a low voice so the conversation could flow between the two of them alone.

“You wanted to keep her hidden.” Seidl said frowning, he was of the understanding that Cecilia wanted to keep her daughter out of the knowledge of people and out of the public eye, she’s always getting hate because of her gender, things have been better after she kept proving everyone that she’s a great driver, but the team suspected that it’ll take another year before most public scrutiny would at the minimum. 

“I did, but there’s nothing we can do now, if we start suing people, then it’ll look like I was hiding her because I’m ashamed, and I don’t want that, I don’t want her at 16 looking me up and seeing this, I’m not ashamed that I have a daughter.” Cecilia explained, he nodded in understanding, and thought about it for a moment.

“Alright, everyone!” Everyone shut up to look at Seidl and hear what he had to say. “Suing isn’t the answer here, let’s leave Cecilia to think this over and let her decide if we respond to this or not.”

“But-”

“No buts, we’ve all had long flights, let's talk about this tomorrow, nothing will change from now to tomorrow.” Standing up, it was a sign for everyone to start packing and leaving, before he left he turned to his driver. “Think it over and tell us tomorrow… you didn’t ask me what I thought about it.”

“What do you think I should do?” 

“I think fuck them all, you’re not the only one on the grid with kids, so why should it matter that you’re a woman, it’s time the public learns to not take you for a weak person.” With a pat to her shoulder he left behind the team. Cecilia felt better knowing her boss felt that way, she didn’t want to find herself teamless at the end of the year.

Cecilia freshened up and changed into sweats with a plain shirt, she hears someone at the door as she’s pulling her hair up in a bun, opening the door, she sees Max. Quickly pulling him in, she sticks her head out looking left and right before she slammed the door shut.

“What are you doing here?” She asks her boyfriend, they always made sure that when they weren’t in the same hotel to always have a lockout and help sneaking in undetected, their friends always helped the couple out. 

“Don’t worry Lando helped me.” She should’ve guessed, Lando is literally in the next suite. Cecilia wrapped her arms in silence around Max, right around his middle, her way of showing him she wanted to be hugged tightly by him. Something that she did and he picked on, when she’d happy and in a good mood, her arms around his neck or in his hair, when she’s sad and just needs some love around his middle. His brain translates the latter to the need to protect. Max’s arms caged her in, across and down her back with one arm, the other across and up reaching the back of her head. Max kissed the side of her head a few times, and he didn’t try to pull away, he’d let her pull away first. Cecilia buried her head in his neck, she wanted to disappear and hide away from the world. The only reason Max knew she was crying is because he felt her tears touching his skin. “Oh schatje, please don’t cry.”

She pulled back just enough for Max to see her face and for her to be able to see him, this is the first time he’d seen her cry and he didn’t like it, it got his blood boiling. His strong girlfriend, she’s been facing so many hardships since she came into the sports. He moved the hand that was in hair to cup her face, and wipe the tears away. Cecilia tried to smile, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Max asked and Cecilia nodded, she pulled away from him lacing her fingers with his and led him to her bedroom(for the week). Cecilia sat with her back to the headboard, knees to her chest with her chin on her knee. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“No, not 100%.” Cecilia sniffed and turned her head so she could look Max in the eye. “Sdeil left it all to me, I get to decide what I and Mclaren do about this.”

“Then what options are you considering?” Max knew that the only thing he could do in this case is to support her and help Cecilia organise her thoughts, they aren’t out to the public and it would be the worst thing at the moment, it’ll bring her more hate and pressure. 

“We agreed on not suing, but other than that, Mclaren can release a statement saying it’s my private life and ask the public to give me privacy.” This is the least likely scenario she’d go with.

“That’ll do nothing.” Cecilia agreed with Max.

“They can confirm it, but that’ll feel weird, or deny it, even weirder, but I feel like it should come from me.” Cecilia said and her hand moved on the cover she sat on playing with it absentmindedly.

“Why is that?” He wasn't questioning her statement, he wanted to walk through her train of thought with her.

“Because anything else would feel like I’m ashamed of her, which I’m not, so why hide it when it’s already out and in the open.” Cecilia shrugged, she suddenly felt like maybe this isn’t the right decision.

“I get that, you should just post a picture on Instagram and say fuck you to all of them.” Max said and took her hand in his.

“Sdeil said to fuck them all, and just do whatever I want from now on.” Cecilia shared with Max who laughed and agreed with her team principal. “Are you staying the night?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Please.”

“Of course.” It’s been hard saying no to her, and as the time went on it became harder and harder. When Max was changed, shirtless and in a pair of shorts that she had in her bag, he left it once at her hotel and since then it’s been with her for times like this. Whenever she went to his hotel room she’s always in his clothes, Max liked that better.

“You know, I missed you.” 

“We saw each other two days ago.”

“I still missed you, and we saw each other almost everyday in lockdown.”

“I missed you too, schatje.” Cecilia leaned up and kissed his jaw, her hands fell on his shoulder feeling his muscles move as he pulled her closer. They were standing flush against each other, getting their fill of the other, this week will be a hard week and the possibilities of them seeing each other out of the eyes of the public seemed to be less and less. 

Before Cecilia fell asleep she sent a text to Sdeil, he replied with a thumbs up. 

Next day was media day, Max left so early in the morning the sun was barely up. He slipped out of bed as silently as he could and got dressed, Cecilia only felt him when he leaned over to kiss her forehead in goodbye. 

“You’re leaving?” She mumbled, unable to open her eyes fully.

“Yeah, sleep, you still have an hour before you have to wake up.” Cecilia said something he couldn’t understand before she fell back asleep.

Cecilia got in her Mclaren for the week, as she sat there about to get to the circuit she got her phone out, opened Instagram and set everything up before she closed it so she’d post it the moment she hit the circuit. 

The moment she parked, her PR manager and some staff members were by her car’s side, quickly pressing post, she opened the car door and stepped out. She was dressed to kill, gone the team kit.

Her PR manager grinned once she saw her, a new era for the female just began.

Fans screamed once they saw her, cameras were flashing, she stopped and signed hats, cards and everything her fans wanted. But she didn’t answer any questions that were thrown her way, she’ll be asked enough when she gets inside. 

“Hot mama.” Someone said walking beside her, she turned and saw George grinning at her, she laughed and shook her head at his antics, the taller man threw an arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t know that it only took pissing you off for you to come ready to kill.”

“Fuck off George.” She jokingly pushed him away, the Williams’ hospitality was next to Mclaren’s for the week.

“Love the new attitude.” He joked and she shook her head.

“Ceciliaaaaa Haaaansson!” Their Aussie friend called as they passed him, she turned to look at him and laughed, he was giving her thumbs up with a big grin.

“Danieeeel Rrrrricciarddooooo!” She called back and he laughed and turned to what he was doing. 

When they reached their hospitalities she saw Seb and Lewis talking in front of Mercedes, Seb caught her eye and gestured for her to come over. Her and George joined the older drivers.

“How are you, Cecilia?” Seb asked concerned, always caring for the woman. 

“Could be better, but I’m armed and ready.” She said with a shrug, but she was smiling. After her crying session yesterday and talking to Max the rage she felt when saw the article came out once again, the fierceness she had on track is coming off track. 

“Looks like I’ll have to step up my fashion game.” Lewis jokes and gives her a wink.

“Don’t worry, no one can come near you, my style is too simple to match yours.” 

“Did you guys see her Instagram post?” George asked the men, he was eager to share the gossip.

“No.” “I don’t have instagram.” 

George took out his phone and once he got the post up he turned it to face them. 

ceciliahansson15

Liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and  9,397,800 others

ceciliahansson15 On the 15th of June 2016 I was blessed with the greatest gift, my beautiful girl whom I love and hold closer to me than anyone else. I wished to shield her from the cruel world of the public eye, alas now I can share her with the world. So world, say hello to Cecilia Ella Hansson.

More comments

charles_leclerc I’m the favourite uncle!

landonorris Lies

pierregasley I agree with Lando, I’m the favourite

username so beautiful 

username she has her last name

username when you realise the meaning behind her number 🥹

username can you adopt me 🙏🧎‍♀️

“Everyone is going wild online.” George informed them. 

“What can I say, I bring the drama.” Cecilia chuckled and looked at her PR manager. “I have to go, see you guys later.”

Cecilia was in her team shirt, that she tucked into her white pants she had on earlier. Her hair and makeup were like every other week.

Cecilia was called for a briefing, she had a couple solo interviews today, along with the group conference and they were shooting something for Mclaren’s social media and just her luck she’ll be shooting with one of the RedBulls drivers as well.

She was told that the solo interviews questions were already checked and approved with the team, so she had nothing to worry about there. The solo interviews went by in a breeze, she was asked the same questions almost every week. She saw Lando and Pierre in the middle, the trio went and got something to drink, while they were on a break. They too teased her like Geroge did that morning. 

Some of the fan’s favourite moments at the conference.

I(interviewer): The question is for Cecilia, are the rumours about your daughter’s father true?

C: this isn’t a gossiping conference, do you have any questions to do with racing?... no? Okay then, next question please.

**

I: Daniel we know that some of the drivers knew about Cecilia’s daughter did you know too

The drivers rolled their eyes, Seb even chuckled in disbelief.

C: Can i answer this one

D: Go ahead

C: yeah, I don’t see where this concerns you

**

I: Cecilia if you could tell us about your daughter-

C: Come on now guys, I’m not the only person on the grid with kids, I don’t see you all asking them about their children, I’m not answering anything about her, so don’t ask me or the other drivers, they respect my privacy as should you.

I: I’m merely trying to understand

C: That’s fucking bullshit, what the fuck? The double standards you all seemed to have needs to stop, You need to understand jackshit, I gave you all more than you deserve this morning, that’s all, so don’t fucking ask anything more.

Cecilia was photographed having fun with her friends that day, no care in the world. Even though she saw a lot of her friends that day, she hadn’t come across her boyfriend, they were always at the opposite sides all day long. 

For her last obligation for the day, she was standing to the side with her manager. The interviewer was here and they were waiting for one of the RedBull drivers, so it was either Alex or Max. 

The door opened and in walked Max in his RedBull outfit. The two acted like they hadn't seen each other today, sharing a quick hug in greeting, before they settled in front of the camera on a small sofa. 

The female interviewer started with introducing the two, and got on with her questions. This is the first time they’d be interviewed just the two of them, it’s something new.

“Let me start with asking you two about your racing days before you started in formula! I heard you’re friends now, but it wasn’t always like that, is that right?”

“You want to answer that one?” Cecili askes Max knowing that she tried to befriend him when they were younger but he wouldn’t have it. 

“Yeah.” He laughs, hating his younger self, it makes him think how different it would’ve been if they grew up as friends. “To be completely honest, we weren’t the closest, I think we first raced against each other when I was 10?” Cecilia confirms, she was 9 at the time. “And she won our first race, you know as kids she’d win so much more than I did, and had the better car and everything.”

“The thing is at that age, you don’t always realise you can be rivals and not be enemies.” Cecilia added, now as she’s older she saw things in a different light. “Now the grid is filled with friendships from different teams, and given that it is a sport with a small number of people, drivers will be the only ones to understand other drivers, so we become close.”

“That’s very nicely put, at last week’s Grand Prix, there were some people online saying that Cecilia you tried pushing Max off the track.”

“People are saying all sorts of things, I lost grip for a moment and the car started sliding, but I got it back in control before anything could happen.” Cecilia explained the incident, nothing had happened and they both ended on the podium in the end.

“We heard Max cursing on the radio when that happened.” The interviewer added, Cecilia turned to look at Max, she heard the radio messages after the race.

“Yeah well on track you say all sorts of things, at the moment you’re racing you’re full of adrenaline, it’s physical, and if you put microphones on all athletes you’d hear a lot of things.” Max explained calmly.

“So no hard feelings?”

“None at all, we all curse, we all shout, most of the time you don’t even know who you’re cursing at, you just see a car and you know which team, but on the track you don’t think about a single person.” Cecilia added, ending any talk of bad blood between the two that rose online. They were asked a few more questions before the second part of the interview began, and the interviewer will be giving them two options and they’ll have to choose.

“Okay, first one, Cats or dogs?” 

“Cats.” “either.” Max and Cecilia responded at the same time.

“Really, you like cats more.” The interviewer was surprised by Max’s answer.

“Surprising, but he’s thinking of getting a cat.” Cecilia said with a laugh.

“Maybe after the season.” Max shrugged, Max talked to you about it during lockdown and he’s been thinking about it seriously since then, and once Nathalie caught wind of that she’s been begging you for a cat as well. Cecilia’s mum has a no pets policy in the house, she doesn’t like them or want any type of pets.

“Okay, next one, milk or juice with your breakfast?” The drivers laughed and shared a look before in one breath saying.

“Milk.”

“You said that so fast, is there a story behind that?”

“Not really, we’ve just talked about it once.” Max shrugged answering the question.

“Winning your home race or Monaco?”

“Monaco is my home race.” Cecilia says and the interviewer seemed to register that. The questions are standardised for all drivers, so Cecilia didn’t feel offended.

“I’d choose the home race.”

The questions went on for a few more minutes, before they were done for the day.

As they were leaving the room, Max placed his hand on Cecilia's back leading her out, the duo forgot they’re in public for a second as they walked close together, before a pair or arms wrapped around them both.

“We’re in public.” Daniel told the two just loud enough for them to hear him, but had a big smile on his face. The place is littered with cameras and phones. 

“I really hate the public right now.” Cecilia huffed, crossing her arms, she did not look happy.

“It comes with the job.” Max reminded her.

“Doesn’t make it alright.” Cecilia countered back.

 “True.” Daniel agreed with her, being so under the public eye 24/7 for doing what you love isn’t so pleasant to say the least. “Come on, we’re eating at RedBull today.”

Was this Daniel’s way of making the couple be able to eat together? Yes. did they acknowledge this? No. but they were thankful nonetheless. They will be spending the night together so there’s always that. 

While the couple were still a secret from the public, so many pictures of them eating with one or two other drivers popped up on the internet, they’d always be sitting next to each other, but the fans from that angle never put two and two together, besides Cecilia has been shipped with all the drivers, the major ship the fans have is with Charles probably, but the fans also loved her friendship with Lando, her and Max aren’t on the top of the list, which meant they were doing a good job of hiding their relationship.

Next->

Taglist:

@luciaexcorvus . @vellicora . @tpwkstiles . @belennasif  . @eugene-emt-roe . @fanboyluvr . @fangirl125reader , @christianpulisic10 . @belennasif . @itsjustkhaos . @crashingwavesofeuphoria . @mynameisangeloflife . @mirrorball-6 .

[nyxshadowhawk]

I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Seven

Previous part.

Chapter 18: Of the Ruin of Beleriand and the Fall of Fingolfin In which everything goes to hell. Again.

Remember the Siege of Angband? Yeah, that’s still going on. It’s been roughly two hundred years since Morgoth’s last attack (the first appearance of Glaurung the Dragon), and in all that time, the Elves haven’t made much progress. Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor, considers launching another assault on Angband; his people are strong, and now they have the Men on their side. What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

Fingolfin by Insant

The other Noldor are less enthused by this idea. For once, things are pretty great. Why risk the peace and prosperity that the Elves currently have for the chance at defeating Morgoth, when there’s bound to be massive loss of life either way? Only the Elven lords who live in the far north — on Morgoth’s doorstep — agree with Fingolfin, since they can’t ignore Morgoth as easily. They’re shot down by everyone else, so, there’s peace for a little while longer.

That’s when Morgoth makes his move.

Morgoth has been steadily gathering his forces throughout all of that time, and he’s also grown more and more spiteful. He doesn’t just want to defeat the Noldor, he wants to defile their homeland. But his hatred has also made him impatient.

One winter, on a dark night, without any warning, rivers of lava suddenly come pouring down the Thangorodrim, which belch poisonous gases into the air, rendering the whole plain of Ard-galen a barren wasteland overnight. Also, unlike with natural volcanoes, the damage is permanent — Ard-galen becomes known as Angfauglith, which means “Gasping Dust.” Instant Mordor, Just Add Lava. Many poor Elves are swallowed up by the lava before they can react.

As if that weren’t bad enough, Glaurung returns, accompanied by Balrogs and entire armies of Orcs — more Orcs than the Noldor have ever previously seen. The ensuing battle lasts all winter, as Morgoth’s forces return fire on the Noldor. It becomes known as Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame.

Battle of Sudden Flame by Jovan Delic

There are many casualties. Angrod and Aegnor, the brothers of Finrod and Galadriel, both die in the battle. Finrod himself gets cut off in the Fen of Serech, and almost dies, but he’s rescued at the last minute by a Man named Barahir. Finrod escapes with his life, barely, and manages to make it back to his palace in Nargothrond. Finrod pledges undying friendship to Barahir, promises to help him and his family in return if they should ever need him, and gives him his ring as a token of his promise. It’s a ring shaped like two intertwined snakes, set with green stones, and it becomes known as the Ring of Barahir.

Finrod in the Fen of Serech by pansen1802

Incredibly, Fingolfin and co. manage to hang on to their land of Hithlum, but not without heavy losses. Hador Lórindol, one of the Kings of Men who was Fingolfin’s thane, dies in the battle. In the East, Fëanor’s sons aren’t doing great, either — Celegorm and Curufin are both defeated, but not killed; they retreat all the way to Nargothrond and hide there with Finrod. Caranthir’s land is ravaged, too.

Maedhros, however, “burned like a white fire.” He’s been dying to get his revenge on Morgoth for having strung him up on Thangorodrim, and personally slaughters so many Orcs that they start to run in fear of him. He manages to hang on to his fortress, and many people rally to him, including his brother Maglor.

Finrod, Fingon, and Maedhros by star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Overall, the battle is really bad. Fingolfin stares out over the ruined lands, sees his family scattered, and realizes the Noldor are done for. He’s filled with rage and despair, but he isn’t ready to give up yet. There’s only one thing to do. He mounts his horse, Rochallor, and rides straight to the gates of Angband. Those who see him think he must be Oromë, the Vala of the hunt, because he burns with fury and his eyes glow. He blows his warhorn, bangs on the gates of Angband, and challenges Morgoth himself to a duel.

That may be the ballsiest move of any Elf so far (and yes, I’m counting Fëanor going up against an army of Balrogs).

Fingolfin’s Challenge by Jenny Dolfen

Now, throughout all this, Morgoth has spent most of his time hiding in his fortress. Sure, he’s a Vala, and technically the most powerful being in Middle-earth, but he doesn’t fight his own battles. Fingolfin calls him a coward who’d rather send out all of his evil minions to fight for him than come and face him like a man. Morgoth can’t ignore that. So, to the surprise of everyone, Morgoth actually comes. And we get this badass description, which I’m going to transcribe, because I can’t do Tolkien justice:

Therefore Morgoth came, climbing slowly from his subterranean throne, and the rumour of his feet was like thunder underground. And he issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the King like a tower, iron-crowned, and his vast shield, sable-blazoned, cast a shadow over him like a stormcloud. But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice.

Oh, it is on!

Fingolfin vs. Morgoth by Marchesi

The Fall of Fingolfin by Wavesheep

The battle is epic. Morgoth tries to smash Fingolfin with his hammer, called Grond (GROND! GROND! GROND! GROND!), but Fingolfin is too quick. Every time GROND hits the earth, it creates a volcanic cleft in the earth. The battle is compared to a thunderstorm, with the strikes of Morgoth’s hammer being the thunder and Fingolfin darting around being the lightning. Fingolfin actually manages to wound Morgoth, seven times! Each time, Morgoth howls so loud that all of the Orcs cringe in fear.

Fingolfin can’t keep it up forever, though. He’s mortal, and he’s going up against something near to a god. Three times, Morgoth crushes him with his shield, and three times Fingolfin is able to pick himself back up again. He doesn’t have much space to move anymore, because the ground around him is full of holes. He stumbles and falls, and Morgoth presses his foot to Fingolfin’s neck. It’s like getting an entire hill dropped on top of him. Fingolfin isn’t going to go peacefully, though — with his last bit of strength, he cuts deep into Morgoth’s foot.

Fingolfin dies, and thus passes the strongest and most valiant of the Elven kings. The Elves are so sad to lose him that they don’t even sing about the battle. The Orcs don’t gloat about it, either, even though Morgoth won — it was kind of a Pyrrhic victory, because it’s embarrassing that a mere mortal was able to do so much damage to Morgoth. The reason why we know what happened, despite the lack of songs about it, is because Thorondor (the King of the Eagles) brings the news to Gondolin and Hithlum.

Thorondor also saves Fingolfin’s body from being desecrated by Morgoth. Morgoth goes to throw Fingolfin’s corpse to the wolves, but Thorondor swoops down and claws him in the face. Thorondor brings Fingolfin’s body to Gondolin, and Turgon builds a cairn for his father in the surrounding hills. For a while, Fingolfin’s tomb acts almost like a charm that keeps the Orcs away. (But not forever though. Because, in case you forgot, Gondolin is doomed.)

Morgoth’s wounds are permanent. His seven initial wounds never heal, he now limps everywhere he goes because Fingolfin damaged his foot, and his face is also scarred where Thorondor got him.

All of Hithlum mourns Fingolfin’s death. Fingon, in his grief, becomes the sole High King of the Noldor.

Fingon by Moimq

There’s an interesting note here: Fingon sends “his young son Ereinion (who was later named Gil-galad) […] to the Havens.” This is an outright inconsistency. In other sources, Gil-galad is the grandson of Angrod, Finrod’s brother. So, it’s legitimately unclear who Gil-galad’s father was. Oh well. Distant legendary past, oral tradition and all that. I’m sure the songs disagree on whose parents are whose all the time.

And, the “Havens” referred to here aren’t the Grey Havens, either. They’re two cities in the southwest of Beleriand. But they’re ruled by the same Elf, Círdan, who would rule the Grey Havens later.

Morgoth is now in control of most of northern Beleriand. Barahir, the Man who helped save Finrod, keeps fighting for some time, alongside his wife Emeldir. But Morgoth destroys their land little by little. That land becomes so dark and evil that even Orcs avoid it, and it gets a new name: Taur-nu-Fuin, “The Forest under Nightshade” (which is cool as hell). This forest is like a proto-Mirkwood. Its trees become tangled with claw-like roots and branches, and it becomes full of angry spirits that can drive travelers mad.

The situation gets so dire that Emeldir leads her people away. They end up in the Forest of Brethil, which is where Haleth, another badass warrior-queen of Men, led her people in a similar moment of desperation. All of Barahir’s men are killed fighting Morgoth except for a small handful (whose names are all listed, of course). The Elves don’t come to help them, so they become desperate, hunted outcasts who live in the wilderness. One of these outcasts is Beren, Barahir’s son, who’s about to become very important.

The Elves managed to maintain control over Minas Tirith, the tower that guards the pass separating Morgoth’s lands in the north from the rest of Beleriand. This tower is maintained by Orodreth, Angrod’s son and Finrod’s nephew. But after two years pass, the tower is besieged by Morgoth’s lieutenant, Sauron.

Sauron by Wavesheep

(Oh yeah I’ve been waiting to dip into my self-indulgent collection of Sauron pictures.)

At this point, the Elves call Sauron “Gorthaur the Cruel.” He has become…

a sorcerer of dreadful power, master of shadows and of phantoms, foul in wisdom, cruel in strength, misshaping what he touched, twisting what he ruled; his dominion was torment.

He’s basically like Morgoth 2.0, and there’s very little left of him that is still Mairon, the Maia smith that he once was. Still, Sauron and Morgoth aren’t interchangeable; while Sauron is certainly very evil, he doesn’t think the same way that Morgoth does. If you’re familiar with the D&D alignment chart, Morgoth is pure Chaotic Evil — he doesn’t have a motive beyond fucking things up as much as possible. Sauron is more Lawful Evil, more like an evil dictator. Morgoth wants to watch the world burn (and just did, a moment ago); Sauron wants to rule over the ashes.

Sauron’s assault on Minas Tirith is successful. (If Sauron had a nickel for every time he besieged a tower called Minas Tirith, he’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.) He conjures a cloud of pure terror that causes Orodreth and his men to panic, and flee to Narthothrond. Then, much like Sauron would corrupt Minas Ithil and Osgiliath eons later, he transforms Minas Tirith into an evil watchtower. Tol Sirion, the island where it’s located, becomes known as Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves.

Lord of Werewolves by Dracontessa

After that, things only get worse. The Orcs spread across Beleriand, kidnapping Elves and desecrating all the land around Doriath. Morgoth sends out a bunch of spies to sow discord in every kingdom, hoping to win a psychological battle. Because of the Curse, most of the Noldor believe the sugary lies. The dirtiest trick that Morgoth pulls is setting free some of the Elves that he took captive, while keeping them under his control. This causes the Noldor to distrust even their own families.

With Men, Morgoth tries a different tactic. He attempts to turn them against the Elves by pointing out that the Men are inferior to Elves, and that the Noldor are inherently untrustworthy and untrusting. He promises the Men that if they come and join him, “the rightful Lord of Middle-earth,” then they’ll have honor and rewards and yada, yada. The Men don’t fall for this, which makes Morgoth even more spiteful towards them.

The Three Great Houses of Men are in complete disarray at this point. The house of Bëor —Barahir and his people — is basically destroyed, with the remainder barely surviving in the wilderness. The House of Hador are all stuck in Hithlum, and Hador himself is dead. The only remaining Men in the rest of Beleriand are the house of Haleth — the Haladin — who live in the Forest of Brethil. They’re one of the last lines of defense between Nargothrond and Morgoth’s onslaught. Hador’s grandsons, Húrin and Huor, are camped out in the Forest of Brethil with the Haladin. Halmir, the current leader of the Haladin, sends for backup, and a small army of Sindar Elves from Doriath come to help defend the forest. With the Elves’ help, the Men drive back the Orcs.

Húrin and Huor are some of our major players among the Men. They’re brothers, and they’re currently teenagers. Back before the battle, their father married Halmir’s daughter, so they’re members of the Haladin on their mom’s side. During the battle, they are separated from the rest of their company, but Ulmo protects them with a magical mist from the River Sirion, and then Thorondor rescues them when they wander near his mountains. Thorondor sends two eagles to pick them up, and the eagles bring them to Gondolin. Húrin and Huor become the first Men to ever see the secret Elven city of Gondolin.

By Mysilvergreen

King Turgon receives them well. He’d gotten a prophetic dream from Ulmo, telling him he’ll need the Men’s help when things get bad, so he takes them in as his honored guests. Húrin and Huor live in the mystical Elven city for a year, and they learn a lot from Turgon in that time. Turgon wants to keep them in Gondolin, not just because of his proclaimation that no one can ever leave it, but also because he genuinely loves them. Eventually, though, they want to go home.

Remember how well that went the last time, with Aredhel?

Húrin reminds Turgon that Men don’t live very long, so he and his brother can’t just wait until things cool off, especially with their family thinking they’re dead. Also, they were carried into the city by eagles, so they have no idea where the entrance is and probably couldn’t find it again on their own. Turgon thinks that this is reasonable, and agrees to let them go, so long as Thorondor is willing to let them leave the way they came, by eagle-taxi.

But Maeglin — remember him? He’s the edgy Elf — Maeglin is happy that Húrin and Huor are leaving, because they’ve been soaking up all the king’s attention. Maeglin snidely tells Húrin that Turgon wasn’t so lenient in the past, like that time he threw Maeglin’s father off the walls.

To pacify Maeglin, Húrin and Huor swear an oath not to reveal anything about Gondolin. As you’ve probably gathered by now, oaths are serious business. I almost guarantee that this is going to bite them in the ass.

When Húrin and Huor return home, their family is overjoyed to see them, because they all thought that the brothers had died in the wilderness. Their father, Galdor, asks where they’ve been, and why they look like princes instead of like they’ve been living in the wilderness for a year. Húrin tells him that the only reason they were allowed to return at all was if they swore not to speak about it, so… don’t ask.

Meanwhile, King Turgon learns that the Siege of Angband is officially over, and Morgoth killed Fingolfin. Turgon doesn’t want to involve himself in the war, at least not yet — Gondolin is a secret safe haven for now, and he wants it to stay that way for as long as possible. It’s like the Wakanda of Elven cities.

However, Turgon also realizes that this is the beginning of the end for the Noldor, unless they can find some outside source of help. He sends secret bands of Gondolin Elves to sail to Valinor. That’s a truly desperate move, since the Noldor are exiles, and Valinor has wanted nothing to do with Middle-earth for centuries. Unfortunately, none of Turgon’s emissaries make it; the western sea has become much more dangerous ever since Valinor cut itself off. The sea is full of enchantments and illusions, and Valinor itself is hidden. There’s no way to get to it. With every failed mission, Gondolin’s doom inches closer and closer.

Guess who hears about it? Morgoth. Morgoth is very interested to know what happened to Finrod and Turgon, because Elven kings don’t just vanish off the face of the earth. He knows they must be somewhere, probably plotting a new scheme to take him down. He knows what Nargothrond is, but not where it is, and he knows nothing about Gondolin. In the Battle of Sudden Flame, he made the mistake of underestimating the strength of the Elves and Men. Although he won the battle, they managed to hit him back just as badly. He’s not about to make that mistake again.

Morgoth attacks Hithlum again. King Fingon is outnumbered, but rescued at the last minute by ships full of warriors sent by Círdan. The Elves win the battle, but King Galdor, Húrin and Huor’s father, dies in the same spot where his own father fell during the Battle of Sudden Flame. Húrin becomes the new patriarch of his house, and serves as Fingon’s thane. He marries Morwen Eledhwen, a woman of the house of Bëor, who fled the Forest under Nightshade for the Forest of Brethil alongside Queen Emeldir.

Húrin by Steamey

The House of Bëor is by this point reduced to only one man, Emeldir and Barahir’s son, Beren.

Chapter 19: Of Beren and Lúthien, Part One In which we hear the greatest love story ever told.

This is the first of what Tolkien called “The Great Tales,” some of the oldest stories in the Legendarium, all of which were ultimately unfinished. To put into perspective just what a big deal this story is, Tolkien and his wife Edith have the names “Beren” and “Lúthien” written on their respective headstones. The version here in the Silmarillion is the most complete, but it’s also an abridged version. This is how Tolkien introduces it:

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien.

Most of my retelling here is paraphrased from the Silmarillion, but I’ve included some details that appear only in the Lay of Leithian, Tolkien’s unfinished poetic telling of the story. It’s really worth going and reading the Lay of Leithian; it’s extremely vivid and evocative, it perfectly imitates the medieval poetic form.

The story doesn’t actually start with Beren. It starts with an account of what happened to Barahir and his remaining men after they fled the Forest under Nightshade. They ended up camping out beside a lake called Tarn Aeluin, which is beautiful and reflects the stars. It was supposedly blessed by Queen Melian, and her magic repels the evil creatures that took over the rest of the forest. Barahir and co. are well hidden there, but Morgoth commands Sauron to find them.

One of Barahir’s people is a man named Gorlim, who has a wife, Eilinel. They love each other even despite the war, but when Gorlim returned home one day after a battle, he found his house empty and Eilinel gone. He still follows his people and hides out near the lake, but he holds out hope that maybe his wife isn’t dead. He periodically leaves the secret safe haven and returns to the empty house, hoping that his wife will be there. One time, he sees the lights on and hears her voice, but it’s a trap — Sauron found him. Sauron tortures Gorlim to force him to reveal the location of Barahir’s secret camp, but Gorlim holds out. That is, until Sauron tells him to name his price. Gorlim asks to see his wife again.

Then Sauron smiled, saying, “That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!”

Poor Gorlim reveals the location of Barahir’s camp. Then, with a mocking laugh, Sauron reveals that Eilinel is dead, and that he cast an illusion to ensnare him. “Oh, but don’t worry, I’ll still send you to her,” he says, and then kills him. They don’t call him Gorthaur the Cruel for nothing.

By @ayaosguqin

See, this is one of the things that makes Sauron different from Morgoth. Morgoth is spiteful and enjoys sewing discord and causing destruction for the sake of it, but we haven’t seen this kind of calculated sadism from him yet. (There’s not much that’s subtle about busting in with a giant spider and killing trees.) Sauron, having been a Maia of Aulë, has an appreciation for subtlety and craftsmanship. Sauron likes to stick the knife in and twist it. And as The Lord of the Rings makes clear, he’s a master of psychological warfare.

Now that Sauron knows where the secret camp is, his forces attack the men at Tarn Aeluin. They massacre everyone, save Beren. Beren is out on a spy mission when the Orcs attack, and he has a dream in which Gorlim’s ghost appears to him to tell him what happened. Beren rides back, but it’s already too late. He finds his father and everyone else dead.

Beren builds a cairn for his father and swears vengeance. He hunts down all the Orcs, slaughtering them by himself. He sneaks near their camp, where they’re gloating and holding up his father’s hand as a trophy. On the severed hand is a ring, the ring that Finrod Felagund gave to Barahir. Beren swoops in, steals the hand with the ring, and runs off before the Orcs have a chance to react.

Beren lives by himself in the wilderness for some time. He befriends the animals, and becomes a vegetarian as a result. He manages to perform many heroic deeds just in that time, so that he becomes famous. He’s already such a legend that Morgoth puts a price on his head, just as high as that of King Fingon himself, but the Orcs are so afraid of Beren that they avoid him instead of hunting him. Morgoth resolves to send an entire army after Beren, and not just any army — an army of werewolves, captained by Sauron himself.

The werewolves are enough to chase Beren away from the land where he buried his father. He heads south, towards Doriath. He resolves to pass through Queen Melian’s magic wall, for some reason. (Maybe because it’s the only guaranteed safe place?) He travels along sheer mountain cliffs, and through the spider-infested wastes that had been twisted by a combination of Sauron’s magic and Melian’s magic. That land was basically the Mordor of its day, and no one knows how Beren got through it; whatever he experienced there was terrifying enough that he never spoke of it again. When he arrives at the magic wall, he passes right through like it isn’t even there. This event had been predicted by Melian herself: ‘because the power of that Man’s destiny will overcome her own. People will sing about that event until the distant future, when Middle-earth is unrecognizable.’

He finds himself in the north of Doriath, a forest called Neldoreth. He’s exhausted and harrowed, having spent years traveling through a cursed land. But everything in Neldoreth is beautiful, it’s summertime, and Beren sees a beautiful Elf maiden dancing on the grass. It’s Lúthien, the daughter of King Thingol and Queen Melian themselves. Lúthien is the most beautiful person alive. (Like, metaphysically.) Being the child of a Maia, she is more or less a demigoddess.

Encounter of Beren and Lúthien by Elena Kukanova

Beren is instantly smitten. In fact, he’s literally enchanted by her — just watching her casts a spell on him. When she suddenly vanishes, he literally can’t speak. He wanders the woods like an animal, searching for her. He doesn’t know her name, so he calls her Tinúviel, which means “Nightingale” in Sindarin. A whole year passes, and he sees her in the beauty of nature around him, like she’s a ghost and he’s fondly recalling her memory. A whole winter later, she reappears, and sings a song so beautiful that it brings spring back to the woods:

Keen, heart-piercing was her song as the song of the lark that rises from the gates of night and pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world; and the song of Lúthien released the bonds of winter, and the frozen waters spoke, and flowers sprang from the cold earth where her feet had passed.

When he hears her song, Beren can suddenly speak again. He calls out to her, using the name “Tinúviel.” Luckily for him, Lúthien falls just as in love with him upon seeing him. The narrator says that “doom fell upon her” as soon as she loved him back, which could mean either that she met her destiny or that she is going to die for her love. Probably both.

Beren goes to embrace her, but she vanishes again as soon as day breaks. Beren immediately feels a mixture of ecstasy and anguish. He falls into a coma, and has nightmares about groping through the dark to find the

vanished light. (I’m starting to note parallels between Lúthien and the Two Trees, and also the Silmarils.) But Beren’s anguish is nothing to Lúthien’s. Now that she’s fallen in love with a mortal, her fate is inextricably intertwined with his. She’s no longer free.

Lúthien returns to Beren and wakes him from his coma. They walk through the woods together, blissfully in love, throughout that spring and summer. Presumably they talk and actually get to know each other in that time.

A sudden in love by breath-art and aglargon

There’s another person who loves Lúthien, an Elven bard named Daeron. He spies on Beren and Lúthien in the woods. Jealous that Lúthien loves Beren instead of him, he goes and tattles to Thingol about their relationship. (In the Lay of Leithian, Daeron — in his envy — is able to cast a spell of silence upon Beleriand, so that there is no music or even birdsong.) Thingol is immediately furious, because he’s extremely overprotective of his daughter, and he hates Men. He confronts Lúthien about her new boyfriend, but she refuses to say anything until Thingol promises that he won’t hurt or imprison Beren. Lúthien personally leads him before her father’s throne.

Beren and Luthien in the Court of Thingol by Donato Giancola

Thingol demands to know who Beren is, but he’s so intimidating that Beren is stunned into silence. Lúthien answers for him. Thingol tells Lúthien to back off and let Beren speak for himself. What’s Beren’s excuse for entering the forbidden realm of Doriath? Beren’s response is very poetic and eloquent, but basically boils down to “I want to fuck your daughter.”

There’s pin-drop silence in the hall as the assembled Elves wait for Thingol to smite Beren. Thingol immediately regrets his promise not to harm him. Thingol’s response is to fold his hands, smile coldly, and say,

(I mean, it’s not these exact words, but it’s close enough.)

Thingol accuses Beren of being a spy and a thrall of Morgoth, at which Beren takes offense. Beren isn’t afraid of death, but he won’t allow himself to be insulted by any Elf, even a king. His father was a lord of Men and he deserves to be treated like a prince! He has a ring given to his father by Finrod himself, for Eru’s sake! He holds up the ring, and all the Elves see it. This is the Ring of Barahir, which will eventually get passed down to Aragorn. The jewels set in it were originally cut by the Noldor in Valinor itself.

Melian whispers to her husband that he won’t be the one to kill Beren. Beren has a lot more stuff he’s destined to do, but his destiny is still intertwined with Thingol’s. Whatever Thingol does next will seal his own fate, too. Thingol proceeds to choose the stupidest thing possible.

Beren wants to marry the Faerie King’s daughter. So, as is common in fairy tales, Thingol sets him an impossible task that he must complete to earn Lúthien’s hand: He must steal a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth. Thingol feels like this the nearest thing to a fair price for his daughter. Of course, like most mythological kings, he’s hoping that Beren will die in the attempt.

You can just hear Melian’s facepalm through the page.

As is hopefully clear by now, the Silmarils are like a bomb waiting to go off. Everything about them is fraught — from the fact that they contain the last light of the Trees, to Morgoth’s obsession with them, to the Curse laid on all Fëanor’s sons for their unbreakable oath to get them back, etc. etc. Thingol’s choice to get involved in that shitshow was a dumb fucking idea. It’s not really his place to say or do anything concerning the Silmarils, and he effectively dooms his own kingdom by involving himself with them. In fact, by doing so, Thingol subjects himself to the same Curse that affects all the Noldor — you know, the reason he banished them from his kingdom and banned their language in the first place.

But that’s getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s get back to Beren, who responds to this by literally laughing it off and calling it easy:

“For little price,” he said, “do Elven-kings sell their daughters: for gems, and things made by craft. But if this be your will, Thingol, then I will perform it. And when we meet again my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown; for you have not looked the last on Beren son of Barahir.”

I like the parallelism here: Both Beren and Sauron call something that’s extraordinarily valuable to someone else a “little price” or “small price.” Obviously, we’re supposed to side with Beren in this instance, but I wonder if his pride will be his fall.

Having received his main quest, Beren leaves Menegroth.

Menegroth by David Gresit

Melian tells Thingol what an idiot he is for involving himself in the Main Plot and forsaking his kingdom’s safety in isolation. She can’t protect him from whatever happens next. Thingol is pretty confident that Beren’s going to die, which proves that he’s not Genre Savvy enough to make good decisions from here on out. He should really listen to his wife.

Lúthien doesn’t quite enter “but Daddy, I love him!” territory, but she does stop singing. All of Doriath is eerily silent.

Beren travels west, towards the River Sirion, and then to Nargothrond. Being alone and with no resources, he doesn’t have any other option but to go to Finrod for help. He wisely holds up the Ring of Barahir as he enters Finrod’s territory, because it was originally Finrod’s ring, and his Elf snipers would know not to shoot. Knowing that he was being watched by an army’s worth of hidden Elves, he randomly yells out “I am Beren son of Barahir! Take me to your King!” in the middle of a field in the hopes that someone will hear him and decide not to kill him. After doing this several times, he’s apprehended by the archers and taken to Finrod.

Finrod receives Beren warmly. Privately, Beren tells Finrod about his father’s death and about meeting Lúthien. He cries more over remembering Lúthien than remembering his father. Remember, Finrod promised to help Barahir or any member of his family in need, because they had saved him. So, he has no choice but to help Beren retrieve a Silmaril, even though he knows it will not go well.

Finrod by yidanyuan

He tells Beren, ‘Well, it’s obvious that Thingol wants you dead, but if anyone so much as mentions the Silmarils, the sons of Fëanor are on them like a pack of wolves. Celegorm and Curufin are powerful lords in my court, and I can’t risk antagonizing them. If they find out you want a Silmaril, they’ll kill you. But I made a promise to your father, so I have to help you. In short, we’re all screwed.’

For some reason, Finrod decides that the best thing to do is to be as transparent as possible. So, he summons his court and stands before his people. He tells them all about the promise he made to Barahir, and how he is therefore obligated to help Beren. He asks his lords for help. Celegorm’s response is predictable. He repeats the Oath of Fëanor, reaffirming that the sons of Fëanor will hunt down anything alive that dares to seek a Silmaril. He goes on a tirade as impassioned as the one that Fëanor originally gave to the Noldor back in Valinor. (Like father, like son, I guess.) Then Curufin speaks, more quietly. What he says boils down to: ‘Nice kingdom you’ve got here, Finrod. Would really be a shame if something happened to it.’

Celegorm and Curufin, by Julia Reizen

Curufin’s speech scares the Elves of Nargothrond so much that they avoid open war for decades, preferring guerilla warfare with arrows, poisoned darts, and magic. According to Tolkien, this is less valorous than open combat, and diminishes their whole society.

Say what you will about Fëanor and his brood, they’re damn good at public speaking.

The Elves of Nargothrond begin to murmur amongst themselves that Finrod can’t tell them what to do as though he’s a Vala (even though he’s… y’know… the king), and all of them refuse to help him. The Curse is in full effect: Celegorm and Curufin realize that this is a golden opportunity to send Finrod alone to his death, and take over Nargothrond for themselves.

Finrod reads the room. He takes off his crown, and throws it at his feet, renouncing his rulership of the kingdom that he built. He looks directly at Celegorm and Curufin and tells them that while they may be faithless bastards who will break their oath of loyalty to him, he will not break his own promise to Barahir. He addresses the rest of the room — there’s got to be at least a few people who haven’t been affected by the Curse, and who will follow him, so that he isn’t pathetically driven out of his own kingdom. Right? A grand total of ten people stand up for him. One of them, Edrahil, picks up Finrod’s crown, and says that it should be given to a steward instead of being left for Celegorm and Curufin to snatch. Whatever happens, he says, Finrod is still the true king of Nargothrond. #IStandWithFinrod.

Finrod chooses Orodreth, his nephew (or youngest brother; sources differ), as his steward. Celegorm and Curufin just smile and withdraw from the room, which isn’t creepy at all.

Finrod and Beren leave Nargothrond with their ten loyalists. They travel north, come upon a band of Orcs, and kill them all. Finrod uses a magical illusion to disguise his company as Orcs, and they sneak through the mountain pass towards Angband. Sauron finds them anyway, and intercepts them. Sauron and Finrod engage in — of all things — a singing competition. It’s very similar in principle to “the oldest game” from Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman, in that it’s a battle between dueling concepts that are instantaneously manifested as the singers describe them. Sauron sings about treachery, betrayal, uncovering secrets, piercing through things, and sorcery. Finrod answers with a song about resistance against evil, keeping secrets, maintaining trust, standing strong, and gaining freedom.

Finrod and Sauron by rami-fon-verg

There is something simple, almost childish, about this back-and-forth. I feel like I’ve seen several different children’s shows in which a good character and an evil character sing at each other instead of fighting, with the evil character extoling the virtues of power and the good character singing about the importance of love. (The one that comes to mind is Barbie and the Diamond Castle, in which the two heroines and the villain play good/evil music at each other, and the good music overpowers the evil music, resulting in the villain’s defeat.) I wouldn’t be surprised if several anime have a scene like this, as well. And yet, it is primordially powerful, like Gaiman’s “oldest game.” In Tolkien’s universe, singing was what created the world in the first place, and singing is therefore a direct and powerful means of manifestation.

By Wavesheep

Unfortunately, it does not end the way it would if this were a Barbie movie or an anime. Finrod is a great singer, but Sauron is better — he is a Maia, one of the Ainur, meaning he was there when the original Music of creation was sung. It’s impressive that Finrod manages to hold out as long as he does, but in the end — much like Fingolfin and Fëanor before him — he loses.

To tell this part of the story, Tolkien randomly switches to verse; he quotes a section from the Lay of Leithian. Medieval texts actually do this; lots of them will randomly switch between prose and verse. Texts that do this are called “prosimetric.” For example, in the Volsung Saga (which reads very much like The Silmarillion), when Sigurd meets Brynhild, the text abruptly switches into verse as she lists all the different types of runes and their uses. There’s several other instances in that text when it randomly switches between prose and verse. It prefaces the verse parts with something like, “So saith the song of Sigurd,” referencing poetic versions of the same story that otherwise don’t survive. Tolkien evokes that same structure here, right down to saying “as it is told in the Lay of Leithian.”

The Lord of the Rings is prosimetric, too, but most of the songs are diegetic, meaning they’re actually being sung by characters in-universe. That’s not what’s going on here. The verse part describes the singing contest between Sauron and Finrod, it’s not the actual songs that they’re singing. But it’s really clever of Tolkien to switch to verse to describe this scene, because it sets the vibe! It’s like you’re listening to a distant echo of their songs, passed down through generations of oral storytelling. It wouldn’t be nearly as evocative if he just described the scene flatly in prose.

Thank you for indulging me in that tangent! Moving on: Sauron throws Finrod and co. into a dark pit, and threatens to kill them if they don’t tell them who they are and why they’re there. Periodically, he sends a werewolf to eat one of them (which, I’ll bet you anything, is a direct reference to the Volsung Saga). Still, none of them talk.

Meanwhile, back in Doriath, Lúthien intuitively senses that something is wrong, and asks her mother what has happened to Beren. Melian tells her that Beren is in Sauron’s dungeon. Lúthien resolves to go and rescue him by herself. She goes to ask Daeron for his help, but Daeron refuses to risk his own neck for Beren’s sake. He’s been afflicted with full-on incel syndrome, so out of spite, he snitches to Thingol a second time. (Thingol is so grateful that Daeron keeps tabs on his daughter for him, that he names Daeron a prince. Make of that what you will.) Thingol can’t imagine anything worse than letting his daughter waste away in a dark pit, so he builds a house in a giant beech tree, called Hírilorn. Because the best way to keep your daughter safe from one prison is to put her in another! Logic!

Well, it’s a common trope in myths and fairy tales: The king is overprotective of his daughter and puts her in a tower, or a box with a hole in the roof, or some such. Lúthien, however, is proactive. She doesn’t wait for someone to rescue her from her treehouse. Instead, she tricks her guards and Daeron into sending her a golden bowl of wine, a silver bowl of water, a spinning wheel, and a loom. Then she sings a spell that mentions all the tallest and longest things in the world, which causes her hair to grow extremely long. She mixes the wine with the water, then sings a song of day over the golden bowl, and a song of night over the silver bowl. Finally, she sings a song of sleep. The singing enchants her hair, filling it with corresponding ideas that shape the way Lúthien wants it to behave. (Similar to Sauron and Finrod’s magic songs, singing about an idea causes it to manifest.) She weaves a robe out of her hair, a robe that’s described as being misty and shadowy, like it’s woven from clouds at night. Lúthien weaves a rope out of what’s leftover, and puts a sleeping spell on it. Then she just throws it down onto the guards at the foot of the tree, and they go to sleep, allowing her to climb down the rope and escape.

Lúthien prepares her escape from Hírilorn by Anke Katrin Eißmann

As she leaves Doriath, she comes upon Celegorm and Curufin, of all people. They’re out hunting, hoping to learn something about what happened to Finrod (and probably plotting behind his back the whole time). Among their hunting dogs is a particularly large wolfhound called Huan, who actually came with them from Valinor. Oromë himself, the Vala of the hunt, gave the dog to Celegorm long ago. Huan loyally followed Celegorm into exile, and therefore became automatically subject to the Curse. He’s foretold to die, but only after he faces the biggest and baddest of big bad wolves.

Spoiler alert, the dog’s gonna die!

Huan finds Lúthien, because he’s immune to her enchantments, and brings her to Celegorm. Once she learns that Celegorm and Curufin are enemies of Morgoth, Lúthien decides that she trusts them, and reveals herself to them. Celegorm (or, in the Lay, Curufin) instantly falls in love with her, because… of course he does. He offers to help Lúthien, making a point not to say that he already knows about the quest. Lúthien goes with them to Nargothrond.

Celegorm and Curufin find Lúthien by Elena Kukanova

As soon as they get there, Celegorm and Curufin show their true colors. They imprison Lúthien, take away her magic cloak, and forbid her to speak to anyone else but them. Lúthien escaped one trap, and fell right into another. Now that the brothers know from Lúthien that Finrod and Beren are in Sauron’s prison, they figure that it’s easiest to just let them die. Nargothrond is as good as theirs. And now that they have Lúthien, they have leverage over Thingol — they can force him to give Lúthien’s hand in marriage to Celegorm. That would make Celegorm and Curufin the most powerful princes of the Noldor! [Insert evil laugh here.]

Huan, however, is the Goodest Boy and is too pure-hearted to follow Celegorm (even though Celegorm is his beloved master whom he’s been serving for literally centuries). Huan also fell in love with Lúthien upon seeing her for the first time, but in a decidedly less creepy way. He comes to her prison every night to keep her company, and Lúthien tells him all about Beren.

Huan decides to help Lúthien break out. He brings her magic cloak to her, and speaks to her (he’s only allowed to talk three times before he dies). He shows her a secret passage out of Nargothrond, and they escape together. Huan even swallows his pride enough to allow Lúthien to ride on his back.

Lúthien riding on Huan by Meraclitus

I mean, if you’re gonna be a damsel in distress, a dog is a pretty awesome thing to be rescued by.

(Stopping there, because I'm running up against the max number of images. More to come!)

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Your Mina (Wilhemina Venable x f!Reader)

Synopsis: The world has ended and not just due to the missiles. Your Mina is gone, the cold Ms Venable left in her place. If only you didn't still want her.

Words: 6.3k

Warnings: degradation kink, humiliation kink, mentions of possessiveness, mentions of exhibition, swearing, thigh riding, chocking, jealousy, BDSM themes, objectification

The end of the world hadn’t been what you were expecting. It hadn’t been a slow build to something, climate change not the cause. Missiles, as the news announced, felt so stark and impersonal in the face of the death they wrought. You hadn’t even had the chance to feel the fear or the loss or the anxiety before hands had clasped around your arms and you were being escorted into a massive SUV.

Kicking and screaming brought blank stares, no one bothering to step in. Tears were running down your face but you were hardly the only one. The missiles were on the way and you were just another person facing this overwhelming truth. The world was ending and you were being kidnapped.

You would never get the chance to kiss your girlfriend goodbye.

You were bundled underground, into some kind of bunker built for the rich and powerful. You tried, over and over again, to tell them that they had the wrong person. You weren’t rich. You weren’t powerful. You were nothing and no one.

In a room, questions unanswered, you were left to stew. Firelight licked up the walls, shadows dancing, putting you on edge. You saw no one else, alone, the silence uncaring as you screamed at them to let you go. When the screaming ran out, tears fell down your cheeks. It was beginning to sink in just how alone you truly were. There must be other people in whatever place it was, but your family was gone, your girlfriend, your friends, everyone you’d ever known. They were all gone and you remained.

It was a cruel mistake.

You sunk into a chair eventually, curling up in it. Time was moving but you couldn’t feel it, the numb feeling growing in your chest. Your life had changed and you weren’t sure you wanted it. You wanted your life back or to have perished with everyone you loved. Not whatever this was.

The tears stopped. The numb feeling grew. You stared into the fire, wondering when it would consume your body. At some point, you knew, it would.

You ignored the sound of approaching footsteps. Your chin rested on your knees, arms curled around bent legs, staring at the flames until they were all you could see. No one could make it better. Of that you were sure.

A sharp tap of a cane on the floor had you stiffening. Their cruelty knew no bounds. You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to let any more tears fall. They weren’t going to break you, no matter what this torture was. Maybe you had died and this was hell.

Another sharp tap of the cane so much closer and you half turned your head towards the sound. Your eyes scanned up from shoes hidden under a long dress, a dark cane held in pale hands. Your heart gave a small flutter. The further up, the more familiar the figure standing in the doorway was becoming.

Dark eyes were staring at you from a mask like face. Hair you’d once run your fingers through was pinned up. Lips you knew the taste of were pressed into a thin line. Your mouth grew dry.

“Mina,” you breathed, rising from your seat.

You couldn’t believe it. She was standing there, right in front of you, looking none the worse for wear. She was perfect. Your heart was thudding in your chest, loud in your ears, and she was right there. You could touch her, if you just reached out, because she. Was. Right. There.

“You will call me Ms Venable.” Her voice was so cold.

“But-“

Her hand shot out, open palm striking your skin. You gaped at her, the sting bringing tears to your eyes. She was staring at you, daring you to argue and you didn’t know what was happening. This wasn’t your Mina. Your hand trembled as you raised it, lightly touching the skin that bore her handprint.

“Yes Ms Venable,” you whispered, not even aware you were doing it.

Your eyes focused on your feet, your breathing shallow, the sting of her slap still echoing through your body. The end of the world had taken her from you, but not through death, through transformation. Pushing the tears back once again, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, biting down until the coppery tang of blood bloomed on your tongue.

“Welcome to Outpost Three,” Ms Venable said, and her voice was so familiar it hurt.

“Thank you,” you said.

“As a Purple you’ll be supplied a furnished suite,” she said.

Your eyes flashed up, purple meaning something more than whatever she was suggesting.

“Purple?” you asked.

“One of the elite.” Her voice practically purred and your entire body felt like a live wire, “come.”

You moved on shuffling feet, following behind her as she walked with such confidence. You had no idea when she’d been shown this place. She’d never spoken of it, never even hinted at something like it. All those years together and not once had this ever entered into your life. Until the end of the world.

The end of the world she knew about?

She explained the rules to you, your arms slowly tightening around your body. None of it felt real. None of it was reasonable. You’d stepped into a world where nothing made sense and nothing was okay. Your Mina was gone and yet was also standing right there.

Standing there but different. Your Mina would never wear black, purple the colour she wore at all times. You didn’t like it. She never wore her hair so pinned up, so severe. While you could appreciate how it showed off the long line of her neck and the cut of her jaw, the sway of her hair had been a constant in your life. At least the scent of lavender seemed to cling to her, not quite hidden. Yours gaze slid over her body, finding her more a stranger than was comfortable.

You stepped through the door she indicated into your suite, should brushing against hers. That familiar scent of lavender lingered in the air of the room. You breathed in deeply, eyes slipping closed for a moment, letting yourself imagine for a moment that the world hadn’t changed so drastically. You turned, looking at her, eyes sweeping over someone that once had been as familiar to you as your own reflection.

“I don’t understand,” you said.

“Which part?” Cruelty was the flavour of her voice.

“All of it. I mean, I know about the missiles but why am I here? I’m not anyone,” you asked.

For the first time, something in her eyes seemed to break apart and hastily be put back together again.

“You must have been important to someone in power,” she said, “if you find yourself so inconsequential.”

You looked at her, really looked at her. You’d woken that morning to her already having left the house. There was a vague memory of lips pressed to your forehead before rolling over. There’d been no note, not indication anything was going to be different. You’d slept last night with her warmth beside you, arms around you, breathing in time with one another. Now… now she was so far from the bed you’d once shared and you had no idea how to get back to it.

“I suppose so,” you replied, voice soft, letting her have the out she was looking for, “thank you, Ms Venable.”

She gave you a short nod before turning on her heels and walking away, the tap of her cane lingering long after she was gone.

The closing door was quiet and so was the sigh that passed over your lips. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. The world had ended but Mina was still there with you. But different. Not your Mina. Ms Venable. Not the woman who would come home at the end of the day and slip into the bath with you, but something new. Someone you’d never known before.

You wandered through the suite. It was plush, expensive, nicer than the home you’d shared with Mina. You didn’t know what to do with it. The world had ended and you were living in luxury. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it.

In the large closet, purple stared back at you from every corner. You ran your fingers of the materials, finding that each item was beautiful. Each one was perfect. Someone had put a lot of thought into curating the wardrobe you were to have in the end days. You shook your head, not sure what to do with that information. None of it was making any sense to you.

You were slow to dress and by the time you found your way to the dining room, it looked as if you were the last to join them. Mina was sitting at the head of the table. You couldn’t look at her, not without a wound in your chest opening up again. You felt the weight of the other gazes on you, not looking up from the hands clasped in your lap.

One weighed heavier than the others.

You’d dressed carefully, in the dress you thought shed’d like the most on you. It was soft, delicate, almost romantic. You couldn’t bare facing her only to be met with disdain. It had been a message that you would do what she wished to please her.

You’d keep to whatever role she was placing you in. Just sharing the same space as her would have to be enough in your new reality. You could be perfect for her, if that’s what she needed from you. Even now, when she wasn’t your Mina, you’d still do whatever you could for her.

Thank god your therapist hadn’t survived the end of the world or she’d have a lot to say about that.

You kept your interactions with the other Purples to a minimum. You found them insipid at the best of times, and you craved the attention of only one person in the entire Outpost. Instead, you watched the way she terrorised them. She stalked the halls, doling out discipline as she saw fit, lurking in the shadows just to catch them breaking the rules. The joy she seemed to get from it seemed so different from the woman you’d known on the outside, and yet you’d seen glimmers of it sometimes. On her worst days, mostly.

You didn’t find it any less intriguing, though. You might have been willing to play along with her facade of being nothing but strangers, but you still noticed that left you with less of her attention than the others. It might have been bad attention, but at least it was attention. You craved it, like it was the air you breathed. Where once the weight of her gaze ws comforting and familiar, now it felt exciting in its scarceness.

And then there was Ms Mead. Her right hand, her confidant, her trusted advisor. A kernel of jealousy curled behind your ribs, hissing in your ears that you’d been replaced. That she didn’t need you anymore. That she didn’t want you.

So you decided to do something drastic if only to prove to yourself that you were still burrowed in her heart.

It was slow, not wanting her to catch on before you were ready. You took your time, inching towards the group of Purples day by day until you were sitting with their group, listening to them talk. No one questioned it, no one pointed out you’d spent months ignoring them, now seeking them out.

Gallant was the first to notice your sarcastic comments, muttered under your breath. Catching your eye whenever Coco said something, a shared smile, the sting of friendship was surprisingly painful after months kept to yourself. He would sit beside you, the two of you sharing barbs.

If Mina noticed the change, she didn’t show it.

So you amped it up. You whispered with Mallory in dark corners, you complimented Coco loudly, you shared smiles with Dinah. In short, you did all you could to show her she no longer had your attention either. That you’d moved on. That if she didn’t want you then you weren’t going to sit around waiting for her forever.

Her eyes began to trail you throughout the twisting halls of the outpost.

One more turn of the cog. Standing in your wardrobe, the handpicked clothes for you by the woman who knew you better than anyone, you considered each one with a critical eye. Yes, the one in the far corner, tucked away as if she hadn’t wanted you to find it. That was the one.

The lavender slip dress was silk, so soft against your skin. Clinging to your figure, a cowl neckline and slit up to your thigh, it was sexier than anything else you’d worn, nothing like the Victorian inspired fashion you’d grown used to. But she had left it for you and it felt like a challenge.

You pinned your hair up, not as sever as her, softer, more romantic. You looked in the mirror, doing your best to effect the wide eyed look of innocence you knew you’d need to sell the whole ideal. Give her something to ruin.

You waited, just long enough to know you would be the last to sit down to dinner. Not late, but on the cusp. Stepping into the dining room, it was like a slow wave, faces turning to you, only one looking less than pleased.

You took your usual seat beside Gallant, ignoring the one woman you were trying so hard for. Some eyes were still lingering on you, Coco to be exact, and she looked put out at your appearance.

“Nice dress,” Gallant said, leaning towards you but in the quiet room his voice carried.

“Thank you,” you said, smoothing one hand over your thighs, “I found it in my room and thought why not? No point wasting something so pretty.”

Your eyes looked past him, finding Ms Venable watching you. There was fire in her eyes and you didn’t fail to notice the way her fingers clenched on the head of her cane. With a small smile you turned your face away, looking down at the gelatinous cube on your plate. Hardly your favourite meal but given it was the only one in existence you’d take it.

Your dragged your eyes up again, Coco looking at you with a cocked head. You offered her a wink, smirking at her. It wasn’t so much a feeling as a shift in the atmosphere. A tap of the cane on the ground, your thighs clenching together.

The meal was as unsatisfying as ever. Well, the food was. The eyes that you kept drawing to yourself were not. Arching your back, your neck, letting your fingers trail over your collarbone, laughing softly in Gallant’s ear, letting your teeth sink into your lower lip. You were using all the tricks that had once worked on her. The tricks that also led to you pinned to the mattress moaning her name.

No one said you had to play fair.

Once the meal was over, you slid your arm through Gallant’s, letting your hips sway, not bothering to offer a parting look to the woman who still owned your heart. He escorted you into the library, the infernal song making you purse your lips.

“So tell me,” he murmured under the cover of Coco’s complaints, “who’s benefit is this little number for?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, smiling at him, letting him know you were lying.

“You do know sex is strictly forbidden,” he said.

“Who said anything about sex?” you laughed, “nothing wrong with being desired.”

“Did you really find this dress in your wardrobe?” he asked.

“Would you believe my answer if I said yes?”

“Not for a moment,” he replied, “but whoever it is, they’re going to find you hard to resist.”

You sat in the corner of the sofa closest to the fire. The light, flickering over your skin, would be temptation in itself. Gallant seated himself beside you, his eyes scanning over the room, most likely trying to ferret out which of the other Purples you were trying to seduce. The woman moving through the room, taking her position with her back to the fire, was ignored by him. You smiled down into your lap before looking up at her. The glare you received in return was nasty.

You only stayed long enough to not raise suspicions. You squeezed Gallant’s shoulder as you left, getting an indulgent smile in return. The air in your room was stale and yet it continued to hold notes of lavender, even so many months later. You sat on your bed, face turned towards the door.

She didn’t leave you waiting long.

The knock on your door was perfunctory. You were slow to rise, wanting her to wait. Pulling the door open you didn’t have the chance to say anything before a hand was curling around your throat and pushing back into the room. Your hand snapped up, fingers curling around the delicate wrist, but you didn’t try to pull it from you. The door closed quietly behind her.

“You have been making a spectacle of yourself,” she said, squeezing.

“And you’ve been enjoying the show,” you shot back, breathless and hoarse.

She snarled, throwing you back. You stumbled, doing your best not to trip over your own feet. She advanced, slow and steady, each tap of the cane making you lose a little more of your breath. Her eyes swept over your body, looking less than impressed with what she found.

“You think too highly of yourself and your little display,” she said.

You took a step into her personal space, feeling her familiar warmth wash over your exposed skin. Her eyes darted down your body again, lingering on your lips for a moment before meeting yours. You pulled those lips up into a smirk, leaning forward.

“And I think you look at me and remember exactly what I sound like when I orgasm on your tongue,” you murmured.

“Insolence,” she growled, “your base desires are nothing of my concern.”

“Once they were only your concern,” you said, stepping back from her, “but I suppose you’re right. Someone else might want that job now.”

“No one will ever have that job,” she hissed.

“Yes yes, I know. No unauthorised sexual intercourse,” you said, rolling your eyes, enjoying the hint of jealousy in her voice.

Your hand slowly skimmed up your body, lingering on one breast. Her eyes zeroed in on it, darkening in a way that felt familiar. You brushed a thumb over a hardening nipple, a little gasp your only response.

“That doesn’t stop me fantasising about you every night with my fingers knuckle deep inside my pussy.”

Her throat bobbled.

“I used to just remember how it was. You, me, our bed or our bath or our kitchen counter,” you said as you pinched your nipple through the silk of your dress, “but then I got creative. Rather than Mina I had Ms Venable. Disciplining me. Tying me up. Bruising me. Choking me. Degrading me. I found I rather liked those fantasies.”

“You disgust me,” she growled.

“Then why are you thinking about using me for your own pleasure?”

Her eyes darkened and you saw her jaw clench. You knew her, better than you knew yourself. She’d never been good at hiding what she wanted from you, especially when what she wanted was you. You made small noise in the back of your throat as you tugged on your nipple, eyes fluttering closed at the shot of pleasure to your core.

A hand curled around your throat again, forcing you backwards until your back hit the wall. You didn’t bother opening your eyes, rolling your nipple, her name a soft exhalation. Lips brushed the shell of your ear and the scent of lavender curled around you.

“You’re nothing but a dirty whore ruled by your own animal instincts,” she growled in your ear.

“Uh huh,” you hummed, her words lighting your blood on fire. She’d never been one for this before, when it was sweet and soft and full of reassurances. You were having fun exploring this side of her.

“Pathetic,” she snarled, “do you really think this will end well for you?”

“I think it’ll end well for you,” you all but gasped, “you know how good I am with my tongue.”

Her fingers tightened around your throat, cutting off your air supply. Your back arched into your own touch, her warmth brushing against your bare skin. Your eyes opened, finding her watching you, teeth biting into her bottom lip. You lent into her hold, eyes focused on that lip, wanting to bite it until you tasted her blood.

“You want me to use you?” she hissed, “would that bring you pleasure?”

You nodded, watching her lips form the words. You could still remember what they felt like against your skin. They curled up into a cruel smirk.

“On your knees, slut.”

With the hand around your neck she forced you down. You looked up at her from under your lashes, tongue dragging along your lower lip. She let you go, stepping back. With careful movements she set her cane aside, sitting on the edge of your bed. She crooked a finger at you.

You crawled across the floor on hands and knees, practically panting at the thought of getting your mouth on her after so many months. She raised her foot, pressing it against your shoulder, holding you back, heel digging in painfully.

“You think you deserve to touch me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you said, not even having to think about, “name one person who knows your body better than me. Name someone who can make you feel as good as I can.”

“Whose to say I haven’t found someone here?” she asked. That same jealousy curled in your gut, whispering in your ear, telling you Ms Mead had replaced you. She didn’t need you.

“Let me prove it,” you begged, surprised by how much you needed it.

“And what have you done to earn the honour?” she asked, “you choose to debase yourself in front of me. You flaunt your body as if that will impress me. You associate with degenerates and air heads. You are nothing and you will never amount to more than nothing.”

“Please,” you breathed, “please let me do this for you.”

Her foot dropped from your shoulder. You crawled forward again, unhindered. You stopped between her feet, dragging your eyes up her body. She was staring down at you, those dark eyes unimpressed but so intent on you.

Your hands skimmed up her calves, finding bare skin under your fingers. You pushed her skirt up, admiring the line of her leg. Your brought your lips to her right leg, finally touching her soft skin, tongue darting out to taste her. So familiar and yet so different.

“Hurry this up,” she growled, “I have places to be.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you said, lips brushing her skin.

Her legs parted further, giving you room to continue your exploration up her legs. She was still watching you, hands resting on your comforter, eyes darkening as your fingers slid over her knees. Your nose skimmed along her inner thigh before your breath caught.

Mina had always splurged on nice lingerie. It had been one of those things you’d loved. Silk and lace and satin. Always in shades of purple. She seemed to get a kick out of each new one revealed to you, the way your eyes would widen before you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her. She planned it to perfection, each reveal making your head spin and desire pool between your legs.

If you’d considered the opportunity for lingerie in the Outpost, it was usually drawn from your imagination, your desire of what you’d like to see Mina in. In reality, you expected something functional, perfunctory, much like you’d found in your own wardrobe. Functional over aesthetic. Basic and simple, serving a purpose beyond stoking desire.

What you hadn’t expected was for her to forego underwear altogether.

Right there, easily accessible, her centre was glistening in the firelight. Fingers tangled in your hair, tugging until a sharp pain in your skull caught your attention. You tipped your head back, finding her staring at you.

“Problem?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her act of indifference might have worked better if you couldn’t see the effect you’d already had on her. Her fingers tightened in your hair again, pulling past the point of pleasure.

“No, Ms Venable,” you replied, lowering your eyes back to her pretty pussy.

The hand on the back of your head forced you forward, headfirst where she wanted you most.

“Then get to work. Prove to me you’re the best slut I have on offer.”

Your tongue darted out, licking through her folds. The fingers in your hair tightened again. You did it again, revelling in her taste. You’d missed it, more than you’d realised. You hummed, eyes closing as you treasured the moment, tongue delving deeper. You wanted her taste on your tongue forever.

When you ghosted over her clit her fingers clenched. You did it again, wanting to feel the pull. The sharp pain was making your legs feel like jelly. You hadn’t thought that would be something you liked, but then you hadn’t thought you’d like this new Mina before you’d met her. But she was fun, opening up a whole new world of exploration for you.

You let your lips wrap around it, slow to suck. She forced your head harder against her, grinding against you. Your tongue flicked out, determined to hear her moan. The sound of it haunted your dreams. You craved it. You yearned for it. It would fulfil your dreams.

She kept silent.

Your arms hooked around her thighs, keeping them open as you pressed closer in. Your tongue lapped at her, circling her bundle of nerves, feeling her hips rise to meet you. You hummed again, tongue thrusting into her. Her legs pressed in, ignoring your hold on them, contracting around your head.

“Fucking whore,” she hissed, “so desperate for me. It’s pitiful. You disgust me.”

You tried to plunge further in, wanting her to feel you. Your nose bumped against her clit. She forced your head forward, grinding against you, uncaring of how you might be feeling. Your tongue was working hard, thrusting into her, setting a pace that you weren’t sure you could keep up. You looked up, watching the way her face contorted in pleasure. Her lips fell open in a silent moan, eyes closing. You stroked at her internal walls.

“I’m sure I’m your favourite taste. You’d stay there on your knees all day if I’d let you lick at me like a desperate little whore. Would you service me whenever I asked?” You knew you would.

You pulled your tongue from within her, wrapping your lips around her clit. You prised your fingers from her thigh, replacing your tongue, pushing them in until you could curl them, finding the place within her you knew so well.

She moaned.

“Maybe I should take you with me to dinner, have you feed under the table, at my feet as you deserve. Or would you rather eat from me instead? Let the rest of them know what a desperate little slut you are.”

You pressed your thighs together. Your fingers were slow as they pumped inside her, stroking and curling, twisting in a way you’d found she’d liked so much so many months before when the world was still the one you knew. You were sucking on her clit, her fingers pressing you harder, grinding hard against your tongue. The thigh you still held was beginning to tremble and her words were becoming breathy.

“Or maybe I should have you laid out on the table, touching yourself through dinner, let everyone see the control I have over you. Debase yourself in front of them. Show your shame to them all. Remind them you’re nothing but a dirty whore who earned her place here with her body, not through worthwhile means.”

You whined. Her laugh was breathless, fingers in your hair tightening. you could feel your own arousal beginning to drip down your thigh, her words only spurring you on. You wanted all of it, everything she was describing. You wanted her claiming you in front of them. You wanted to debase yourself, her words controlling you, begging her for release for everyone to hear. She owned you, body and soul, and it had taken the end of the world for you to realise how true that was.

“Even Coco is more worthy of her spot here. All you have is your body. Nothing but an object for my pleasure.”

You stroked the spot within her you’d always been able to find in conjuncture with a sharp suck to her clit. Her head fell back, hips jumping forward. Her thighs were squeezing your head, hands forcing you against her. It was hard to breathe but it was unimportant to you, her rising pleasure all that mattered.

“Look best on your knees,” she panted, “desperate to please. Willing to debase yourself, making a spectacle of yourself, demeaning yourself. Think you can please me. Think I’ll like seeing you giving into your animalistic urges. So… So… pathetic.”

She groaned as her internal muscles clenched around your fingers. She was keeping you pinned against her pulsing core, riding your face as hard as she could. With your tongue tasting her, you wondered if she’d cum since the end of the world or if this was the first time in all those months.

Her breath was slow to even out. Your fingers slid from her, your tongue dragging over the skin of your palm to clean yourself up, not wanting to miss a drop of her.

She dragged you up, your knees screaming from being pressed against the stone ground for so long. She ignored your whimper, lips crashing against yours. Her tongue was in your mouth, almost lazy as she stole your breath, giving you what you’d been yearning for since entering the Outpost. It was like kissing your Mina again. Her other hand was pulling up your skirt, fingers skimming your skin, making you whine into her mouth.

With probing fingers she discovered you’d also forgone underwear, bare under her touch. She made a noise, drawing back from the kiss, a look of affected disgust crossing over her face. Her finger ghosted through your folds, lingering on your clit. Your breath froze in your lungs, hips stuttering towards her. She guided you down onto her still bare thigh, bare cunt against her skin.

She curled her lip, watching the way your lips sunk into your bottom lip. The feel of her against you was almost too much. Your hips rocked, a tiny movement that would have been unnoticeable if she hadn’t been watching you so intently.

Her hands grasped your hips, tight enough to leave bruises, keeping you still. You whined again, eyes begging her to let you move. You were dripping with need, her thigh already slick from your arousal. The curl of her lip was undercut by the gleam in her eye, self satisfied and interested in you.

“You disgust me,” she said, “nothing but your base urges motivating you.”

“Ms Venable,” you whined, “please.”

It was torture, being held like that, pressure on your clit but held still. Your breathing was erratic, need filling your veins. Her eyes swept over you, considering you, finding you wanting.

“Go on then,” she said, turning her eyes away from you as if she didn’t care, “rut like the animal you are.”

No matter how much disinterest she tried to affect, her hands were the ones guiding you against her thigh, tensing underneath you. Your head fell back, moaning loudly, wanting her to hear how much she still effected you. She was setting a tortuous pace, your clit slowly dragging over her skin. You were whimpering, trying to catch her eye again, wanting her to see how desperate you were.

Your hips rocked faster, harder, grinding down against her. She was slow to turn her gaze back to you, sweeping over your undulating body again. Her name mingled with pleas and thanks was all that fell from your lips. She snarled at you, only flooding you with more heat. You liked how she degraded you, even as she gave you the pleasure you were so desperate for.

Her fingers grasped your chin as your head began to tip back again, forcing you to look down at her. You moaned, staring in her eyes as your hips ground down, seeking out more pleasure. She growled, pressing her thigh up harder. You wanted to bury your fingers in her hair, feel the silky strands against your skin, pull the pins out so they’d tumble down her back. You wanted to kiss her deeply, burying your moans in her mouth. You wanted her to watch you come undone.

You made a small noise in the back of your throat, breathy and throaty, a half whine. Her eyes were watching you, lips pressed together, a flush high on her cheekbones, barely visible in the firelight. You were rocking against her, chasing your high, the spring tightening within you. Your fingers clenched around nothing, not knowing if you could touch her, muscles straining to the point of trembling.

“Aren’t you done yet?” she drawled.

Your breath caught, body tensing above her, your orgasm crashing into you. Wave after wave moved through you, her name sweet nectar on your tongue as you cried it. A smirk settled on her face, eyes practically smouldering, fingers tightening on your hips again. Your head fell forward, seeking out her lips.

She allowed you to kiss her, surprisingly soft. Her tongue stroked against yours and despite the fact your heart was still beating double time from your orgasm, heat stoked in your lower stomach again. You sunk your teeth into her lip, giving in to your impulse. A hand pressed between your shoulder blades, forcing you against her body. Soft supple curves pressed against yours, the rough fabric of her dress scraping your skin.

The kiss softened again, more reminiscent of times long since gone. You sighed into her mouth, hands finally landing on her shoulder, thumb brushing against her pulse point. With strength that had always surprised you, she lifted you from her thigh, laying you back on the bed. Her hands skimmed down your body, featherlight until you were thrumming under her fingers.

“I must admit,” she murmured against your lips, “I have missed you.”

“Really?” you asked, drawing back just far enough to see her properly.

“You are the owner of my heart, little one. Holding back from having you has been torture,” she said, fingers stroking through your hair, pulling leftover pins from it.

“Then why were you?” you asked, wondering how long you’d have your Mina back.

“Maintaining distance was necessary. I could smuggle you in but once here I couldn’t show any such favouritism. Not if I wished to remain in charge, unquestioned and complete,” she said, “and you made it so incredibly difficult, little one. I felt those beautiful eyes watching me, looking so lost and hurt. All I wanted was to take that hurt away.”

“I just didn’t understand how I’d lost you. The end of the world and you were there but you weren’t and I had no one.”

Her fingers were still running through your hair, comforting and soft. Her other arm curled around your waist, rolling until she was lying on the bed, holding you close. You rested your head on her shoulder, pressing yourself to her with a level of neediness you didn’t usually feel around her. After months without, you needed it more than you needed air.

“So now what?” you asked her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, lips brushing your hairline.

“We just had unauthorised sex,” you said, “am I going to be shot?”

“Of course not.” She stiffened and you could hear the horror in her voice, “I authorised it. I am the leader of Outpost Three, after all.”

“Yeah, that whole thing has definitely awoken something in me,” you said.

Her soft chuckle vibrated through her chest, passing into yours. You pressed closer, legs tangling together, uncaring of the arousal that still coated both of your skin. Her lips pressed to your forehead.

“I noticed, little one,” she said, “perhaps next time I’ll tie you up and tease you until you think you’re going mad.”

Your shaky exhalation earned you another kiss, soft and lingering, a promise for you to cash in.

“In public we shall remain as always. The leader and a Purple. Behind closed doors, we shall be us again,” she said, “if that’s agreeable to you?”

“I’ll take whatever I can get of you,” you replied, “you’re my world and I’ve missed you so much.”

Your name was sweet on her tongue, a soft sigh, a small smile. You lent up, kissing her until she was melting beneath your touch. You felt liquid, dreamlike, you hopes coming true right in front of you.

“I love you,” you muttered against her lips.

She rolled you, hovering above you, staring down with those dark eyes. Firelight danced across her skin and she’d never looked so beautiful to you.

“I love you too, little one,” she said, before kissing you once again.

[squeezil]

I don't usually write, let alone share fan fics, but I've been on a DEEP Httyd hyperfixation lately and it's been particularly inspiring, and I'm a slut for a good Hiccupxreader so have this lil piece I wrote, I plan on writing more and if people like it who knows maybe it'll be more than just a collection of one shots 🤷🏼‍♀

This Changes Everything...

Hiccup x Fem!Reader

This takes place between Rtte and Httyd2 when Hiccup is working on his map and trying to find the part of himself he thinks is missing, little does he know he’s going to find something else along the way that he really didn’t expect.

Y/N = your name

D/N = your dragon’s name

H/C = your hair color

E/C = your eye color

F/C = your favorite color

Chapter 1

It was late afternoon on a beautiful midsummer day, the sun was shining bright over the calm seas, the steady waves sparkling in the warm light. "What better time for an exploratory flight around the the archipelago?" Hiccup thought, ignoring the other glaringly obvious reason being that once again his father had tried to talk to him about taking over as chief soon. That wasn't something he wanted to talk or think about right now. There was still far too much he hadn't discovered yet, about the world, and more importantly, about himself. 

He and Toothless had been soaring around the neighboring islands for what seemed like hours at this point, noticing nothing new or out of the ordinary, much to Hiccup's disappointment. He leaned forward to place his hand on Toothless' neck and opened his mouth to tell him to turn back towards home when the Night Fury's ears shot up in eager curiosity, and began sniffing excitedly at the air. 

"What is it, bud?" Hiccup asked, curious himself now. 

Before he knew it, Toothless dove towards a nearby island with such speed he nearly fell backwards from the sheer force. "Thank Thor for this harness!" He thought. 

"Whoooa, bud! What's gotten into you?" Said Hiccup, as they plummeted faster. 

They landed so abruptly that Hiccup lurched forward and tumbled off of Toothless' back. With a quick glance back at his best friend to make sure he wasn't hurt and an impatient bark, Toothless set off into the woods, eagerly bounding through the trees to find the source of his interest. 

"Toothless, wait! Where are you going?!" Hiccup called, getting up as quick as he could to run after his wayward dragon. Try as he might, he couldn't quite keep up with Toothless and soon lost him in the brush. 

"Toothless? Toothless! Toothless, where are you?!" He screamed, praying to the Gods that there weren't dragon hunters on this island. In the near distance he heard the distinct roar of a Night Fury and quickened his pace.

Eventually he came to a small clearing nestled in a thick canopy of trees, which blocked out most of the sunlight, making it difficult to see well. He saw a large, dark creature moving in the shadows and squinted for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief. It was definitely a Night Fury.

"There you are! What in Thor’s name was so important that you couldn't wait for me, huh bud?" He said, a twinge of annoyance in his voice, despite trying to maintain a calm tone.

The dragon shifted quickly and whipped it's head around, letting out a low warning growl as it did so. 

"Wh-Hey, hey bud, it's me, it's Hiccup, what are you-" he stopped cold as the dragon moved into a small streak of light peaking through the trees, illuminating it's deep violet eyes that were angrily boring into his startled green ones. 

Shock, then dawning comprehension, and finally fear spread across Hiccup's face as he realized Toothless had green eyes, this was not his dragon. He had somehow managed to find another Night Fury…and they were mad. 

"Ohh my Gods…Wow, another Night Fury! And look at your eyes, I've only ever seen Razorwhips with purple eyes before, incredible!" He started, his fascination getting the better of him for a moment before remembering that this dragon was not friendly, yet. "Uhh, whooa-okay, easy, I-I'm not gonna hurt you, it's okay." He said gently, his hands up in attempt to show he wasn't a threat. 

The wild Night Fury growled louder, and narrowed it's eyes, clearly not believing his assurances. He backed up slowly until he was backed up against a tree and suddenly, from a branch above him Hiccup heard a woman shout, 

"You're damn right you won't hurt her!" 

The next thing he knew, he was face down on the ground with a knee pressed between his shoulder blades, pinning him in place and the distinct sound of a dagger being unsheathed above him. He shifted nervously under her weight and tried to speak through the dirt and grass he was currently being shoved into.

"Look, ugh, I don't know who you are, but I really don't mean either of you any harm, I would never hurt a dragon, especially not a Night Fury!"  

"Uh huh, sure, just like the last guy we caught sneaking up on us. You hunters are all the same! Why can't you just leave her alone?!" She said, angrily digging her knee harder into his back.

"Argh…Hey, could you ease up a bit? I'm telling you the truth, I'm not a hunter, I'm a dragon rider!" He said in a strained voice.

"Well that's a new one, huh D/N?" The Night Fury made a disdainful huff of agreement beside her, "but I'm still not buyin' it, I know you were just here for same thing they all come for, the last Night Fury in the world. Well, if you want her, you have to go through me!" She said, raising her arm to strike, but before she could bring down her dagger a purple plasma blast came out from the bushes, disarming her. She looked up at D/N in confusion, and the dragon simply gave her an equally confused look in return.

Toothless sprang out of the bushes, growling and baring his teeth as he slowly advanced on the young woman holding his friend hostage. With his captor sufficiently distracted, Hiccup managed to push her off of him and swipe a foot under her, knocking her to the ground.

"Look, we don't want to fight you, please just listen to me." He said, getting to his feet and once again putting his hands up in a gesture of peace. 

She stared, dumbfounded at Toothless, who had positioned himself in between them to protect Hiccup, "I can't believe it" she uttered under her breath. She turned back to Hiccup with a suspicious glare, "who are you?" narrowing her eyes at him, one hand reaching for the bow slung across her back in case she still needed to fight her way out of this.

"My name is Hiccup Haddock, son of Stoick the Vast the Chief of Berk, and leader of the Dragon Riders of Berk. This is Toothless, and up until now we believed he was the last Night Fury left in existence…" He said carefully, taking a tentative step towards the young lady and her wary dragon.

D/N was so distracted at this point by Toothless that she had stopped growling and had begun eyeing him with curiosity. They cautiously approached each other. Glancing at the dragons, who had both dropped their defenses and started sniffing each other inquisitively, Hiccup smiled slightly and let out a relieved sigh "see? Toothless just wanted to say hello." He turned back to the girl who had now lowered her hand from her bow, but still looked uncertain. 

"Look, I'm sorry we scared you guys, we were just scouting out new islands to add to this map I've been working on and I guess Toothless heard or smelled, er, D/N, was it? Anyway, dragons are gonna do what dragons do, right?" He said, smiling wider now.

He had such an unassuming, warm smile, she couldn’t help but feel more at ease, and there was something in his eyes that made it hard not to believe him. Realizing that maybe he wasn't quite the threat she thought he was after all, she relaxed slightly and  took a few steps closer to him. With how fast everything had just happened, Hiccup hadn’t really gotten a good look at her before, but now that she was standing only a few feet from him he could see that she was easily one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. She had long H/C hair with two small braids around the crown of her head that met in the back where they merged with a larger braid that fell down the middle of her back, with the rest of her hair falling free underneath. Her eyes were a stunning shade of E/C. She was dressed in a long F/C tunic with a off-white fur wrap around her shoulders that clasped around her neck with a strangely carved broach, a leather skirt, and fur lined boots that matched the fur around her shoulders.

“Wow…” Hiccup thought out loud, then catching himself said “uh, I mean, how…did you find a Night Fury? For the last five years we assumed Toothless here was the last of their kind.”

“We sort of…found each other, I guess.” she started, pausing a moment as she recalled their troubled past. “Where I’m from dragons are considered evil, all anyone cares about is capturing or killing them, but something about that never sat right with me, even though they terrified me. It wasn’t until I came across D/N in one of our traps that I realized why, I saw how scared she was, how helpless, and it was like…” she trailed off staring at the ground, trying to find the words.

“It was like she was just as scared of you as you were of her? Almost as if you could see yourself in her?” Hiccup finished. 

She looked up at him speechless, “Y-yes…how did you know that?”

He let out a light hearted chuckle and said “Because it was exactly the same with me and Toothless. I looked at him, and I saw myself, and we’ve been together ever since, isn’t that right, bud?” he said gesturing for Toothless to come over to him, prompting the dragon to jump over, nuzzle his arm, and lick him across the face. “Haha okay, okay, easy bud! You know that doesn’t wash out!” 

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at this sudden display of affection between the two. D/N came over to her and gently head butted her as if to ask for her turn. She stroked the dragon’s smooth scales and whispered, “well, what do you think, girl? Should we trust em?” D/N cooed happily in response. 

Taking another tentative step towards Hiccup, she said "I-I'm sorry I attacked you…it's just, we've never met anyone else like us…either of us. It's just been the two of us for so long, I learned trusting other humans doesn't usually turn out well." A look of quiet disdain darkened her face at the last few words. 

Hiccup furrowed his brow, his smile fading with concern as he turned back to look at her and said "Sounds like you guys have been through a lot…we can relate.” 

She looked from Hiccup to Toothless, suddenly noticing that he had a prosthetic leg, and that Toothless had a prosthetic tail fin as well.

"What happened to you guys?" She said, feeling as if she already knew the answer, "hunters?" she added with a scowl.

"Uh…not exactly." he replied sheepishly, absent mindedly rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. Realizing this wasn’t much of an explanation, Hiccup sighed and said, “it’s a long story.”

“Well, I have time.” She gestured to a large rock nearby for them to sit on. Hiccup smiled and followed her over. He started telling the story of how Berk used to be, how he had shot down Toothless only to realize that he didn’t want to kill him, how they had slowly gained each other’s trust, and eventually how they had managed to change everyone else’s minds about dragons. 

“Sure, life’s a little more chaotic now with dragons everywhere, but it’s so much better!” He said, absolutely beaming. She couldn’t help but return his infectious smile. 

“That’s amazing! I wish my tribe was like that…” she said, her tone turning wistful. “We had to run away to keep D/N safe, the people back home just didn’t understand, they only wanted to mount her head on their walls” she glared at the dirt, fuming at the harsh memories, “even my own family turned against us.”

Hiccup gave her a sympathetic look and said “Well, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, why don’t you come back to Berk with me and Toothless?” 

She looked up at him, her nerves suddenly returning, “Oh…Uh, I don’t know…I mean, you two do seem nice, and I still can’t believe we met another Night Fury…but, we don’t really know you that well or how well we can trust you, no offense. I have to do what’s right for D/N, she’s saved me countless times, I have to keep her safe too.”

“Well…if you won’t come to Berk, how about we come back here to check up on you from time to time? That way you know you’re not alone, and Toothless and D/N can finally have one of their own kind to spend time with, it’s a win-win!” He said hopefully.

She thought for a moment, unsure, but something tugged at her gut to say yes. She didn’t know why, but she really did want to see Hiccup again, and he did have a good point, this was D/N’s only chance to be with her own species, this chance wouldn’t come up again. 

“Hmm…I guess that would be okay.” She said, smiling softly. 

He grinned back at her sweetly and said “Great! Hey, uh, I just realized I never got your name.”

“Oh, right, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N? Wow, that’s…that’s really pretty, uh I mean, I’m really glad we met, Y/N.” He said, once again smiling wide, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

She felt her cheeks warm slightly too as he looked at her, his green eyes bright with earnest enthusiasm somehow made her feel that for the first time ever, she was truly being seen. For once in her life, she was genuinely hopeful.

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 3}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: You begin to understand the dynamic between you and your new captor. But things aren’t always what they appear to be, and maybe that’s for the best. 

Word Count: 7.8K

Warnings: talk of sexual favors, narcotics, reader was drugged previously, withdrawel, symptoms of withdrawel, light violence toward reader (very minimal and not detailed), nightmares, trauma, ptsd triggers, reader is in a survival headspace, readers hands are still bound, semi-nudity, moral dilemmas, morally confused din djarin

A/N: hello, hello! i initially planned to update twice a month, but this chapter flowed so easily once i began to flesh out the scenes i had outlined for this installment. it helps to set the dynamic between the reader and our dear mandalorian. i also am aware that my writing style allows for glimpses of his feelings and what he’s thinking, it’s still strictly set in the ‘reader knows x and acts that way’ and then some passages give way to how he’s experiencing the events as well (though reader isn’t privy to them). i like giving insight to him so he doesn’t seem so flat. please let me know what y’all think!  ♡ 

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist 

It was early morning, the sun just barely showing signs of peaking over distant mountain ridges. You hadn’t slept much, the chill of the desert and the close, heavy presence of your captor making the task difficult.

The familiar sound of your saber handle had you sitting up quickly, a warning on your tongue as the bright white of the blade formed with the push of a button by a gloved hand.

“Be careful!”

Glowing light cast from the blade illuminated the helmet of the Mandalorian, facing where you had shot up from your resting position. The fabric of your tunic swung as you reached a hand out, not thinking about the sudden movement inciting the man’s instincts. He leaned away from you, his legs pushing him up from his own seated position on a fluid movement, the blade coming in front of him in as a defensive shield. Your face was cautious, your outburst making you worried in the wake of the warning from the night before.

“Please be careful, jatne vod.” You spoke in a softer tone, not wanting the man to accidentally burn himself as he quelled his curiosity surround your weapon. Or wield it at you in defense, you were too weak to put up much of a fight, despite adrenaline that would pump through your system should the threat feel real enough.  While it may not be particularly yours anymore, you wanted it to be cared for and handled with caution. “The crystal is very sensitive.”

“Crystal?” The man’s curiosity seemed to get the better of him. He experimentally twisted the handle in a mimic of how one would a blade to get the feel of the weight and balance. The handle moving from one hand to the other, the humming of the blade reacting to each minute swing and twist. It shouldn’t have but the vision of this strong, capable Mandalorian bounty hunter wielding your weapon so easily stirred something in your chest. You ignored the feeling, willing it to fade away and forcefully snapped your focus back.

“The energy of the crystal is harnessed by the handle, resulting in the blade. I mined the crystal myself, long ago.”

“A kyber crystal. Heard of it before, in passing.”

“Yes, jatne vod. A Kyber crystal, they are very important to jedi culture. Much like beskar to your people. It’s a living crystal, it’s bonded to me. It may not operate for everyone who attempts to.”

You didn’t mention that it meant a great deal that it had operated for him.

The Mandalorian didn’t respond, seeming to have the information he wanted regarding the weapon. His need to understand the weapon temporarily overriding the requisite of you being silent. The press of a button dimmed the blade, powering it down completely. A gloved hand reached up with a small flashlight in its grip and he flicked the beam on to point into the handle. The crystal reflected faceted light onto the front of his helmet, bathing his form in a mesmerizing display. The angle of the light hitting the bottom of his helmet giving you a faint glimpse of the shape of the man’s face. No features had been discernable, the darkness within the helmet keeping them hidden from you.

Your eyes traced the faint outline, searching for any hint of the man beneath the helmet even as your mind reprimanded you that it was an invasion of privacy. This man had sworn a creed, much like yourself, though his was different from yours. While yours forbade earthly attachments, his forbade revealing his face to those he was not bonded to. There was just something about him that you seemed instinctually react to…The reverent air that possessed him as he inspected the weapon, respect seeping into his gentle ministrations as he looked it over and got a feel for the way it moved and glided through the air.

You knew that Mandalorians put great worth on weaponry and armor. It was a part of their culture, of their way of life. For this man to take great time and care to figure out the logistics of your own weapon that was now in his possession, it felt like something. However misplaced it may be. The more sensible part of your brain was trying to argue that it didn’t mean anything, that the man probably collected every weapon from every quarry he’s ever captured. Inspected them, deemed them important enough to integrate into his own personal cache of weapons or store them upon the ship for when he may need them, if ever.

The sun was beginning to cast pastel orange rays that were bleeding into the dark navy of the fading night over the vast expanse of the open sky, painting the desert in a wash of golden light. Eclipsing the man standing before you, his back to the beauty of the day’s new beginnings.

Suddenly the silver helmet morphed into one that was all black, the visor disappearing. The quiet air of the early morning was filled with the sound of deep breaths being helped by a compressor, the figure of the Mandalorian shifting into that of one you’ve spent your entire life running from. A red blade sprang to life as the standing figure twisted the lightsaber and aimed it at you, stepping over you to hold it close to your throat.

The hum of it was loud in your ears, the heat of it setting your skin on fire even if it hadn’t touched you yet. Your name fell from the figure’s mouth, modulator making it low and it settled heavy in the air. It wasn’t the voice of the Mandalorian you had grown to recognize over the past day. A hand was raised and you felt yourself being lifted to hover few feet above the ground, your body hanging limply as the Force was worked against you. Chills rained down your arms and back despite the beads of sweat that were beginning to form along your skin, body freaking out even as your mind was utterly blank with panic.

The hand fell from its raised position, your body collapsing to the ground with a thump. Fear had you rooted in your spot, unable to do anything as the blade began to cut a line into your neck…

You shot up from where you had been laying, hand flying to your neck as a choking sound warbled from your mouth. You took a deep breath, blinking furiously to dispel the image of a dark cloaked figure with a black helmet as the light of day revealed to you that it had all been a dream. A dream of a memory that had morphed into a nightmare. The shade encompassing you had you stilling as you tried to mentally reign yourself in.

You whipped your head around, trying to get a bearing on your surroundings. You were down on the ground, a thick piece of tattered fabric separating your body from the coarse sand. The sound of metal on metal filled the air as you turned to see the Mandalorian and the Ugnaught working together to fit a final piece of siding back into place on the Razor Crest. The sun was setting but you had a feeling it wasn’t the same day as when you had fallen unconscious. The fuzzy feeling of your tongue in your dry mouth and the aching of your muscles were an indication of the time that had passed.

You watched silently, moving to sit more comfortably atop the fabric, as the two made sure the metal panel was securely in place. When the figure of the Mandalorian emerged from the shadows of the ship, you realized he was free of the mud that had covered him the last time you had been conscious, and he had fastened his cuirass back into place despite the large dents that still marred the metal. He was missing his cloak. Your middle dropped from you to disappear into the sand as you realized he had removed it and given it to you in your unconscious state to lay atop. That he had taken the time to clean it of the mud that had caked on it before doing so.

With frantic still bound hands, you brushed as much of the sand that had gathered onto it off, hoping he wouldn’t notice how careless you were treating something of his. Halfway through your ministrations, you realized you still had a layer of mud covering your own form, though it was dried and nearly baked into the fabric of your tunic and along your hair. Small bits of it crumpled off to land on the fabric. Your face had been wiped clean, though whoever had done had made sure to stop there.

“He told me of the powers you used to defeat the mudhorn, I’ve heard of them in passing.”

Your head shot up at the voice, suddenly realizing that the Ugnaught had approached you. You hoped he had been the one to wipe your face clean, unsure of how you felt about the Mandalorian taking the time to ensure you had something to lay on so you weren’t on the ground and to clean you. He had schooled his expression to one of slight curiosity, though you couldn’t read much else in his expression.

“Whispers of such powers have faded, but they still linger in the wind and minds of the galaxy.”

You just nodded, bringing your hands to rest atop your bent knees. Your eyes moved to the pod beside you, it was open to reveal the unconscious form of the Child inside. Worry stirred in your heart for him, he was so small and the Force took a lot of energy and concentration to direct, to harness. His moves to save the Mandalorian will have definitely hit him harder than yours had done to you. Memories of a similar figure in species and stature wove through your racing mind, though the one you were thinking of had been alive for millennia. He had been skilled beyond comprehension, his age allowing him the time to become one of the strongest people you had ever encountered. The Child had a long way to go and you’d surely be long dead by the time he was even ready to begin training himself.  

“You must be stronger than the Child, he is still unconscious.”

You nodded again, not wanting to give anything away. The fleeting worry that the Mandalorian has recounted the events with the mudhorn grew in your chest and made it hurt as you fought your instincts to incapacitate the figure in front of you. That he had told the Ugnaught what you had shared with him in his native tongue, still so cautious about who you were.

No one could know what you were, what you possessed, you already had such a large target on your back. But this man had been nothing but kind to you in his own way, allowing you to share his farmed water, offer you transportation, and aid with repairing your captor’s ship. Surely he wasn’t a threat in any way, whether personally or by the sharing of information he’s gathered from the interactions of the past few days.

“You may speak with him, if you wish. Though I have not repeated what you told me,” The deep timbre of the Mandalorian’s modulated voice sounded as he approached as well. He pressed something along his left cuff and the pod beside you moved toward the repaired ship and up the ramp. Something stirred in you, quelling the panic and worry that had begun to consume your mind. But it was quashed just as quickly as it had begun to form at the next words to leave his modulator. “Word of what you told me would make it even more of a task to complete the job of returning you.”

You hoped none of the emotions that had washed over you had shown on your features, not wanting to be so easily read. You nodded again, the repeated motion beginning to cause nausea in the pit of your stomach now that you were conscious. You spied the handle of your saber secured in a spot on the Mandalorian’s utility belt. Hidden from anyone who didn’t know what to look for.

“Thank you for the kindness you have shown us while on your planet, sir. It is greatly appreciated. I don’t have anything to offer you in return.” Your attention snapped back to the man directly in front of you. His eyes meeting your own as he looked you over. It seemed as if he had more to say but had settled on holding the words back in favor of addressing your immediate response.

“I am in your service; you are my guests. There is no need to supplement me. I have spoken.”

The ship lifted into the air, and you gripped an arm of your seat tightly, both hands curling around it as you fought the rolling nausea in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was because of withdrawal or nerves at flying again. It had been so long since you’d been aboard a ship, and apparently the last time you hadn’t even been conscious enough to realize you were being transported. But this time you were, and you grounded yourself with that small notion. You were aware of what was happening at this moment, and it was all you could think of to comfort yourself even if you were being taken back to a place you never wanted to return.

Once the ship lurched into hyperspace, the mesmerizing colors wafting around the ship and displaying through the glass of the cockpit, you felt your nerves ease a little. The colors were beautiful, the light of them calming despite what they meant. Though the brightness of them could be felt behind your eyes as your head throbbed.

You climbed down into the hold once the course through hyperspace had evened out, taking in the space. It was small but enough room to allow the Mandalorian his sleeping quarters, space to store a good number of crates secured along the walls of the hull with thick netting and fabric straps with metal clasps, the small room that held the refresher that the ladder up to the cockpit lined, the cabinets that he used to hold his weaponry, and settled into the hull of the ship itself was the chamber he must’ve used to contain his quarries. You inspected the door, a slight confusion settling over you as you took in the control panel. With a start, you realized it was a carbon freezing chamber.

Backing quickly away from the doors that opened into the small chamber, you felt your back collide with something strong and solid, sending faint jolts of discomfort down your sore shoulders. Shifting on your feet with more energy than you thought you possessed, you came face to face with the Mandalorian himself.

You began to shake your head, fear growing hot in your body as you realized that your fate was to be frozen in this moment and roused once you were back in the hands of your cruel mother. No chance to put up a fight, no chance to scramble for freedom once in a place with more opportunities. You felt like a fool, thinking the armored man would allow you to occupy his space as he returned his other quarry, the one he had initially set out to capture. The job he had intended to fulfill when he happened upon you on the same planet. He said you had to be returned unharmed and the best way to do that would be to turn you into carbonate for travel.

But he didn’t activate the doors to open, he didn’t push you into the chamber. He didn’t move at all except to nod his helmet toward the other side of the hold space. There was a crate that had been taken from the netting and placed against the paneling that you knew opened up to reveal a condensed kitchen space. There was a small cooling supply unit and a hot plate. The cabinets around the immediate area housed a caf maker he had been adamant about retrieving from the Jawas and various boxes of nonperishable foods you weren’t too keen on. You preferred freshly prepared food, a product of your upbringing on a planet whose culture was rich with fishing and farming.

Two smaller crates had been set up next to it in a mimicry of a dining table and chairs. You looked to him before moving across the space and settling yourself atop one of the ‘seats’, him doing the same, sitting diagonal to you. His back was to the wall of the hull, while yours was open and exposed as you faced him and the paneling. It was quiet, the space filled with a weird tension you couldn’t explain when he moved to lean forward with something in his hand that you hadn’t noticed in your panic.

The ration pack placed in front of you atop the ‘table’ made you blink, the change of clothes that weren’t your own underneath it even more so. You glanced over to wall of armor that hide away the man who offered them to you. You stared at the pile of items in front of you, taking note that they were for a reason, one that you weren’t daft enough to ignore. When he reached forward again, this time to remove the binders still around your wrists, you stared at the visor, trying to gauge the situation to get a read on what he would prefer. Taking a breath, you stood and moved to face the man, your skin humming in hesitant anticipation like it always did before you were given instructions, no matter how silent.

You didn’t say anything as you stood from your seat and kneeled before him, hands reaching out to rest on his thighs. You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through you at the idea of touching the cold-looking armor decorating his form, but you would deal with it. You could deal with a lot if it meant you could eat and have clean clothes. You had thought that being taken by him only meant an exchange of who was handling your shackles, and you were correct. It didn’t matter if he claimed to be transporting you back to your home planet and mother, you were under his control in the meantime and you didn’t want to upset him. Didn’t want to run the risk of turning down his offer to trade and then ending up with nothing in exchange and him taking what he wanted anyway.  

The harsh truth of the situation was that you needed the food. You needed something in your system to combat the waning drugs and the sensations they were leaving in their continued absence. Withdrawal had fully set it in, if your spells of nausea and dizziness were any indication. The sensitivity to light you were developing spoke of it even more so, accompanied by interwoven chills and hot flashes that had nothing to do with the planet’s environment. If you were to make it through, you needed something in your system to help counteract the energy it was taking from your already spent body.

The clothes looked soft, something that sounded like a blessing against your irritated skin. You needed those items. The fact of the matter was that you needed to trade for them with the man before you, nothing came for free. Not in this life, not in yours. Because underneath all that armor and the creed, he was just another man. Steeling yourself you began to reach out for him, to begin with something relatively tame. Hopefully it would be enough for the items…

You didn’t even get to lay your hands completely down on the armored plates over his thighs before there was a sharp sting on your cheek and you felt yourself crumble to the floor from the force of a hit.

You had been so focused on keeping your eyes on his lap that you hadn’t seen the twitch of his hand before it moved swiftly toward you. You didn’t move an inch from where you were on your backside on the floor, submitting completely to the man now standing. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, the crinkling of leather giving away his irritation at the situation. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t look dare look at him, not wanting to upset him further. You waited for him to speak, to give you directions.

“What are you doing?” His voice was low and harsh, the same one he used when you had heard him talking to Jawas. It held no respect. It reverberated through your entire body, bringing you shame you hadn’t felt in a long time, having shut down feeling bad over the things you’ve had to endure. Shame at things you had to do to survive while being held captive for so long and on different occasions. “Answer me. Why would you think that’s appropriate?”

“Th-the food….and the clothes. Pay-payment, jatne vod.” You wanted to bring a hand up to your stinging cheek, the feeling of a cut underneath your eye bringing tears to your lash line as swelling began. You allowed your hair to shield your face from view, no one had ever struck your face before, and it had taken you off guard. It had hurt.

No one had dared touch your face, to leave marks on it, no matter who the captor had been or who had been watching over you. Your mother had wanted you to maintain the soft skin of your face in order to gain a husband someday, but as you got older the idea seemed to disappear from her mind. It became a silent way to hide the things they did to you. The same went for your captors, they wanted to keep anything they did to you covered. Easily hide the awful things they did to you should you need to be transported, avoiding as much unwanted attention as possible.

“Payment?” The Mandalorian took a step back, feeling his entire body go cold. He took in the way you were trying not to cower, your hands shaking where they held you up from being on the floor completely, your legs splayed out where you landed from the force of his panicked movement. He hadn’t meant to hit you, his mind urging him to push you away before you touched him had turned into a frantic swipe of his hand. You were a quarry, there was no need for touching unless he was fighting you.

You didn’t say anything further. He glanced at the items on the table for a second, his mind reeling at the idea of you having to pay for them when he had obviously placed them there for you to have. To make yourself somewhat comfortable aboard the ship. He may not have the best record of social interaction and had trouble accepting things offered to him without seeing the strings attached, but this? He hadn’t meant for you to take the items as something you had to earn, your puck instructed to bring you in alive and unharmed, he had just been trying to be accommodating to some degree.

You were covered in mud and dirt from the desert and your captivity. Even more so from saving him, taking out that second, raging mudhorn that had quite literally come out of nowhere. He had wiped your face free of mud, but hadn’t dared do anything further. It felt like too much, just what little he had already done. He’s intent on ignoring his betraying mind telling him he wouldn’t have done as much for anyone else.

The talk of the Jawas and the favors they had referred to when discussing wanting to trade his parts back for time with you echoed in his head. They had been talking about the way the guards of the compound had refused to give you anything lest you trade for them, but with no possessions to trade there was only one thing that could mean…

“I-if that’s not what you wanted, then do whatever you think is f-fair in exchange.” You turned to face him, though your eyes didn’t dare rise past his cuirass. You were kneeling once again, though instead of reaching out to him, your hands went up to untie the wrap keeping your tattered tunic closed and loosened the knot there. The fabric fell from your form onto the floor and puddled around you, leaving you in just your underthings. The fading bruises and cuts on your skin from your captivity on full display.

You rested your hands atop your thighs and waited for his instructions. You could feel your skin prickle in the cold air of the ship, your chest displaying the sensation through the fabric. “I h-have an implant, if that interests you, jatne vod.”

“It doesn’t interest me. Put your clothes back on and collect yourself. This isn’t a game.” Disgust at the insinuation dripped from his modulated voice. He looked at the wall just beyond your face, not looking at you but looking over your head. He could see the red line the plate of armor on the back of his hand had made underneath your eye, the trickle of blood that blossomed from the end of it. He hadn’t meant to strike you so hard, he hadn’t even meant to strike you in the first place. “I gave you those things, they’re yours.”

“But-“ You cut yourself off, as if realizing you were arguing with him. He didn’t see having a conversation as arguing, but he guessed you weren’t used to having a simple conversation. He realized that days ago he had snapped at you to remain silent, that he preferred if you didn’t talk. The sentiment carved into your every interaction with him since then as you spoke only when spoken to. Outside of when you had explained the diagnostics of your weapon. You had been missing for so long, no doubt having been captured for most of it. Obeying despite not wanting to instilled in your mind for survival. You remained unmoving, as if waiting for another strike to fall on you. “Apologies.”

He was quiet, taking in the way you sat before him. When he raised his hand to point at the items on the table, he took in the way you began to flinch. He had tried to abort the movement at the realization you were worried he would strike you again. Unfamiliar guilt stuttered through his chest, prompting a heavy sigh to sound through the modulator.

“Eat, then wash off. The refresher is through that door. The soap and towels in there are for you to use, do so. I’ll be overlooking the course.” He walked away from you, leaving you kneeled on the floor. His footsteps could barely be heard as he crossed the space and disappeared up the ladder.

The Mandalorian was overwhelmed with not knowing how to interact with someone who seemed conditioned to wait for commands but could take down an assailant and a raging mudhorn with ease. It made him uncomfortable; you made him uncomfortable. Strength and ability hidden away in favor of submitting; he didn’t understand. Even if it was a survival tactic. He’d just rather fight his way through threats than submit and bid his time. Shaking his head roughly to dispel his thoughts, he reached out for the last rung on the ladder and pulled himself up to the level of the ship that held the cockpit.

The sooner he could return the Child to Nevarro, the sooner he could get you where you needed to be and off his ship.

Your stomach protested the heartiness of the ration pack. It was too heavy, even if all you had taken was two bites before realizing. The waning of the drugs in your system paired with no other food or nutrients made it hard to swallow what you did dare to intake. You didn’t want the Mandalorian to think you were ungrateful, especially after giving you the ration pack. You just stood there, staring at the opened foil of it and frowned.

You had used the refresher, taking your time washing the caked-on mud and sand from the past few days journey. You were donning the rather large, long sleeve shirt and pants that had been given to you as well. You tugged the belt from your dirty clothes and cleaned it quickly to help hold up the waist. A sigh fell unbidden from you and you pushed up the long sleeves and began to handwash the rest of your stuff in the refresher sink, leaving the unfinished pack on the table. You had carefully folded the foil to conceal what you had not been able to eat.

You were about to hang your tunic and cloak on the top of the shower stall door when you heard faint footsteps in the hold. They seemed to pause before they redirected and a knock on the refresher door sounded. Jumping slightly at the loud sound, the fabric in your hand fell to make a wet smack on the tile of the shower floor.

You abandoned in to open the door, the broad figure of armor taking up the entire open space. His visor was turned down to look at you directly, though you hadn’t the faintest clue what expression was truly on his features.

“You didn’t finish your ration pack.”

“I am grateful for your generosity, jatne vod. I…may I speak plainly?”

The visor continued to stare at you, no confirmation or denial leaving the face behind it. You felt your face heat as you were aware of how close he was, that you were in his own clothing, that the steam from your shower was still wafting through the air. Embarrassment made you heat up even more so, hating the way that it affected you so. But you were beginning to realize how pathetic you must have appeared to the man before you and continued to so do the longer you were in his presence.

“It’s… too dense on my stomach. Food wasn’t a priority for me, at the compound. And the…stuff they used to keep me contained may have worked out of my system but it’s still affecting me.”

“They kept you drugged so you wouldn’t fight.”

“Yes, jatne vod.”

“They starved you and kept you drugged.”

“They starved me in order to make food something desirable, something I would trade…companionship for.”

A knot formed in your throat, the words physically hurting you to speak aloud, keeping your head bowed enough to not make eye contact with the visor. Your cheek throbbed where the armor on his hand had sliced you. Your body was sore, your muscles exhausted from the events of the past few days on top of the particularly harsh reality you had been living for however long you had been captive. You must’ve been shaking, or your muscles twitched, or you made a face when stab of pain reverberated through your stomach as it tried to digest what little you had eaten. The flinch didn’t go unnoticed.

“Do you require medical attention?”

“No. I would not want to waste your supplies.” The immediate response flew from you before you even knew the words existed. But you had no way of paying to supplement what he would use. You didn’t even know what would help beyond bacta spray for your cheek.

“Not a waste if you’re injured. You are to be returned intact.”

“…I would appreciate it, if I would be allowed to just settle somewhere and rest for a bit. If that’s amenable, jatne vod.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“You’re my captor, I’m your quarry. What do you wish me to call you? Because I don’t think you’d like the term I’m using in my head.” Your eyes flared in annoyance at the man in front of you as you straightened to your full height and gazed directly into the visor. His own eyes caught the flash of emotion through the visor. You were trying to be respectful, despite the circumstances. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve pummeled them and taken off with your freedom. But he was a Mandalorian, a rather extraordinarily skilled one despite his propensity for aggravated outbursts over mundane things. And you knew when you were outmatched, especially in your prevailing weakened state.

“What were you doing in here for so long?” He peered over your head, toward the damp clothing that was hung up and then to the piece that had been left forgotten on the floor at his appearance.

“Tending to my clothes, I did not want to anger you by being in your own for too long should you need them. Mine should be dry by the time I’m done resting.”

It was silent as he entered the small space, you shifting to plaster yourself against the wall that faced the small mirror above the sink. You could only watch as he gathered the damp clothing in his hands and walked clear out of the refresher. He opened up a panel along the side of the hold space and dumped the clothing in the dark space. You didn’t protest as he did so, nor did you apologize for taking up space with them as you had tried to dry them.

“Once the Child is returned, we will find a stall for a new tunic.”

With that he moved to the concealed door that led to his own, small quarters. He opened it and disappeared inside, the door closing nearly completely behind him. The pod containing the Child had floated into the space along with him. You allowed yourself to relax just a bit, the tension pulling your shoulders taut waned and you sighed in relief. You moved to sit atop the ‘seat’ he had occupied before, with your back leaning against the siding of the space you closed your eyes and hoped your head would stop hurting soon.

You were awoken some time later by the sound of ceramic on metal. You jumped, your hair swinging with the sudden motion and your body protested the tensing of muscles. Your eyes immediately took in the form of the Mandalorian seated across from you in your previous spot. His hand was still curved around the mug he had set atop the ‘table’ in front of you. Steam wafted up from it and the faint smell of something delicious had your mouth watering. Your stomach gurgled in response to the smell, loud enough to be heard in the silence.

“Bone broth, should be easy on your stomach.”  

Eyes raked over the helmet, the dark shape of the visor in the low light of the hold space. He didn’t remove his hand from the mug, his gloved hand curled around it to display just how wide his palm was and how thick his fingers were. Your eyes snapped to the steaming mug and then back to him as he leaned forward slightly, his other arm coming to rest atop the ‘table’. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, the silence getting heavy as you realized he was about to ask for something in exchange for the delicacy that had been placed between you.

“The Child. He’s still unconscious.”

Straightening your back, stifling a groan at the action you took in the way his own shoulders were tensed, the way his legs were firmly planted on the floor of the ship. He was carrying something he wasn’t accustomed to and it was a burden that could be read on him as if he had plainly told you. The Mandalorian was worried about the Child.

“He may be older than both of us, but he is still young for his species. The Force is…a complicated thing to wield and he may have hidden his powers in the time since we were first hunted. He will be okay, his mind is recovering and his body is allowing it to happen in the safety of unconsciousness.”

Your words seem to hold what he was looking for, as his large hand detangles from around the mug to leave it sitting in front of you in a clear display that it is now yours. You try to not greedily reach out for it, your stomach making more noises as the prospect of something that smells so enticing. You bring the mug to your lips slowly, the action of swallowing making you grimace slightly as you realize you may have been out for longer than you initially thought, once again. Your cheek throbbed at the movement though you visibly relaxed as the warm, smooth liquid flowed down your throat to settle in your stomach.

A somewhat comfortable silence hung in the air, until the man across from you reached into the box you hadn’t seen atop the ‘table’ in your distraction of the mug. He pulled out a small tube that looked too much like something that would house a needle.

The clatter of the mug on metal and your uncomfortable shuffling to make yourself smaller had the visor training back on you with a quick movement. Your eyes were wide, and your breathing shallowed as thoughts of him drugging you created a feeling of foolishness to swell in your chest. He didn’t say anything as he held the tube out to you in his wide palm for you to see the label on it.

‘Bacta’ in small, all capital letters spelled out in Basic.

“For your wrists,” He set it down slowly by the mug. “So they don’t scar.”

You had been rubbing unconsciously at your sore wrists, the angry red marring the tan skin around them irritating. You hadn’t noticed you had been doing so, had probably been doing so since your departure from the compound, even around the binders he had placed on you while in the desert. You watched with cautious eyes as he stood and took the box that must hold his medical supplies in it back toward his sleeping quarters. He returned to the ‘table’ and took the tube back in his hand, popping off the protective cap to reveal a squat spray nozzle. He held out his other hand in a silent request.

Hesitantly you held your arms out, palms turned up where the most damage had been caused. Dried, ugly looking scabs decorated your skin. The area around them irritated and painful looking. He hovered his free palm below your outstretched hands and proceeded to spray in small bursts over the circumference of them. Your heartbeat fast and painful in your chest throughout the whole ordeal. He pocketed the now empty tube before leaning back out of your space. You nodded your thanks as you moved to pick the half empty mug back up, your wrists tingling as the medicine began working to heal the damage to your skin. Quiet resumed.

Once you’ve finished the mug, the contents of it sitting comfortably in your stomach, you both move to the cockpit as he announced you would be leaving hyperspace soon.

Settling into the chair behind the pilot’s seat, off to his left, you spied the pod housing the Child resting in the one to both his and your right side. The Child was still unconscious, though his chest was rising and falling evenly. The ship lurched, pulling your attention from the small being toward the open windshield of the ship. A planet taking up the airspace directly in front of it as it exited hyperspace.

Turning, the Mandalorian reached out to grasp the open lip of the pod. He gently shook it, to gauge the figure inside. But it didn’t stir, not so much as a wiggle of adorable ears or the twitch of a small nose. He turned back to face the control panel, taking the handles of the power steering in his grip. The planet grew larger, the view of it expanding as you closed in on it.

Through the atmosphere you could make out the fluorescent reds and oranges that meant it was a volcanic planet. The realization striking panic to simmer low in your abdomen. The bases of most Imperials were hidden away on planets with volcanic environments, harnessing the energy and movement of the lava to create the weapons they had used during times of war. If the lack of response to your earlier question of the Imperials being the ones to contract the Child’s return was anything to go off of, then you were positive they were here on this planet.

Rustling drew your attention, you looked over to see the Child was awake, his head popping up over the lip of the pod as he peered curiously over the top of it. He clambered down from the pod, from the chair the pod was nestled in and walked over toward the side of the pilot seat. You couldn’t see him, but you did see when one of his small green hands reached for the handle of one of the controls. The shiny top of it commanding his attention. The Mandalorian was momentarily focused on a transmission he played as it dinged in.

When the transmission ended, his attention focused on the Child beside him. The small figure had climbed up atop the control panel, small hand gripping at the top of a lever in front of him. The shiny ball of metal atop it his goal. He removed it easily, bringing it to his mouth to chew on.

“It’s not a toy.” A gloved hand grasped the back of the Child’s clothing and lifted him up. A small noise left him as he was moved back to his pod and deposited back into the confines of it. They shared a look, a soft coo sounding before the Child looked over to you with his bright eyes. You smiled at him, wiggled your fingers at him in a motion that pulled a giggle from him in his cute voice.

“Remain on the ship. I’m going to lock it down and set access coding, attempting to mess with the panels or controls will send an alert directly to me.”

You watched as the armored man stood before his storage cabinet and donned what he deemed appropriate. The act of him fastening weapons and adjusting his armor and the underling padding over his clothing seemed an invasion of privacy almost, though he hadn’t told you to leave him be or leave the room. The intimacy of knowing where he had hidden blades and extra munitions seemed to be something you should not be privy to.

You hide away in the cockpit during his absence, spending the time watching the hustle and bustle of the city through the main archway that separated the open expanse from the landing area for ships.

The city was dirty, the streets full of people and trash. The buildings were crumbling in some places, blaster damage and dirt decorating the exterior of most of them. It was seedy and it was exactly the type of environment you had spent most of your life hiding in. You didn’t miss it, having been so young when you first took to a life on the run, forced to. You took in the way people didn’t linger their gazes on anything or anyone else for too long. As if they were afraid of inciting conflict. Too common a thing in places like this.

You watched the goings-on of the main street you could see that wound its way through the center of the small city. Losing track of time, it was growing dark as the day began to bleed into night. The time of twilight taking over the planet and bathing it in blue light. The light pollution from the city shields the stars and surrounding planets from view.

When the Mandalorian returned, you had tracked his path down the main street until he had gotten too close to the ship to do so. He was alone, the pod no longer trailing beside him. But that had been the end of this mission after all. It didn’t matter that he had asked after the Child’s wellbeing as it had laid unconscious for days. His task was predetermined.

His armor was different. The plates were still secured to the same places as his previous set, but this one was all comprised of the same silver metal as his helmet and his right pauldron. Of beskar. The spoils of his mission plainly on display for all to see.

It was beautiful, it was gorgeous. It made him look even stronger and more capable, if that was even possible. You wanted to skim your hands over the smooth expanse of the plates and feel the coolness of the metal underneath them. Even as you realized it was the very embodiment of the Child being no more.

Grief for another of your kind fallen was an old friend, one that was knocking to be let back into your world after such a long absence. It was not welcome. No words were exchanged, the air holding a sense of detachment as he entered the cockpit. He was holding tension in his entire body as he moved past you and settled into the pilot chair. He punched in the coding he had set and began to power up the ship for lift off.

When he reached over to pull the lever to begin take off, he paused. The ball that normally sat atop the lever had been placed on the control panel when he had removed it from the Child’s mouth hours ago upon arrival. He held the small piece of round metal in his gloved hand, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head beneath the helmet. He slowly screwed the piece back onto the lever and he pushed it forward, his hand hovering over it after the fact.

He suddenly pulled the lever back, reached up and hit some switches. He was a flurry of quick, precise movements as he powered the ship back down just as efficiently as he had powered it on, making your heartbeat fast as you watched him do so.

He didn’t reset the access coding.

As he turned his seat around, the door to the cockpit opened. He stood beside you for the briefest of moments, offering you a curt nod that spoke volumes.

“As soon as you see me returning, ready the ship for take-off.”

“May the Force be with you, jatne vod.”

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @js-favnanadoongi

[querenciasturniolo]

hi!! ik you said requests are closed but for future could you write chris x reader, celebrating his bday w him matt and nick and giving him a gift and all that tyy

hope ⮕ c.s.

word count: 786

warnings: swearing

summary: request

a/n: this was super cute, and i’m glad you requested it ! i was wanting to write something about their birthday, so thank you !! (if you can’t tell, i really like the phrase “live life on the cob”)

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

Everything had to be perfect.

Setting everything up was making you lose your mind, but you knew that once everything was finished, it’d be perfect. Nick had texted you a few minutes ago that they were on their way over, and you almost had everything set up.

Your AC was turned down as low as possible without you freezing to death so that the icing on the cupcakes wouldn’t melt, the ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ sign was crooked, and a few of your balloons were drooping. It was okay, though. You knew the three of them wouldn’t mind.

You were about to sit down and wait when you realized the gifts you had gotten were upstairs. You swore under your breath and shot up the stairs, practically tearing your room apart as you tried to locate the gift bags you’d gotten them. Once you finally had all three in your hands, you bolted down the stairs. On the second to last step you lost your footing and practically somersaulted, landing on your back on the floor.

A huff of breath left your lips, a groan following shortly after as you pushed yourself up on your elbows and froze. You didn’t even hear them come in, but suddenly there were three pairs of blue eyes staring at you. You glanced over at your set up, before looking back at them and smiling sheepishly.

“Happy birthday?”

Laughter echoed through your apartment, all three of them walking over to pull you up off of the ground. Chris wrapped you in a hug, pressing a kiss to your temple and pulling away. He left his arm wrapped around your shoulder, holding you close to his side as the three of them finally settled down. You could feel a slight throbbing from where you landed, but you ignored it.

“How did that even happen?” Matt asked, you sighing and bending down to grab the gift bags you’d dropped.

“I trip on the stairs at least once a week, it was bound to happen at some point today.” You said, Matt scoffing and shaking his head. “I got you guys these, I hope you like it.” You said, handing the three of them their bags. You wrapped your arms around Chris’s waist, holding him close as he opened his gift and smiled down at you.

“What is this?” He asked, pulling out tissue paper folded in a square.

You smiled as he began to unwrap it. “Well, I know you don’t like rings, and you’re more of a necklace guy, but I thought I’d get you something different.” You said as Chris finally unwrapped the gift fully. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning over the bracelet before they met yours.

“Look at the inside.” You whispered, your face heating up as he turned the bracelet over and read the engravement.

His smile was kind, but when his eyes met yours, they were confused. “GOIMGUIO? What the fuck does that mean?” He asked. You snickered and shook your head, lightly taking the bracelet from his hand and wrapping it around his wrist.

“Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional.” You started, clasping the bracelet and meeting his eyes. “When I was trying to think of a gift for your birthday, I remembered that conversation we had about getting older. You said you were scared of changing and aging, and losing pieces of your youth as you got older. So I found that quote, and thought it would be a good reminder if you always had it with you.” You finished, wincing slightly at the corniness of what you just said.

Before you could point out just how corny you sounded, Chris was pulling you to his chest and holding you tightly. He nearly knocked the air out of your lungs with how strong his grip was, your arms wrapping around him and your chin resting on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, his voice muffled by your hair. “This is probably the most thoughtful fucking gift I’ve ever gotten, thank you.” He said, pulling away from you and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You grinned and shook your head. “It was nothing, really. I’m just glad you liked it, and didn’t think it was corny.” You said. Chris chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh it’s absolutely corny, but it’s still sweet.” He said, pulling you into his side. “Besides, you gotta live life on the cob sometimes.”

You snorted and covered your burning face with your hands. “God, you’re such a dork.”

“You love it, though.” He said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You sighed and pulled your hands down, glancing up at him with a wide smile.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 27

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case.  You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Warning: Violence Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader You didn't know what Vic's plan was, but there was one thing he got sick of hearing you demand. "Don't hurt him!" Despite the fear for your own safety, you knew that Vic's plan was to lure Joel down to the junkyard. And it would work. You knew he was on his way.

"Why are you doing this?" You scoffed at Vic from where your hands were bound behind the chair you had been forced into. Your eyes were squinted in obvious disgust for the man.

"You should've walked away when you had the chance." He slowly paced toward you and when he grabbed the bottom half of your face you turned your head. Vic physically forced your head back in the opposite direction, leaving a pain in your neck.

You looked him in the eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of any emotion. He would not make you cry. He would not bring your inner anguish. He would get nothing from you. 

"You both have ruined my life," Vic hissed through gritted teeth.

You spoke quietly. "You ruined your own life."

"Joel Miller killed my brother. He was a hero in this town. A legend-"

"A legend, a football player," you finished, "I've heard it all before. And finally because of the event on the green last night, everyone knows how full of shit you both are. Legends don't attack people and wrap chains around their necks from behind." You knew you were about to be in for it but you couldn't help it, "Criminals and shitheads do that, and because everyone saw what Johnny *really* did to Joel last Halloween, the legendary facade is over and everyone can see him for the asshole he really was."

Vic glared through you. You knew he was seeing red. His eyes transformed into something then reminded you more of a wild animal than a human being. And before you realized what had happened, your entire body shifted, rocking the chair back onto two legs, as a heated pain shot like a flare through your face.

The ring on Vic's third finger left a mark on your face from the hard backhand he given you that left him with his fists balled and still glaring at you. The force of the slap had been more than you anticipated and for the first time you were afraid that he could just beat you senseless.

Still, you gave him nothing. No reaction aside from a continued glare of your own.

When you heard the sound of car barreling down toward the buildings, you got a lump in your throat. That's when Vic retrieved a roll of duct tape he'd purposely kept handy and roughly pressed a strip across your mouth.

With a grin, he put his finger to his lips. "Don't say anything. We want to surprise him."

Your eyebrows pressed together and you tried to call out for Joel but it was impossible. Muffled cries sat dormant in your throat and you tried to make as much noise as possible in your chair.

When Vic disappeared around the corner of the building, all you could do was wait. Your eyes frantically scanned the darkness and you tried your best to listen to what was going behind where you could see.

Immediately, you recognized the sounds of a scuffle. There was shouting and the uneven movements of shadows. It wasn't going to be a fair fight; and all you could do was sit there and hope for the sake of Joel's life.

He's already broken, you reminded yourself. His face. His ribs.

You screamed into the duct tape as you began blaming yourself. Blaming yourself for going outside to get the firewood. Or being naive enough to think it was safe. For not even thinking twice about the man in the parking lot. You should have put the pieces together, or so you thought now. He had to be the link that led them to know where you were staying with Joel. 

When they finally brought Joel around the corner into your line of vision, one man holding each arm and a third by their side, you tried your hardest to wiggle free. You knew you had been right. Halloween was the night that they had planned to seek revenge. You were sure your stunt on the town green didn't help that. For the first time you wondered if it was the right thing to do. You and Joel could have run off together and left the town behind like you had said without showing off the video between Joel and Johnny. Why did you need their approval? Why did you need to prove anything?

Because it's what Joel deserved! You shouted back at your inner voice.

Vic brought Joel within ten feet of where you sat and you could see the anguish on his face.

"Let her go!" Joel shouted.

"You two are fucking echoes of each other, you know that?" Vic said, mocking him now, "Let her go. P-p-please let her go." He nodded to one of his goons, "Mickey, put some tape over his mouth. I can't listen to that shit anymore."

When  they managed to duct tape Joel's mouth shut, you screamed against yours again. Joel's eyes burned into yours and you winced as they kicked out the backs of his legs, sending him down to his knees. You could see from the way he fell that his hands were tied behind his back.

Vic got down on one knee beside him and put a hand on his back. "Take a good look at her, Joel." He motioned to you with one finger, "Tonight you're going to feel what I felt for the last year. You're going to know what it feels like to lose someone you love."

Joel slowly turned his head to look at Vic, who was now smirking in his face. Without warning Joel headbutted him hard in the face, making Vic fall back. As satisfying as it was to watch, you knew it was just going to further piss him off. 

"Fuck!" Vic shouted, prompting his friend to strike Joel in the side of the head, knocking him down to the ground.

You rocked so hard and furiously in your chair trying to break free that it tipped over sideways, sending a pain up through your right shoulder.

Vic held his nose, wiping blood away from beneath it and then yanked Joel back upright so he was kneeling. He shouted now. "I hope that was worth it," he screamed in his face. "Because now I'm going to make you watch all of the things we're going to do to her."

Your eyes widened and your body went numb when you heard the cocking of a shotgun. Who had it? Your eyes drifted from Vic to Mickey and the third man with them. They all whipped around and Joel attempted to look behind him with little success. And then you saw Ronnie's unmistakable silhouette in the darkness.

"No one's doing anything to anyone," he shouted confidently, pointing the double barrels at Vic. The two goons looked back and forth between one another and then to their leader. Each man had their hands up, but not Vic.

"What're you gunna do, old man?" Vic asked, still grinning, "Kill all of us?"

Ronnie looked him directly in the eyes, a hardened expression on his face. "No, Vic. Just you."

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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[hugmeimtouchdeprived]

Ghost!Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader - Prologue

A little prologue, I guess? I do want to make this into a proper fic, just a bit busy now so I'm not sure how often I'll be able to write.

English isn't my first language and this is my first fic, so please bare with me!

Inspired by @ghouljams's ghost!Ghost fics!

(Yes I did write something for this previously on a different account but ended up deleting it for reasons)

Content warning: MW3 (2023) major spoilers, major character death right at the beginning, not edited because it's 1am and I'm feeling lazy but really want to post this, please let me know if I need to add more, I'm still new to this!

Soap x reader, this one is from Johnny's POV but the next part will be reader's POV.

Original drabble | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

It’s odd, really, how quick it all happened. From defusing a bomb to saving his captain to getting shot. He hadn’t even realized he was dead at first, although it should have been obvious in hindsight. No one could survive being shot in the head from point-blank range like that, not even an elite soldier.

Truly understanding what had happened took a while. Sure, he could see his own limp body on the ground as his teammates stood around him, when it was delicately put in a body bag and carried away, but it didn’t hit him until way later. It was more confusing than anything when he tried to tell them he was alright, that he was right there, and nobody would listen. Nobody would even look at him.

He watched as people came in and out of the tunnel for the next few days, doing their investigations and cleaning up the corpses and the blood, until everything went back to normal. Trains ran by as scheduled, workers hustling about.

Johnny was deep in denial for a long, long time. He can’t be dead, absolutely not. Look, he’s right here! Just- just look at him. Please look at him, say something to him. Why the fuck is everyone ignoring him?

No, actually, it’s just a bad dream. That’s what it is. He’s having a very vivid nightmare, one that feels like it just won’t end. But it will. Definitely. He’s going to wake up at base, or maybe back at his apartment in the city, and he’ll go to work and tell everyone about the weirdly realistic nightmare he just had, and they’ll all have a laugh about it.

But days turn into weeks, and he’s still there. It catches up slowly that this is no dream. He’s not going to simply wake up, not this time. He keeps going between absolute hopelessness and uncontainable rage. How could this happen? Sure he knew the risks of his job, that his life could end with little to no warning at any moment. Still, it’s almost impossible to actually comprehend once it has happened. What will his family think when they get the news? How will his poor mother handle it, if at all?

What about his team? They’re trained soldiers, best of the best. They’ve all lost friends, loved ones, teammates. They’ve seen it all before, surely this is no different. Just another Tuesday. No, they’re a family. At least in Johnny’s eyes. They must miss him, grief in their own ways.

And then there’s Makarov. Johnny can’t help but wonder where he is, what he’s doing. The 141 must still be on his tail, if they haven’t caught him already.

Johnny hopes they give him hell. For everything he’s done, and selfishly, Johnny hopes they make sure to avenge him while they’re at it.

Acceptance of this new reality comes agonizingly slow. Johnny tries to force it, tries to convince himself that it’s okay, it was bound to happen eventually. It just happened sooner than he had dared to hope. But that’s how it goes, people die, the world moves on.

He does eventually move around the underground tunnels. He could leave. At least he’s pretty sure he could if he tried, but he doesn’t want to. Maybe someday, but what good would it do now? Watching his loved ones grieve his passing, wondering how the hell they can go on. Johnny knows he was loved. He is loved. And he is full of love, even if he didn’t always show it in a traditional way. But the people around him definitely knew it, Johnny always made sure of it.

And now he’s alone.

He wanders the underground tunnels, watching the trains rush by. Makes sure to step aside when they do, still afraid of being hit. Refuses to even test it if he’d just pass right through them or other solid objects and surfaces (or maybe he does pass his hand or entire arm through some worker in a bright vest, just to see if he can. It’s not like the man will ever know anyway, despite the cold shiver that seems to go up his spine.)

Finding himself at a platform with people passing by at almost all hours of the day feels like a relief. Nobody will still acknowledge him, but the hustle and bustle fills his days with something, and that’s definitely better than nothing. It’s boring and mundane but feels less lonely. He watches as people rush to work, complain about the weather and how the train is late again, teenagers loitering around and kids playing at their parents’ feet as they wait. Occasionally he’ll see some dramatic show of goodbyes and breakups and arguments and heartbreaks of all kinds. He’ll see reunions, online friends meeting for the first time. Even watched some poor bloke propose to his girlfriend. She had awkwardly declined and quickly hopped on the next train, leaving her boyfriend on the platform. Johnny would have felt bad for the young man, if the couple hadn’t looked like they were on their first date.

He makes stories about people, especially ones who take this route often. Wondering where they’re coming from, where they’re going and why. What the lives of these seemingly regular civilians must be like. The single mom who gets on the train almost every day with two screaming toddlers in tow. The young man always smoking, ignoring the glares and the security telling him off. The old woman who comes by alone, often not even getting on a train and opting to sit near the stairs for a couple hours, a few days a week, just people watching. Just like Johnny, he supposes.

That’s how the first months go by. Johnny isn’t sure how long, there’s no point in keeping count of the days, weeks, months. He’s dead, what’s he going to do with that information? Well, he does keep some track of the days, reading headlines of newspapers and articles over people’s shoulders as they wait, just to keep some track of what’s going on in the world outside the tube network.

Yeah, it’s still boring as hell. Faces passing by, day by day.

Johnny is tempted to leave, or at least see if he can. There’s only so many things to see at a train station until it starts to numb his mind. He could probably see the world. Other than war zones and safehouses and such, that is. Do ghosts go on vacations? Can they go on vacations? Johnny doesn’t know much about what ghosts – at least he thinks he’s a ghost, or a spirit of some kind – like him are capable of. Too many movies and stories about the subject, all so similar but oh so different from one another. Guess there’s no better time than the present to find out, huh?

Those plans of leaving for good are quickly forgotten when something – someone – catches his eye one day. Not even sure why, he feels drawn to her, like a magnet. And after just a few days of seeing her almost daily as she gets on a train in the morning and returns later in the evening, it just doesn’t feel enough for poor lil’ Johnny. Whatever this is, he can't just let her be. Especially when, for a brief moment, he believes she looked at him. Actually looked straight at him.

Well, maybe he will try and leave this tunnel, after all.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! 🌷This was a fairly quick thing, just because I wanted to get this little fic started, and starting a new project is always the hardest part in my experience. Just wanted to get the ball rolling, ya know? Just getting those brainworms out.

Original drabble | Chapter 1

[makriiii]

Caught Ⅲ (Arthur Morgan × f!reader)

Word count: 3.1k

Authors notes: Sorry for the slow uploads. Btw, when I copy-paste this from my notes app, tumblr double spaces my paragraphs and I'm too lazy to change it. 😭

Warnings: 18+, angst, & cursing.

Wattpad or Ao3

♡

Caught Ⅲ

The land around you briskly faced a blanket of darkness as the sun had just set, the colors had kept you busy for just a stint, longing for them as they faded into deep shades of gray and blue.

People were now rekindling their fires from the night previous, preparing for dinner, a preparation you didn't need to worry yourself with, as much as you wished you did.

Keiran was across from you, and despite being part of your gang, you hadn't exchanged many words. He never did seem too fond of the gang.

Neither of you conversed, not only due to the fact that he tried desperately to distance himself from being an O'Driscoll, but because everyone in camp would also be part of the conversation.

With Keiran ignoring you, and Dutch's gang shunning you, you may as well have been the naughty kid who sat in the corner with a dunce cap on.

The only thing that kept your sanity was finding out that, Arthur, so you came to know, had taken your horse with him that day.

With nothing to do but sit defeated, you zoned out, staring at your horse. The thoughts of escaping with her danced around in your head.

Revenge didn't even cross your mind, in fact, at this point you were willing to let it all go, so long as you had your horse.

Rival gang members came and went, gawking at both of you like zoo animals. At one point, a lady who seemed personally victimized by Keiran had come and dropped food on him.

You were slightly taken aback by her actions, you were hoping it wasn't just for the fact he's an O'Driscoll, otherwise you felt you'd be next.

It was clear you weren't welcome despite being forced to stay and by all means you were happy to leave if they'd allow it. You'd even take Keiran along as well, but they had no such plans.

Out of all the people who roamed before you, your eyes met with one, much to your despair.

You had had enough of the man over these past days when he would check on you, once or twice each day, occasionally giving you water but only teasing you with food.

He kept to asking you and Keiran both, where on earth Colm was, and on that earth, you couldn't give him the darndest of answers.

Each time threatening to rid of both of you right here and there every time you gave him the same answer.

He was no man to play games with, but you still played them. He threatened it but never did actually point the barrel of his gun at you again. You shivered as a small ache crept from your arm just thinking about it.

With the eye contact you regrettably made, Arthur finally decided he'd saunter over and have a friendly little chat with you.

You shifted your weight uncomfortably, your arms and shoulders hurting with every second you didn't stay still.

He seemed to have this look in his eye that you couldn't quite place.

"I reckon it's time to change that bandage of yours." He commented, half gesturing for your arm before looking down and reaching into his satchel.

You didn't want him to touch you, hell, you didn't even want that stinking man anywhere in your sights.

"No, please. I'd rather it get infected so god can take care of it instead." You dismissed, kicking out your leg in an attempt to wave him off since you couldn't use your arm to do so.

He snickered as he crouched down beside you, moving for his knife, and to your surprise, he started cutting at the ropes that kept you tethered to the tree.

"That'd be a good few weeks of worse pain before it finally took you, pain I can just save you from now."

"There's a lot you could've saved me from, not being a poor aim on the day you shot me would've been it." Jeering at him with sass.

Any relief you would have felt from the breakage of your bounds was cut short as you hissed out a gasp of pain.

His large, calloused hand wrapped and dug in just above your wound.

Your instinctual reaction had your right hand balled into a fist and swinging around into a hook that landed sweetly on the side of his face before you could do anything about it, or so that's what you claimed.

It caught him off-guard, taking him a second to react, by which he squeezed your arm even harder and reached for your other wrist in a tight, abrasive grasp.

You cried out while he manhandled you. "Fuck- quit grabbin' me like that, you big brute!" You stirred under him, but he kept you still in an almost a perfect manner.

The whole commotion caught everyone's attention, their turned heads held looks of confusion and surprise.

"Im tryna help your ass, woman." He snarled, keeping you from jerking around. "Hold damn still before I save myself the trouble instead."

You looked away, mumbling a curse under your breath. By no means did you relax, but you stopped fidgeting, he cautiously let go. His eyes burned holes through you as he did.

Suddenly, he reached for your buttoned shirt, you flinched back in befuddled surprise.

"Just what the hell do you think this is?" You demanded, fully desiring to line up another fist to his face, if it wasn't for the control he had over you with clasping your arm.

"Your sleeve doesn't roll up that far. Didn't I tell you to hold still?"

You felt overwhelmed with rage, and worst yet, you couldn't do anything about it.

"Don't look at me like that, how else do you think I took care of this for you before?" He adds, leaving you in silence.

A man undoing your shirt wasn't the problem. The man doing it, was.

"I was hoping you had left me in the care of one of the more dignified ladies here."

"You wandered off so far from where we camped, you would've died before then." He counters, shaking his head.

"And I would have thanked you, if you left it at that." You stayed arguing, but slighted your head up, giving him easier access to your buttons.

His eyes flickered from your face and to your shirt for a moment at your small gesture.

"Left it at that? Nah, I couldn't let you get away with all that money." He takes a moment, unbuttoning your shirt half way, exposing most of your bra.

It was enough to get your arm out but not leave much to the imagination.

"I was hopin you'd know more than your buddy, yet, neither of you annoying shits seem to recall jack all." He nagged, giving you a stern look before returning his gaze to your arm.

You couldn't say much in return when you felt him pinch and prod at your arm, needles running through your body.

You groaned your hurt, though he didn't seem to care much.

"Don't punch me again, y/n. I ain't beyond hittin' a lady like you."

You gave him a dismissive, smug look, shrugging your shoulder through the aching and burning he inflicted on you.

"I'll just skip that part and put a bullet through your other arm instead," he halts his medical measures and grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks in a firm grip. "You understand me?"

You shook your head away from his grasp, a small, childlike and petty desire to jab at him grew inside you.

"You sure feel me up a lot for someone who hates O'Driscolls so much." Your lips curl upward into a mischievous smile.

He raises a brow, leaning away from you, scoffing in disbelief.

"I'd prefer much anything over you, O'Driscoll." He gripes, returning back to your wound, unraveling the old bandage.

"Yeah, I can see that, considering you have me almost half undressed." You did your utmost to keep from looking at your wound, instead keeping your eyes on Arthur's face. His eyes kept strictly at your arm, never faltering as he lazily slathered on some sort of ointment.

"You're full of yourself. I wouldn't be doin' this if I didn't need to." He shakes his head.

As he finished with the fresh bandage, his hands finally had stopped poking you, leaving your arm in peace and an onset of relief.

"You know, I was thinkin' bout feedin you tonight," his words brought you back to how starving you were.

"Can't say I'm feelin' so kind now." His hand found the side of his face, his fingers inspecting the welt you had inflicted on his cheek.

Your stomach found his words utterly strangling, but begging him was out of the question.

"Dead people can't tell you where Colm is."

"So, the answer comes to you if you're fed?" His eyebrow shoots up, sarcasm plastered all over his freshly punched face.

"I can give you my best guess if you feed me." You explained, irritation being the entire undertone of your statement.

"You think guesses are gonna get you fed? Huh, girl?"

"That, or I simply wont have enough energy to think much on Colm." You cajoled, your smirk slowly returned.

"Careful with that mouth of yours, it's gettin' real tiresome." He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Yours reached that point way long ago." You fired back, his face now full of frustration.

"Glad to hear you're not hungry, O'Driscoll." He griped, returning rope to your wrists.

You full well expected it, but having them back on so soon displeased you beyond words.

Once he tied you up good, he got back up without a word and promptly left back to camp, leaving you alone on your tree once more.

You leaned your head back, wondering just how much longer they'd leave you tied up before they acted on their word of killing you both.

Minutes passed as you felt your eyelids get heavy, you didn't want to sleep, not until at least everyone else, but being tired, starving and having been shot only a few days ago left you exhausted.

"Don't you fall asleep yet, y/n." That man's voice chimed. You grimaced at his return.

The front of him was shadowed in contrast to his backside, which faced the camps fire light. You couldn't quite see what he held as he made for you.

"Couldn't get enough of me, huh?" You teased with a straight face, irritation filling you once more.

"You would like if I couldn't, wouldn't you?" A shit eating grin spread across his face at his own comeback.

You scoffed in response, staring him up and down as he got closer and to your surprise - the smell of food wafted into your nose.

Your whole body jolted with excitement, though, you couldn't tell just why he decided on feeding you.

He unties your wound-free arm, but hesitates when handing you the bowl in his hand.

"What?" You ask, looking up at him, his large frame towering over you.

"Say please." He demands, an evil look on his face.

"You're crazy. Now hand it here."

You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Just say please, O'Driscoll." He laughs, taking a step back to avoid your waving arm.

"Quite actin' a fool and just give it to me." Your voice tightened with anger, your hunger almost possessed you into fighting him for it.

"Didn't anyone teach you manners? Please aint that hard to say."

"It is when the man you're saying it to is the same one that shot you. Now-" You reach again, your hand finally collecting the soup filled bowl.

You glanced back up at him, almost in shock that he actually let you grab it.

"Alright, alright, but next time, I expect some manners, O'Driscoll." He grins, knowing this set you off.

Next time? Next time, really? Your face furrowed with disbelief. "I'm happy you're an optimistic man, Arthur, but next time'll be in your dreams."

"Don't get too cocksure, darlin'."

"You know, you look pretty good when your face has a big red mark on it from my fist." You commented, shuffling in bites as you spoke.

"Really? Well, I think you also looked pretty good tied up all these days." He countered, the smile he had on his face ever growing.

That smile, on that nasty man. You hated it.

"Leave me to finish my food in peace."

He hums in consideration. "As much as I'd like to, you aint tied back to the tree."

You glower at him, desiring to eat slower so you could spend more time to rest your rope burned wrists, but ridding yourself of his presence felt more important.

You stayed silent as you finished the rest of your food, which didn't take long, tossing the dish to his feet and laying back on the tree so he could re rope you.

"That's what I like to see from you, O'Driscoll." He nods with approval.

You ignore him, your pride hurt with every moment more you had to give into this man and his crook gang.

He ties you back up and returns to the heart of camp.

It wasnt long before you finally dozed off.

-

(Set after the scene when Keiran gets interrogated.)

You sat petrified, still as the tree behind you, gelding tongs. They pulled down his pants for it too, if Keiran hadn't spoken up, you feared you'd be subject to it as well.

Goosebumps had crept up your back just thinking about those searing hot metal peices anywhere near your barren skin.

Keiran had finally come up with something.

Six point cabin.

You recalled having been there a few times, but was Colm up there? Your guess was as good as Keirans unless he actually was sure of it.

Arthur finally released Keiran from the tree, pushing him to the direction of the horses, then he came to you.

"You get to join us too, O'Driscoll." A small sinister smile creeps on his face, cutting through your ropes. "You better hope he's not trickin' us."

"Either way, if I'm rid of you, it's fine with me." He finishes, pulling you to your feet, guiding you to his mount.

"I'll get the most joy out of that, I reckon." You affirmed, somewhat stumbling as he releases you.

"Whatever you say, princess." He chuckles, closely following you.

Arthur calls out to a John and Bill, telling them just what's about to happen.

Keiran and a man with a nasty scar on his face were mounting, if you had to assume, the name John seemed best to suit him.

The other - Bill who had to be the man that threatened to 'geld' Keiran, coincidentally the one who also ratted on you that not so faithful day.

As you reluctantly walked along, you passed your steed you so woefully desired to mount instead, your ticket out of here. But Arthur quickly dismissed the thought for you, pushing you to his horse instead.

You gave him a hard stare in return, frustrated with his shoving.

"We're gonna pay your buddies our respects." He announces, entirely unconcerned.

"They taking us to Colm?" Questions John, steering his horse away.

"That's what he says." Arthur attempted to lift you up but you wave away his hands and pull yourself up instead, as much as your arm protested in agony.

Keiran stuttered out his assumption on where the cabin and Colm was, they pushed their horses in the opposite direction of camp.

Arthur mounted on after you, and for the first few moments you chose to hang on to nothing, however as if he knew, he kicked his horse to a trot, prompting you to grab at his sides.

Even underneath his layer of clothing, you could feel his heavyset build that helped keep you steady. Looking him up and down, a shiny metal caught your eye.

You were captivated at the sight of your revolver, missing the feel of it at your side and in your palm whenever you saw fit.

He had taken your gun as if you weren't still alive to be the owner of it.

You clenched your jaw, angry at everything and now finally riding to your more likely than not demise, worse yet, possibly executed with your own gun.

He kicked his horse into a lope, leaving you clinging to his sides firmly.

He turned to look over his shoulder at you, clearly in response to your tightened grip.

A small smirk crossed his lips before peering back to the trail up ahead.

The rest of the entire ride consisted of Keiran condemning O'Driscolls, bickering and directions shouted from you and Keiran.

It didn't take very long at the speed in which you rode, though you feared slipping off everytime you didn't have a good hold on Arthur.

You approached a small hill, Keiran confirmed the destination upon arrival.

"Okay, off your horses." Arthur draws back the reins. "Let's go." His voice now low in tone.

He jumps off and you follow suit shortly after, sliding off the back of his horse.

John reminded you and Keiran as you snuck forward, that he was keepijg his eye on you. Although you felt Arthur had beat him to it, he stared daggers at you as you crept along with the rest of them.

"I ain't gonna shop you now, come on." Keiran assures. "That'd be suicide."

"You'll die, boy. But you'll lose your balls first." Warned Bill, his gravelly voice blunt as could be.

Bill wasn't a man you wanted to be too close to with threats like that, so you kept closer to Arthur.

"Jesus christ…" Keiran murmured under his breath.

The lot of you kept low as you came to a ridge overlooking the cabin.

Keiran gave the rundown, confirming they were in fact armed, drunk and not fond of strangers.

Colm would be in the same way, just in the comfort of the cabin, which you agreed on.

Unlike Keiran's declared opposition, the O'Driscolls were a gang you rode with for a good while and despite Colm's nasty behavior, you felt a large sense of betrayal. Betrayal or your life, as it was now.

Your thoughts interrupted by three men emerging from the small cover of young trees, conversing about something miniscule and not far from earshot.

Suddenly Keiran was grabbed by John, a gun to his head and a hand over his mouth.

Arthur followed suit, pulling you into him, losing your balance with his sudden pull, your own gun held to your head and any potential cries for help blocked by his rough hand.

The now non existent barrier between your back and his chest was closed, you could feel each breath and each nervous heart beat against you.

♡

pt4!