#Those who have the ability to step up to the front lines will | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

misswynters · 1 month ago

Text

Royal Harbinger

featuring. ekko x princess! reader

Hailing from the Grand Kirzean Empire, you were a princess. The only one wielding the blood technomagic abilities. Having such powerful abilities yet you are one of the most sweetest person, ekko has ever bet.

Glittering starlight pierced through the thick smog that veiled Zaun, casting faint halos of silver over the jagged metal and broken cobblestone streets. Neon lights pulsed faintly from signs above cluttered alleyways, their buzzing hum blending into the mechanical symphony of the Undercity. Amid the chaos, there stood a figure who seemed so out of place it was almost comical—wrapped in delicate silks and adorned with intricate, glowing lines of red that shimmered faintly with every step.

You, a princess of the a Grand Empire, wielder of forbidden blood technomagic, and to Ekko, someone who had no business wandering these parts.

Perched atop a railing on one of Zaun’s crumbling platforms, Ekko crossed his arms as he watched you. At first glance, you were every bit the image of innocence. That soft smile you offered the street urchins as you handed them what little supplies you’d brought from above. The way your delicate hands caressed the head of a stray Zaunite mutt, soothing its bony frame. Your voice, lilting like a melody, apologizing for taking up space in an already-crowded alley.

It didn’t make sense.

“Hey,” Ekko called from above, leaping down to land lightly on his feet a few steps away from you. “What are you doing here? This place isn’t exactly royal palace material, Princess.”

Your head turned, the faint light catching your gentle features. “Oh, Hi Ekko! I was just… exploring.”

“Exploring?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying an edge of disbelief. “Kirze’s finest blood mage is just out here sightseeing?”

The smile on your lips didn’t falter, though your fingers twitched at the mention of blood magic. “I needed to see this place for myself. You’ve told me so much about Zaun… I couldn’t stay away.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, glancing around. “Zaun isn’t exactly a tourist spot. Especially for someone like you. People see those glowing lines on your arms? They’ll think you’re carrying something valuable and won’t ask before taking it.”

You tilted your head, the light in your eyes curious rather than offended. “Is that why you’ve been following me for the past hour?”

His composure faltered, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to the cobblestones. “But you don’t have to protect me, Ekko. I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffed. “Handle yourself like when that drunk guy in the bar tried to grab your hand last week, and you just smiled at him like he was your best friend?”

Your laugh was soft. “I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“You’re too nice,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “You’re in Zaun now. Being nice gets you hurt.”

But even as he said it, something about your presence made the buzzing tension in his chest loosen. Maybe it was the way you didn’t flinch at the harshness of his words, or the way your kindness didn’t feel forced. It wasn’t fake or performative—it just was.

Before he could say more, a low growl rumbled from a nearby alley. Ekko tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the bat strapped to his back. Two figures emerged from the shadows, their faces obscured by bandanas, their postures predatory.

“See?” Ekko muttered, stepping in front of you. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

The larger of the two men chuckled, his voice gravelly. “A couple of lost little birds, eh? Let’s see what you’re hidin'.”

Ekko’s grip tightened on his bat, his stance shifting. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, well we do,” the smaller man sneered, pulling a knife from his belt.

Before Ekko could spring into action, a faint crimson glow bathed the alley. The air grew heavy, almost suffocating, as the markings on your skin flared to life. The metallic scent of blood hung in the air, and the two men froze, their bravado crumbling as their bodies seized up, limbs locking unnaturally.

Ekko turned, his jaw slack as he watched you step forward, your hand raised delicately. The men’s weapons clattered to the ground, and with a flick of your wrist, they crumpled, gasping for breath but unharmed.

“Leave,” you said, your voice calm but commanding, as if the very air bent to your will. The men scrambled to their feet and disappeared into the shadows without a second glance. The glow faded from your body as you turned back to Ekko, your serene smile returning as though nothing had happened. “See? I told you I could handle myself.”

He stared at you, his bat still half-raised. “What the hell was that?”

“Blood technomagic,” you said simply, brushing an invisible speck of dust from your sleeve. “It’s a bit… intimidating, I know. I don’t like using it unless I have to.”

“Intimidating?” he repeated, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “You just turned two full-grown men into rag dolls without breaking a sweat.”

You shrugged, your smile faltering slightly. “I don’t want people to see me as a monster. That’s why I try to be kind—to balance it out.”

“Balance it out?” Ekko stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not a monster, Firefly. You just saved both our asses.”

The nickname caught you off guard, your cheeks warming as you looked away. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“Uh! Yeah, I do,” he said, his tone softening. “You’re out here lighting up Zaun like no one else can.” Silence stretched between you for a moment.

“Come on,” Ekko said finally, offering you his hand. “Let’s get out of here before more trouble shows up.”

You hesitated, glancing down at his outstretched hand. Despite the power coursing through your veins, the ability to command life and death with a flick of your wrist, something about the gesture made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to.

But then you took his hand, his grip warm and steady, and for the first time in a long while, you felt safe with him. As he led you through the winding streets of Zaun, he glanced back at you with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know, Firefly, you’re full of surprises.”

“Jeez! You’re full of compliments,” you teased, your voice light despite the lingering weight in your chest.

“Do i?, or do you just deserve all the praise one can get.” he shot back, his grin widening.

. . .

Oh, how you wished that it was just the end. But it wasnt, not in a place like this. Soon after both smoke and ash swirled in the air, a haze of chaos and destruction painted Zaun’s underbelly in muted tones of gray and orange. Shattered pipes hissed steam into the atmosphere, nearly drowned out by the growing fires. The air was thick with tension, each explosion sending shockwaves through the cracked streets.

Amid the wreckage, Ekko’s heart raced as he sprinted through the winding alleys. His boots echoed sharply against the metal ground, his bat swinging at his side as his thoughts churned. Where are you?

He had only taken his eyes off you for a second, just one second. He thought you’d be right behind him as the bombs started going off, but when he turned, you were gone. He didn’t see the men closing in on you until it was too late.

Ekko gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. He had heard of the Empire you were raised in and its unparalleled mastery of technomagic. But meeting you: sweet, kind, and carrying an unfathomable power, had shattered all his assumptions. You weren’t just a mage but a princess as well. But to him, you were simply you. His light in the dark. And now you were in danger. Seemingly.

When you woke, the metallic tang of blood clung to the air. The room was dim, lit only by the faint red glow of the bindings around your wrists. Your gown, once pristine and clean was dirty by the scuffle, and your heart pounded with a mixture of fear and adrenaline.

“Stay calm,” you whispered to yourself, your voice soft, barely audible.

A group of men stood a few feet away, speaking in low voices. Their uniforms were unmarked, and their expressions betrayed no fear as they glanced at you.

“They doesn’t look like much,” one of them sneered. “For someone called the 'Royal Vermilion of Chaos', I expected… more.”

“It’s a stupid nickname at that” someone else said, though you couldn’t see them.

You flinched inwardly but forced yourself to remain composed. “I don’t suppose you’d let me go if I said please?” you asked, your tone almost playful despite the trembling in your hands.

“Cute,” another said with a scoff as his hand cupped your face. “But we know what you are. What you’re capable of. Better to keep you tied up.”

Your smile faltered slightly as your blood hummed beneath your skin, an ever-present pulse of magic just waiting to be unleashed. You had always been careful, never letting your power consume you. But now, fear began to stir something unstable.

Ekko burst into the place like a storm, his bat taking down the first guard before the man could even draw his weapon. The second came at him with a blade, but Ekko ducked and swung upward, sending the man sprawling.

“Where is they?!” he growled, his voice echoing through the metallic halls.

The third guard hesitated, and Ekko pressed the bat against his chest. “Talk, or you won’t have the chance to regret it.”

“Down the hall,” the guard stammered, eyes wide. “In the main chamber!”

Ekko didn’t wait for anything else. He tore through the hallway, his chest tightening with every step.

The explosion was deafening. The bindings around your wrists melted away as your magic surged to life. Crimson veins glowed beneath your skin, and with a single wave of your hand, the room erupted in chaos. The men who had mocked you moments before were now scrambling, their weapons useless against the tidal wave of energy that lashed out.

Walls were cracked, the ceiling shuddered, and the air itself seemed to bend to your will. But as your power spiraled, a sharp pain shot through your arm. You looked down to see a jagged cut along your forearm, blood dripping onto the floor. The sight steadied you. Taking a deep breath, you channeled the magic inward, watching as the blood wove itself back into your skin. The wound closed, leaving only a faint scar that glimmered for a moment before fading. When the door burst open, you turned, your energy still crackling around you like a storm.

“Firefly!” Ekko’s voice broke through the chaos, and for a moment, you hesitated.

His eyes darted across the room, taking in the destroyed walls, the unconscious bodies, and you, standing at the center of it all. Your gown was soaked in blood, and your face bore streaks of crimson, but you were alive.

“Hi,” you whispered, relief flooding your voice.

In an instant, he was in front of you, his hands cupping your face. His thumbs brushed against the bloodstains on your cheeks, his eyes filled with worry. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly, a shaky smile forming. “But I think you should ask them if they’re okay.” You gestured to the men sprawled across the floor.

Ekko’s lips twitched, a short, breathless laugh escaping him. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. “Y’know I was so scared,” he murmured into your hair, his voice cracking.

You hugged him back, your fingers curling into his jacket. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze intense. “This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”

You met his eyes, the tension slowly ebbing away as his warmth grounded you. For a moment, the chaos around you faded, leaving only the two of you.

“That was incredible, y’know?” he said, a teasing grin forming.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and genuine. “I’ll take that as one of your compliments.”

Ekko shook his head, his grin widening. “Come on, let’s get you out of here before you decide to redecorate the rest of Zaun.”

As you left the hideout, his arm stayed firmly around your shoulders, his presence a constant reassurance. Despite the destruction you had left behind, Ekko’s steady hand in yours made you feel like everything might just be okay.

Later, the two of you sat in the a garden. It was one of the few quiet, untouched spots in Zaun. Ekko couldn’t help but tease you. “So, Firefly,” he began, his tone playful. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “I wouldn’t hurt you, though.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softer now. “But next time, maybe warn me before you turn an entire room into a scene from a horror movie?”

You laughed, the sound bright and free, and Ekko felt his chest tighten. Despite everything, you were still you. His sweet, kind Firefly who somehow carried the weight of a mage’s power with grace. And as the neon lights of Zaun reflected in your eyes, Ekko leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” he said quietly, the words simple but sincere.

You smiled, leaning into him. “I love you too.” The two of you stayed at the garden until dawn. You were practically sleeping on his shoulder, exhausted from today, but he didn’t mind. Because he knew soon that you would have to leave, and god knows when he will see you again. So he wanted to cherish every moment he had with you.

taglist: @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct @celineandtulips @stuckinaoaktree @fxxvz @jadziulaa @luclue @1intrustivethoughts @finnsky666 @blkmystery @serena6728 @mvistl @kaedeprinz @alientee @ametheslime @turquoizxe @emforjin @ekkosh @tadomikiku @sugaaawaraaa @sunshiines-stuff @night-fall-moon @moonccakes @endedlover @autumn2534 @deathweapongirl @girlistrange @auraa @ilovesugurugeto69 @zwr1tx @bitchydragonparadisee @chewbrry @lashawna200 @xaydria @aliives @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @catsf0rlife707 @pixieswashere @adesum @sorrows-song @hearts4li @qualityearthquakes @honeyfewr @littlegrapejuice @potatointhedirt @comfortweeb

629 notes · View notes

mariasont · 1 month ago

Text

SMILING LIKE A FOOL - A.H

a/n: heyyyy home slices it's me back from the dead! finals are killing me, and this was my procrastination piece. needed to write about my bombshell baby! but surprise she's the one getting flustered this time! gasp!

(for those of you who saw me spell write like right NO YOU DIDNT!!!)

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: um none i think idk friends its been too long since i've done this

wc: 1.8k

The knock was more a formality as you nudged the door open with your hip, juggling a stack of neatly organized files and a coffee cup with a pink heart sticker on the lid (discreet enough that only Hotch should see). Your gaze naturally gravitated to Hotch first, as it often did, lingering just a moment longer than necessary as you offered him a subtle wink. He cleared his throat awkwardly, adjusting his tie as he muttered something inaudible under his breath, his hand half-covering his mouth, though the slight color rising to his cheeks did not go unnoticed by you.

"Hi, good morning!"

You rounded the table, a sway in your step as you approached Hotch's chair. Setting the stack of items in front of him, you leaned in--closer than strictly necessary--your fingertips brushing his shoulder lightly. Your hair, delicately scented with roses, grazed his jawline as you shifted. His posture stiffened, his expression unreadable, though you caught the subtle flare of his nostrils as he inhaled sharply.

"Sorry for interrupting," you said with a sweet smile that didn't match the glint in your eyes.

You weren't sorry, and the way Hotch's lips pressed into a thin line told you he saw right through the fib. When he leaned back, almost imperceptibly into your space, his shoulder brushed against your stomach. His muttered thank you was low and gruff, and it almost felt like an admission of defeat. You smirked, basking in the victory of knowing how effortless you could unravel the infamous Aaron Hotchner with just a touch and a perfectly polished smile.

You smiled warmly at the team before straightening, your perfectly styled hair bouncing as you rolled up the sleeves of your sparkly sweater. The conference room was always too warm, and today was no exception.

"Oh honey, you could never interrupt." Garcia was the first to butt in, followed by a few other sounds of agreement.

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Well, hey there, good looking." It was then that Morgan stepped into the room. His eyes sparkled as they landed on you, smile growing wider as he crossed the room. Without missing a beat, he slung an arm over your shoulder like it was second nature. "You feeling better?"

The past week had been a miserable blur of you twisting into every position imaginable to appease a stomachache that refused to budge. The first morning had been the worst--waking up suddenly, barely making it to the bathroom, and sparing Aaron's freshly washed sheets from catastrophe. For a brief, terrifying moment, your mind had spiraled to the possibility of pregnancy. But the nine-dollar test from Rite Aid had quickly put that fear to rest.

Before you could respond, Hotch cut in, "I told her she need to take more time off."

You gave him an exaggerated huff, placing a hand over your heart. "I'm totally fine, pinky promise."

Spencer, frowning slightly, chimed in, "When I asked for more time off to complete my latest paper on cognitive psychology, I had to justify every hour in writing."

Hotch ignored Spencer's grumble of favoritism (that was definitely true), clearly uninterested in entertaining the complaint. His gaze fixed squarely on you, his eyebrow raising as if to say, Go ahead, lie to me.

You edged closer, letting your smile grow sugary sweet. "Oh, don't worry about me, boss man! I have this weird ability to recover from sicknesses super quickly, like magic."

The blatant lie hung between you, and you could see in his eyes that he wasn't buying a word of it. That was part of the fun, honestly. He knew better; after all, he'd been there every step of the way through your so-called recovery. But still, his gaze lingered on you, jaw tightening as he swallowed back his words. He knew that saying too much would tip the scales, and he wasn't about to risk exposing what was to stay hidden.

In truth, you weren't exactly quick to bounce back from illness--autoimmune disease problems and all--but you didn't mind too much. Not when it meant you got the full Hotch Care Package. You savored the attention and coddling. He held your hair, made you soup, rubbed your feet--all without a single complaint. The man was practically a saint, and honestly, you were tempted to milk it just a little bit longer.

"Hotch can say what he wants, but the rest of us are just glad to have you back, princess." Morgan released your shoulder with a tight squeeze before nodding toward the others. "Hendrick found something on the Anderson case in the lab, wants us to come check it out."

You lingered by the table, watching them file out one by one, leaving behind a trail of disorganized files and lukewarm coffee in their wake. Aaron stayed behind, turning his chair toward you as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment. Once the coast was clear, you hopped up on the table, swinging your legs slightly.

You flashed him a smile, pressing your palms onto the table and leaning in just a little, coking your head to the side as if studying him like a puzzle. He was watching you, of course--he always was. His lips twitched in that way you loved, forming the smallest smile, something that was becoming more and more common these days (which you proudly took credit for).

With a dramatic sigh that was probably a little over the top, you swung your legs around and plopped your high-heeled feet right in his lap.

"You know, Mr. Hotchner," you began, batting your lashes like it was second nature, "skipping the goodbye kiss this morning almost made me forget how much I really love your adorably grumpy face. Are you willing to have that on your conscience?"

Aaron let out a long sigh, gently easing your feet out of his lap, leaving them to swing idly. "You are going to get me in trouble."

You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest, the motion making his gaze linger on your tits before quickly returning to your face. "Well, you're already in trouble with someone."

He raised his eyebrows, pretending to be clueless. "And who might that be?"

You blinked innocently, not aware that it was a rhetorical question. "With me, duh!"

Hotch stood, closing the small space between you, and just like that, your pulse was racing like you were in high school all over again. How did he still have this effect on you?

"Duh." He was teasing you now. You tried to glare at him, but it wasn't convincing--not with the way you were fighting the urge to grin like an idiot.

"So, are you going to make it up to me, or do I need to find someone else to keep my bed warm tonight?"

You arched a perfectly shaped brow, watching with barely concealed glee as Aaron's jaw tightened and his gaze darkened. He opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but you smirked and pushed further.

"Well, I'm sure Spencer or Morgan would be happy to—,"

You didn't even get to finish before his lips slammed into yours, silencing you with a kiss that made your heart flutter, and your mind go blank--forgetting every word you just said. The kiss was firm, yet urgent, as if he was trying to prove a point. You melted without hesitation, a giggle bubbling from your chest as your arms looped around his neck. His hands steadied you at your waist, and he pulled back, his expression had softened in that way that made him look ten years younger.

Still smiling, you pinched his side. "Mr. Hotchner! We're at work! Tsk tsk!"

Aaron exhaled a deep breath, pressing a fleeting kiss to your cheek. "I'll see you at home."

He straightened up and turned towards the door. You admired the view for just a moment, and you couldn't stop yourself from smiling--who gave him the right to look that hot while walking away? Determined not to be left behind, you quickly clattered after him, heels clicking (and probably echoing obnoxiously) across the floor.

"Also, can we order Chinese tonight?" You called out, pitching your voice a little louder as Aaron's annoyingly long strides widened the gap between you.

Aaron response was a familiar, low grunt--one of the many unspoken agreements in your relationship that you'd grown to understand. Translation? Yes, dear.

"Oh, wait!" you blurted out, fumbling with your phone as you tried to type out your thoughts before they disappeared like soap bubbles. "And face masks! Can we do face masks? And--wait, wait, wait--The Holiday! Can we watch The Holiday?"

You were juggling your phone, purse, and wild ideas all at once, scribbling your mental to-do list into your Notes app with one hand while the other flailed in an effort to keep balance. Aaron, still unbothered and impossibly composed, moved ahead like some well-dressed gazelle.

"Wait! I just had another idea--"

Aaron came to abrupt stop. You let out a squeak as you barely avoided plowing straight into his back, his forearm shooting out to steady you just in time.

"Can we table this conversation for later?" he asked, that stoic voice doing absolutely nothing to hide his fondness for you.

You opened your mouth the protest that this was important, but he cut you off. "But yes--to all of the questions."

You gasped like you'd just won the lottery. "All of them? Even The Holiday?" You wiggled your eyebrows, grinning ear-to-ear. "I knew you loved that movie."

Aaron stopped you before you could say another word, his hand settling lightly on your arm as he leaned just a fraction closer. "No," he murmured, voice dropping low enough to send a shiver through you, "I just love you."

Your cheeks flared instantly, warmth blooming across your face as you blinked at him. "Oh."

Aaron watched you squirm for a moment, clearly enjoying your flustered state, far too smug for someone who'd just dropped the��L word at work.

"I've told you I love you, haven't I?" He was teasing, knowing he had said it more times than you could count.

"Yeah, but you've never said it so... so loudly. And at work," you hissed, glancing over your shoulder as if someone might pop out of a closet and catch you.

He arched a brow. "That's loud?"

"For you it is!"

Aaron shook his head, laughing softly as he turned back towards the direction of the lab. "You're too easy to fluster. Go back to work before I decide to really embarrass you."

You were sure you had landed in a different dimension. You? Easy to fluster?

"Ugh, you're the worst." You pressed your palms to your warm cheeks as you turned on your heel to head back to your desk.

But you were still grinning like an absolute fool the whole way.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @yaykeira @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @deadofnight0 @sabmichell @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @mxriesss @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72

join my taglist here!

#aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reaeder #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader

575 notes · View notes

girllblogging777 · 5 months ago

Text

𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑇𝑆 𝑅𝐸𝐶𝐿𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸𝐷

↳ mattheo riddle x fem!reader drabble (fluff, angst)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1,02k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : mattheo’s jealousy causes an argument, but both find yourself comforting eachother

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"i told you i don’t care about that ravenclaw guy, he was just asking me about a potions assignment," you snapped, the frustration of your argument with mattheo finally reaching its peak. your boyfriend had found you talking to another boy in the great hall this morning, and he hadn’t let it go since, making you the main target of his pent up anger.

"well, i care! i care that my girlfriend was being all giggly with some guy in front of everyone, and i care even more that you’re brushing it off like it’s nothing!" he shouted back, running his hand through his brunette curls in frustration. you knew mattheo’s short temper well, how his mental health and past trauma affected his ability to express emotions, but he rarely lashed out at you like this. today had been different, and you’d sensed it the moment you saw that flicker of harshness in his usual soft brown eyes.

you sighed, trying to explain yourself calmly and hoping to ease his anger before things escalated, silently aware that it wouldn’t change anything. "look, i understand how you must be feeling right now, but—" he cut you off, his voice sharp and unyielding.

“no, you don’t ! stop playing therapist all the time. you don’t get it, and you’re never fucking going to." his words were harsh, and you tried not to let it get to your head, knowing he wasn’t thinking clearly. you braced yourself for what might come next, knowing he was too far gone to appreciate your gentleness. "maybe if you weren’t always trying to fix me, it would be easier. not my fault you’re oversensitive and can’t take anything !"

that was the breaking point. he’d crossed a line, and he didn’t even seem to care. mattheo knew how much you hated being yelled at, how it made you feel small and vulnerable, and yet, today he hadn’t held back. deep down, you knew the reason : he hated how much power you had over him, how easily you could mess with his heart. in this entire school, you were the only one who dared to stand up to mattheo riddle, to tell him the truth even when it hurt. it was why your relationship worked, but also why you ended up having those arguments so often.

something shifted in your gaze, and he noticed it : the tiny spark of pain mixed with the tears welling up in your eyes. you whispered pleadingly, "don’t yell at me like that, i can’t do this." your voice was small, but the impact was immediate. the anger faded away from his eyes, when he remembered you telling him the reason why you couldn’t stand shouting. he realised he’d just reenacted the past trauma you had told him about and his lips curved into a barely-there frown. you saw the regret settling in his expression.

"i know… i took it too far. i shouldn’t have." his voice was softer now, the anger draining from his features. you didn’t move or say anything, still reeling from the sting of his words. mattheo took a hesitant step towards you, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mixture of guilt and desperation. he hesitated, he saw the hurt he’d caused, the way your body tensed as if waiting for more. he hated himself for letting his temper get the better of him, for hurting the one person who had always stood by him.

“baby, please…” he said softly, his voice trembling slightly as he took another step towards you. he reached out, but you instinctively flinched, and he froze, the guilt getting to him. you turned away, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “mattheo, you know i care about you more than anything, but i can’t keep doing this. you can’t keep lashing out at me every time you’re upset. it’s not fair.”

“i know,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret. “i just… i don’t know how to deal with it sometimes. i get so scared of losing you that i get jealous and push you away. it’s messed up, i know that.” you finally looked at him, seeing the pain in his eyes, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. it was the side of mattheo that made you fall for him, the boy beneath the act who just wanted to be loved and understood. but that didn’t make the hurt disappear.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you said, your voice steady but soft as you tried to comfort him. “but i need you to be with me in this, mattheo. i can’t be the only one trying to fix it.” he nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek, though he quickly wiped it away. “i promise, i’ll do better. i don’t want to lose you. you’re the only good thing i have.”

the sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment, and then slowly closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. his arms enveloped you immediately, holding you tight as if you might slip away. you had never seen him cry before but that single tear on his cheek was enough to make you forget what had just happened

“i’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair, his voice muffled but heartfelt. “i’ll work on it, i swear.” you nodded against his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow as he calmed down. “i know you will. just… talk to me next time, okay? before it gets to this point.”

“i will,” he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “i love you, and i’m not going to let my stupid temper ruin what we have.” you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small, forgiving smile. “i love you too, mattheo. just… no more yelling, okay?” he nodded frantically, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “no more yelling. i’ll keep that in check.”

you both stood there for a moment, just holding each other, letting the tension melt away. the storm had passed, and in its place was a new sense of understanding and commitment. mattheo might not be perfect, but neither were you, and that was okay. as long as you faced your flaws together, there was nothing you couldn’t overcome.

“but you have to promise me not to let anyone get too close to you” he finally said, his voice lighter, almost playful. “and besides, you’re only supposed to laugh at my jokes.”

you smiled, chuckling. “he didn’t stand a single chance.” whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together, and that was all that mattered.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : thank you @reys-letters for your request !!! please like/comment/reblog and leave requests if you think of something <3

tell me if you wanna be added/taken off the tag list

@iris-qt @shiftingwithmars @shiftingwithleah @sylviaonyx @larmesdevanille @redeemingvillains @fluffycookies22 @yikesitslush @jolly4holly @helendeath @deadghosy @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @bellatrix-lestrange5 @enyway @elsie-bells @tateshifts @myunperfektstorys @icantkeepmyplantsalive @clar2aa @dexoq @justscrollinthrough

1K notes · View notes

nighttimealone · 4 months ago

Note

This is the competitive cheer ask yes the whole older bf idea has me eating it upppp.

Cw: Nsfw, spicy smut

(Older bf!König x competitive cheerleader, afab!reader, König’s around early 40s and reader’s around early 20s)

When König’s on leave, he always arrives at the gym where you’re practicing, standing outside and watching you through the window. He’s always amazed by your stamina and strength, how gracefully you are when you pull off those tumblings and stunts, the curves of your body and the muscles stretching during you executing the stunts are so fascinating. Your teammates are around you, training along with you as you all learning the new stunt for the next competition. Yet his eyes only focus on you, glued to your silhouette, sharp gaze piercing through the people and looking at you.

You’re so precious, not like him—wounded and scarred from battles and wars, painted in blood and become broken from all the evil from his line of work. The energy of youngsters and the pristine beauty radiating from you, keep drawing him closer until he’s unable to imagine a life without you now. yet, he sometimes questions why you choose him, why you’re attracted to him—much older and plain—other than your enthusiastic teammates or college classmates.

“König!” Your voice snaps him out of his trance of contemplating. He has to hold back a groan when he looks down at you, cheeks flushed from exertion, thin layer of sweat glistening on your skin that’s exposed from your sports bra and yoga shorts. He watches the drop slide down one of your thigh. You’re still standing in front of him, unaware of how much he wants to chase it with his tongue, wants to worship that perfect body of yours for hours—right now, right now.

“Hey, König, you alright?” Oh shit, he too indulged in the filthy fantasies that he forgets he literally outside of a gym, his giant stature draws the attentions of the students passing by.

“Ja, ja…sorry, liebing.” The sudden realization of others’ eyes makes him a bit uncomfortable, so he quickly engulfs your hand in his huge one, leading you towards his car quickly.

He insists on picking you up whenever he can, not only for the chance to see you shine in your element, but also—showing those perverts that you’re HIS. Hell, König hates those idiots who thought they can have a chance with you so much, has to resist the urge to pinch their eyes when their gaze travel across your body in such lewd intention. He shield you from all those nasty stares with his huge torso, threatening them with his intimidating auras. But he’s trying to get you on his car as fast as possible, not only because that the only one who can see you in this enticing state is him, but also he doesn’t want to form a boner in public.

The drive to home is quick, with your words filling the silence most of the time and him pops up some replies, just like how you usually are during the drive.

He’s more than grateful for your flexibility, a perk of your cheerleading ability. One of your legs are pressed back against you chest, with another on the floor and shaking from how he pins you against the wall the moment you two step into the house, and soon he squeezed his fat tip through the little entrance of yours after eating you out as preparation. He ignores your concern and embarrassment. “Wait, wait! König, I just finished training and haven’t showered!” Your words are cut off when he shoves his tongue against your pussy, kneeling between your legs with his palms pushing you back against the wall, so you won’t deny him the sweetness dripping out your pretty cunny. There’s no way he can wait until you finish showering, a bit of sweat is like nothing to him, not to say it’s yours. He laps up every juices, the tip of his tongue glide through each folds so no drops can escape his relentless tongue. Now his cock drives into you in a ferocious pace, so sloppy that your juices are spilling over every surface nearby, and the position allows him to thrust his already huge cock deeper, kissing your cervix with the red tip and grinding all the spots with the veins on his shaft, till all you can remember is his name screaming out of your kiss-swollen lips. “Shh, Süßer, give me another one, ja?” When the leg supporting your body finally gives up, becoming a moaning and quivering mess, he’ll pick you up while still standing, manhandling you into a full nelson, earning yourself a “braves Mädchen” from him when your flexibility makes him put you in the position so easily, then sink that thick dick lubed nicely with your nectar and cum back inside your pussy.

One day, he finally has the time to go watch you compete with your team, but probably not a very good idea, cause one look at you in that tight cheerleading uniform already has the blood shooting downward to his cock, and although he’s infatuated by your performance like always, having to watch others hands touching you even though they’re just doing their job and without a bit of inappropriate thoughts, still riles him up so much.

So when you finally get off the podium with your teammates, ready to change back to your casual outfits, his hand shoot out from the shadow, grabbing your wrist and reassuring you quickly that it’s just him when you almost scream out. You’re able to see König’s already having a tent in his sweatpants when he impatiently dragging you to an abandoned locker room he found, and he takes no time to get you nice and wet, readied to take his cock in that tight and warm heaven. Got you brace yourself on the lockers and back arching, presenting your fine ass wrapped in that tight shorts of your uniform, tits bouncing in the air with your uniform top pushed up to reveal those soft breasts. “meins, alles meins…alles meins…!” König growls beside your ear, chest right against your rear as he pounding into you, desperately trying to relieve the pent-up desire and jealousy, hands on your hips sliding across your body and kneading whatever part of you is under his touch, covering and replacing others’ touch with his. All you can do is hoping no one stumble across this locker room, while your eyes roll back and drooling in immense pleasure, crying pleas and his name and squirting on the floor.

note: I’m not an athletic person but I’m into gymnastics so I’ve been watching gymnastics and some cheerleading videos for a while, sorry if there are inaccuracies, and feel free to comment or tell me via ask box for opinions etc., thanks.

#cod x reader #cod x you #könig smut #könig x you #konig x reader smut #konig smut #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x y/n #nighttimealone

427 notes · View notes

lucabyte · 9 months ago

Text

Finally: The NoHats AU doodles. Plus some sprite edits.

Usually I'd let things speak for themselves and keep my chattering in the tags, but I'll ramble about my context thoughts...

So. First of all here's a link (x) to the Nohats Origin Post for those coming in and going ????.

Anyway. These doodles are not in any obvious chronological order, though Loop going from pilfered bandolier (my headcanon for how Siffrin has all those pockets) -> custom outfit made by Isabeau, is supposed to generally denote 'just after the ending' -> 'a few months down the line'.

And speaking of, Design & Characterisation notes:

Overall: NoHats is suppooooosed to have the range to not just be ULTIMATE MISERY ALL THE TIME (but if you're a major whump/angst fan. go fucking nuts.) so these are supposed to be. The steps toward overcoming and living with grief but. The Misery Is Kind Of The Punchiest Part.... Oops....

Mirabelle: Taking the lead, continuing to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. In the game proper she's already shown to, while yes, be emotionally fragile at times, be prone to trying to hold the team together. I feel she'd do the same here. It also would help that she'd presumably be medicated again? But I can't imagine her chosen-one anxieities would be super ailed by the death of her friend. I wanted to try and give her more differences? She follows the change belief after all and is thus liable to switch up her style in general... But I didn't have a strong vision for this, so. The ball is in anyone's court. Her design changes here are keeping one of Sif's safety pins a la qpr bonding earring, and has the bell pendant at Loop's (oddly pushy) suggestion.

Isabeau: Taking it. Badly. Depression mullet and beard in tow. However, you best believe he is trying real badly to hide it. Loop very much does not reveal their identity to him because What The Fuck Would That Even Do. That's Scary. but they do try to comfort him while mentally regarding him "off limits". Backs themselves into some very unfortunate corners by alluding to their unfulfilled relationship with their Fighter as a point of common ground. I don't imagine this would go super great when recontextualised later after Loop is inevitably found out. Just in general oh good god what the fuck. this is like a radioactive pit of survivor's guilt.

Bonnie: Taking it probably The Worst. This is a child. Who was already feeling guilt. This is who everyone else is trying to keep it together for. Mirabelle and Isabeau would likely be putting up far less of a front without Bonnie around. They take the hat and take on Pocket Duty. They also have slightly more sif-y hairstyle but... Don't worry about it. They'd have Nille to fall back on once she's picked back up, and Loop almost certainly attempts to redouble efforts on making them feel better but seeing as how closed-off Bonnie can already be, it'd likely be difficult. However they would probably take Loop's identity reveal best...?

Odile: Odile's design.... ! Does not seem to have changed? How odd! Well. I'm sure she's dealing with things in a regular and non-cloistered manner. I already think that a regular Postcanon Activity for Odile could be her finding out about the potential for sif/loop to translate books and thus Knowledge in their native tongue assuming that ability sticks around postgame. Something something culture can never truly be wiped out etc etc. But putting it in this context. Makes it more desperate, more of a deflection for something else.

Loop: Helpful Loop. Well. They win! I feel like the entirety of ISAT being about Siffrin's mental state means I don't need to spill much ink here? You get it I think. I can't outdo the source material man. Anyway I imagine Loop is given clothes by Isabeau before they know who they are, but after they've become genuine friends. The outfit is in genuineness, on both sides from Loop and Isa, in having the cloak be a nod in respect to Siffrin, since Loop's "shared culture" would have to come up vis a vis cultural funerary traditions. Hard to avoid divulging that one...

#and since its too blunt to put in the body of the post. yes these are all distinct calls to game events.#mirabelles endgame spoilers comment. prologue odile's 'just one thing. not the thing'. shoulder touch. observatory conversation #odiles is the least obvious because i couldnt find satisfying more direct wording. it was too clunky....#in stars and time #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #nohats au #isat au #isat loop #isat fanart #lucabyteart #isat odile #isat bonnie #isat isabeau #isat mirabelle #anyway once again . accidentally invoking the king with that fucking corset. christ. that ones on me #long post

864 notes · View notes

judasgot-it · 10 months ago

Note

hello, hello :) i like drama so... could i request a mean girl trying to flirt with hunting dogs and insulting their s/o?

I won't lie I've rewritten this like multiple times?? I don't know why this was so hard for me other than I hate conflict, so I struggled hard bro.

Scenario: Mean girl insulting their s/o while trying to flirt (Tecchou, Jouno)

Tecchou

“You can do better, you know?”

Tecchou blinked at the girl in front of him, the one who was staring at him dead in the face with eyes that looked like a predator.

It was an unsettling gaze. He felt challenged, as if the two were in a cage, ready to throw down.

She didn't look like an assassin, but Tecchou met abilities that were far more dangerous than physical capabilities alone.

“Excuse me?”

”You heard me. Ditch the cabbage patch bitch, come here and get a barbie. I think you're worth that.“

The woman leaned in closer, her long hair almost brushing against his arms.

Tecchou took a step back, regaining his personal space. He breathed as he felt his sword tied to his body, certainly within reach.

She was a civilian, but she could very well be a threat.

”I don't know what cabbage patches have to do with my girlfriend.”

The woman squinted at him, almost in offense. She was the one offering him a doll in the first place, like some sort of man in a white van offering kids candy.

It was a strange situation.

“I'm saying she's ugly. What? You don't think you deserve someone hot like me?”

Oh.

She was almost aggresive with her words, her long acrylic nail nearly jabbing at his chest - this was aggression, but it was pointed towards someone else.

It was targeted towards you. That's very crass, isn't it?

”I don't think you're attractive.“

Tecchou had a hard line to toe. He didn't want to deal with a hysterical woman, but he also knew that you most certainly heard this conversation, listening from somewhere off in the park while he had gone to order you both lunch.

He hated to imagine the look on your face from hearing those words. You were rather sensitive compared to him when it came to these things, and he hated to imagine you crying.

It was one of the worst things that he had ever seen, that and wasting food. Maybe his bones poking out from underneath his skin were a close second, but he could handle physical pain pretty well. He didn't really know how to handle you crying, and it was damn near as painful.

”Excuse me?“

Tecchou had to take another step back, the woman not understanding the concept of personal space and respecting boundaries. It was agitating, watching as she tried to encroach onto his personal boundaries again, her hand reaching towards his chest area.

Slapping her hand away, he glared at her, looking between her and the offending hand between them.

“Don't touch me.”

There was an anger building up inside of him, watching the woman as she stared at him in confusion. What the hell did she have to be confused about? She was the one who had insulted his girlfriend.

"Who the hell do you think you are-"

"Don't insult people you don't know."

He didn't bother to look back at the woman, instead rushing to get his food.

He and his girlfriend's food.

Because that's who really mattered. Not some woman who didn't even know how personal boundaries worked. Or notice the fact that he was carrying a lethal weapon.

Tecchou wasn't the kind of man to harm a civilian. But once and a while he was reminded of why he was different from them.

Jouno

"You know, for a blind guy you're really cute."

Jouno hated having his downtime disturbed, and of course, when he tried to be a good boyfriend and get a package for you, he was interrupted by a woman who he did not care to hear from.

Certainly not his girlfriend, nor Teruko, nor anyone he respected.

The only distress he smelled was in her pants, and frankly, he wanted no part. He just wanted to go home and bring you back whatever stupid shirt you ordered.

"My girlfriend says that to me all the time."

He emphasized the words, hoping she would feel embarrassed and leave him alone. There were others in the mailroom, surely she would take the hint and know not to hit on a man wearing fire-red Hello Kitty pajamas.

At least, that's what you had told him. He was against wearing tacky outfits, but you liked to match and he wasn't going to say no when you were thoughtful enough to buy something so considerate to his senses.

Maybe they looked stupid. He didn't care to see them, anyway, since he only wore them at home. And in the mailroom.

Where he was currently being hit on.

"Well, do you think she appreciates it?"

"What?"

Already starting to walk away from the woman, he found himself being followed by her into the stairwell. He would rather take an elevator, but being stuck in a locked room with her seemed rather unpleasant at the moment.

"You know..."

Not caring for her life, the woman grabbed his arm, hugging it close to her chest. He cringed as he tried to push her off, feeling as she pressed her entire body weight against him.

It felt like someone had thrown a piano at him.

"I think I can show you a way better time than she can. Just stand here-"

Cringing, Jouno pushed her off, listening as she stumbled against the railings.

"You're not deaf, are you? I'm in a relationship, psycho."

He dusted himself off, trying to clean away the dirty particles that was her mere existence on his clothes. At this rate, he was going to have to bleach them.

"With an ugly bitch! I know you can't see it, but-"

"I haven't seen your face but I already know a pig was your mother."

Smirking, he felt for the fire alarm on the wall, pulling it.

Jouno knew he was just out of line for the sprinklers, and it was satisfying to listen as the woman shouted as the cold water shocked her system. It was worth the screaming in his ears - he knew that she most likely looked like shit now.

With the woman off of him, he took the dryest path up the stairs, smiling as he listened to her screams of indignation.

Possibly humiliation. He sure hoped so, for being unable to listen to a simple rejection.

"I hope you have your phone on you. I'm not leaving the door open for you, ugly bitch."

He waved goodbye to her with your package, smirking as she banged on the now closed doors of the stairwell.

The fire department can deal with her. That wasn't his problem.

There was a package he had to deliver to his lovely girlfriend, who he knew would be sitting in a shared apartment wondering why the fire alarm went off.

Honestly I struggled mad hard with this one. So much so it took me nearly a year to write (haha...haaaaaaa). But also hope you enjoyed it cause damn...I've never been in a mean girls scenario so i had to make it up

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #tecchou x reader #bsd x y/n #jouno x reader #jouno x you #jouno x y/n #tetcho x reader #tetcho x you

599 notes · View notes

marvelstoriesepic · 6 days ago

Text

Like a Phoenix (5)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: Reader having an epiphany; violence; murder; blood; injuries; Bucky being intense and protective; guilty feelings; mentions of swords, knives and pain

Author’s Note: Struggled with this a little, honestly. Took me longer to write. But I hope you like where this is going. Enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You are back in the forest.

Bucky always chooses the forest. Perhaps he doesn’t like the idea of walking out in the open.

Admittedly though, the new boots Bucky bought for you at the market make it easier to walk the ground.

The aromas of moss and pine have become so recognizable to your senses that you hardly notice them anymore. The twigs and undergrowth snagging at you are ignored.

Your calves still ache and your shoulders droop but you long since learned to swallow your complaints.

And the night at the inn actually alleviated the stiffness in your neck and helped relax your muscles somewhat, owing to the fact that you slept in a bed again for the first time.

And you had it for yourself.

Bucky was sitting in the chair when you dozed off and remained there when you awoke at daybreak.

He was unaware that you woke up. Thus, you took your time to observe him.

His posture was deceptively relaxed, though you saw the tension in the line of his jaw, the way his fingers occasionally flexed as if reaching for his weapon. The smirk you came to know was gone, faded into something more reserved. His gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the window, though you doubted he was actually seeing anything. He almost looked soft for a second. So lost in thought.

As soon as his gaze touched yours though, something in him shifted and he rose from the chair almost urgently, as if sitting in front of you a second longer would render him more vulnerable in your presence.

He reprimanded you for sleeping in, although his tone didn’t suggest that he was upset about it. And he could have woken you up, after all.

It has been two weeks since everything you knew burned to the ground. Two weeks since you walked the tightrope of sorrow and dread, since you’ve stumbled along behind a man who barely spoke to you, dragged forward not by choice but by the cruel momentum of survival. Two weeks of aching muscles and dirt-streaked skin of cold nights and colder silences. Two weeks of walking, stopping, eating sparingly, and sleeping fitfully.

And still, you walk.

Bucky’s steps are purposeful in front of you. He scans the path ahead, the trees around you, and he even slows sometimes to glance at you with an expression that seems almost suppressed.

He never says anything during those moments but the way his gaze lingers makes you wonder if he is checking for signs of weakness, if he is measuring your ability to keep up.

The woods come alive around you, filled with the softest rustle of leaves, the far-off call of birds, the sporadic break of a twig, and the soft buzz of crickets sending their melody your way.

And you’re unsure what to do with the shift in your emotions regarding this noise throughout the journey.

Because it grew familiar.

Maybe you would even call it comforting.

Because for all the difficulties - the sore legs, the persistent hunger, the cold that permeates your bones at night and makes them seemingly shrink - there is an aspect of this ceaseless walking that feels like a release.

You know you should not feel that way.

Not after everything that has happened.

But there is a faint glimmer of light beneath the ash of your ruin.

And it does its best to remain ignited.

There is no curt tonight, no stares lingering too long, no pointed tiara digging against your skull. There are no expectations pinning you in place, no endless corridors of duty stretching out before you like a luxurious prison. You are no one here. Not a Princess, but also not a pawn.

You think about the way nobody at the market paid you a single mind. Eyes skimmed over you and Bucky without interest, moving on to the next transaction, the next distraction.

You expected suspicion, braced yourself for recognition. But it never came.

You were a ghost in this place. Just another face among many. They didn’t know you. They didn’t see you. You were no Princess to them, nobody to be played in political games.

You were just a girl.

Just a girl walking beneath the stars, free from the burden of her title. If only for an instant.

And isn’t that what you wished for? You have dreamed of this for as long as you can remember. Thought of this in the safety of your chambers, seeming so long ago. To escape. To run. To taste the air beyond the walls of the palace, untethered and carefree.

Here, in this wilderness are no watchful eyes, no polished manners to perform, no fake smile to force up, no tiara to wear.

You never imagined it would feel like this. Freedom. Brutal and lonely, but somehow lighter in a way you know you should not feel.

No one is here to whisper in your ear how you ought to behave.

You don’t have to hold yourself like a queen in waiting anymore.

You can slouch if you want to. You can scruff your shoes against the dirt, even though your upbringing screams at you that it is improper. You can walk with your hands swinging at your sides, uncoiled from the forced grace that has been drilled into you since you were old enough to toddle.

But for the first time in your life, no one cares if you trip over a root or stain your hem in the mud. No one cares if your hair is tangled or your hands are full of scratches.

Well, perhaps no one except him.

You glance up at Bucky again, your eyes tracing the broad line of his back visible beneath his pack, the way his shoulders tense as he scans the path ahead. He is so watchful in a way that makes your nerves tingle.

And you have seen the tiniest bit of something else underneath the hardness of him. A care and concern he conceals in small gestures. The way he slows his pace when you lag behind. The way he tosses you his bedroll without a word every night. The way he pressed his hand to your back the other day, guiding you over a steep incline. The way he lets you have the first sip of water every time you fill it up at a river.

It unnerves you how much you notice these things. How much you notice him.

And yet, for all the reprieve you feel, it’s guilt that makes you stumble slightly. How can you even feel the smallest measure of peace when your kingdom is gone, your family lost, your life reduced to ash?

You tell yourself it’s not peace you feel. Only the sense of survival you need.

But this strange life you are leading - this wandering existence - is, in some way, closer to freedom than anything you have ever known.

You don’t have to curtsy or smile until your cheeks ache from how wrong it feels. You don’t have to listen for hours and nod and pretend to understand politics or tolerate the infinite games of appearances.

The gown you wore for the most part of the journey had once been one of the finest things you owned, a masterpiece of silk and embroidery to make you stand out. A statement, not of your own choosing, but of who you were supposed to be.

It was comically out of place in the forest - the delicate stitching snagging on branches, the long skirts dragging through the dirt, the soft lilac dulled to something almost grey.

So when Bucky handed you the blue fabric he picked up at the market for you the morning after the inn, before paying for you to use the restroom, you glanced at the last relic of your old life lying discarded on the ground, its crumpled form like the shed skin of something you no longer recognized.

It didn’t feel like yours anymore.

It didn’t feel like anything anymore.

And when you pulled the blue fabric over your head, it felt like slipping into a new life.

It’s simple, unadorned, and practical. Not meant to dazzle or impress or represent anything. It’s meant to be worn.

The blue is soft. No shimmering silk, no ornate beadwork, no stiff corsetry designed to shape you into something unnatural. Just fabric. And it’s beautiful in its simplicity.

It fits differently. Not perfectly though, because it’s not tailored for you. Everybody could have bought it.

But it feels good on your skin. Less constricting. Less forceful. Less pretense.

It’s simply a garment made for moving, for breathing, for living.

Even Bucky let his eyes sweep up and down your figure when you left the restroom to find him leaning on the wall beside it, guarded emotions in his eyes but with the faintest quirk of his lips.

It’s not a crown or a title that makes you you, after all. It’s not the richness of your clothes or the recognition in strangers' eyes. It is this - this ordinary moment, this glimpse into the freedom you always longed for, stepping into something that is entirely your own.

Here, you are just a girl in the woods. Hungry and cold and tired, sure.

But unimportant.

And it makes you think.

Oh, how it makes you think.

Your throat tightens. A lump rises.

Because the weightlessness of anonymity comes with its own gravity.

For the first time, you saw your life not through the glazed mirrors of the palace, but through the unflinching lens of the world the townsfolk are living in.

These people who have never had the luxury of silk or knew the feeling of heavy crown jewels.

They aren’t worried about alliances sealed with a handshake or whatever duke might be offended at the arrangement of the banquet table.

Their days are shaped by the price of grain, the tightness of worn-out boots, and the pain in tired hands.

Your problems, the ones you have clutched to your chest like they are the heaviest load to carry, now begin to feel fragile. Insubstantial.

You have swaddled yourself in stories of how hard it is to be you. A symbol of power and nothing more.

The court's environment has been stifling, the expectations intolerable, and still-

A crown? A title? What are those compared to hunger? To cold? To wondering whether you could feed your family tomorrow?

But this realization does not feel noble.

It does not feel freeing.

It is bitter. Pungent. It attacks your senses.

It is a piece of rock stuck in your chest, not heavy enough to crush you but sharp enough to scrape against every breath you take.

It is shame for how little you have truly understood about the people you were meant to rule one day.

You thought yourself wise in your suffering, so convinced that your confinement was the most severe of all jails. But now you see the truth and it is uncomfortable. The walls of your life have been gilded - but they were also soft, padded, built to keep out the tougher truths.

It makes you feel unmoored. It causes your skin to prickle, as if it no longer fits your body. Too tight in some places, too loose in others.

You are no longer bound to the strictures of palace life, yet troubled by a strange feeling of loss for the kind of security you didn’t even acknowledge you had.

The air itself seems lighter though the weight of your guilt bears down on you just as firmly as any crown.

Your hands itch - restless and searching for redemption, for something to fix, to erase, to change.

But will you be able to do something with that realization?

Perhaps not as the Princess you were, living in the palace. But maybe as the Princess you are now, living in the woods.

Bucky stops abruptly, his hand rising in silent command for you to halt.

You freeze, breath catching.

Every muscle in his back is coiled, his neck stiffens, and from what you can see his jaw is locked shut. His shoulders rise and stay there. You watch him move his head almost mechanically, darting his narrowed eyes around. One hand is at his blade, the other still in the air, making sure you don’t get the idea to move.

“Stay behind me,” he throws over his shoulder with his head still forward. Low and gravelly.

You nod faintly, heart quickening. Moments like this remind you of how much he carries. Not just your safety but every decision. Every choice that keeps you both alive.

Your body leans instinctively toward him.

You wait a few tense breaths.

“Is something wrong?” you whisper quietly, voice unsure.

He shakes his head, but his hand doesn’t stray from his knife.

You bite down on your lip, observing how his gaze wanders through the trees and the gaps between them. You hate how acutely you observe his breathing, the manner in which his hand clutches the hilt of his sword at his side, and how the muscles in his jaw are moving. And the way you only allow yourself to release your breath again when he does, exhaling sharply and letting his shoulders droop ever so slightly upon spotting a deer further back in the bushes that flees, causing the twigs on the ground to snap.

But most of all, you hate the part of you that doesn’t hate it at all.

****

You wake up to a hand over your mouth.

Or rather, you startle from sleep violently because of a hand tightly pressed over your mouth.

Your breath rips awake with a panicked surge, though it has nowhere to go.

The scream that barrels up your throat dies before it can be born, trapped beneath a rough and large palm that clamps over your lips with a firmness that has your eyes snap open like a whip crack, wide and wild.

Blackness bleeds into the periphery of your sight, and the shadows around you are thick, pooling over the forest.

The sky is only beginning to stir, dawn gently brushing over the horizon.

But it’s not enough to tell who or what has you.

Your body twists out of instinct, trying to thrash free, trying to fight. But the grip only tightens and a face enters your field of vision.

It’s Bucky.

The shadows sculpt his face, carving his features into sharp and harder lines.

The first thought that punches through your terror, so loud and irrational, is him trying to kill you. It slams into you with all the force of your worst fears. Maybe this is the moment he decided you have outlived your usefulness, that you are a liability too large to carry and he puts an end to it now.

You just thought he would rather use his knife on you.

Your pulse is a thunderstorm in your ears and you stare up at him, your chest heaving against his hand.

He is crouched over you, the breadth of him stealing the last scraps of your vision. His hair falls loose, the strands tangled and catching faint light. His jaw is a block of stone, but his eyes are what is pinning you in place.

They are fierce, glowing in the dim light like embers smoldering in ash. The intensity is terrifying and all-consuming and you can’t look away.

The scream inside you is still trying to jump out, but his gaze holds it captive, caging it as effectively as his hand over your mouth.

His pointer finger slowly moves to his lips. A warning clear in his gesture. Be quiet. Now.

Your body locks tight. The panic in your chest swells, but you clamp down on it, forcing yourself still. You think you nod - just barely - but he doesn’t immediately move. His eyes stay on yours, boring into you so piercingly, you forget how to breathe.

It’s only when you stop squirming completely, when he seems convinced that you won’t give you both away with a scream, that he slackens his grip.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his hand pulls back. The sensation of his touch lingers, the illusion of his hand still resting against your skin.

You suck in a shaky breath, and you think for one fractured second that you might cry. But his finger remains at his lips and you swallow the sound before it can rise.

His hand is still stiffly hovering near your face. The line of his shoulders is taut. His breathing is almost mechanical.

He is listening, you realize. Straining for something you can’t hear.

You try to follow his breathing pattern, slowing it, even though your heart is hammering so loudly in your chest it feels like it might give you both away.

Bucky’s face is closer than you’ve seen it. The sharp slope of his nose, the faint stubble lining his jaw, the way his hair clings to the sweat at his temple - it’s all there. So close. Stark and shadowed in the low light. His lips are pressed into a grim line and his eyes constantly shift from you, meticulously surveying the shadows beyond the trees with the kind of precision and control you would only expect on a predatory animal.

But he is on edge, more so than you’ve seen him. Every muscle in his body seems poised for something - a fight maybe, or a chase.

Your thoughts are scattered and tangled, but you realize that something is wrong.

You want to ask. You want to whisper, to demand what has him so wound tight. But his intensity and the sharpness of his movements keep your mouth shut.

And then, just barely above a whisper, he leans in. His breath brushes against your cheek, warm and fleeting.

“Don’t move! Stay down!” His voice is low and rough. And it’s not a suggestion. It’s a command and it roots you to the spot.

You can only stare at him.

“I mean what I say, Y/n. Stay down!”

His words hit you harder than his hand had moments ago.

Or the single word he used.

Your name.

Not princess not your highness not even darlin’ he used before to needle you. No, he said your name. It’s startling in its intimacy.

Your mind trips over it, stumbling, trying to make sense of the sound. He never called you by your name. You didn’t even expect him to know it. But now he took it in his mouth, has taken it, stripped it bare of ceremony and expectation, laid it before you like something unguarded.

It shouldn’t matter. It’s just a name. And hearing it out of Bucky’s mouth of all people should not make your heart pause the way it does. It’s like knowing how it sounds but somehow still hearing it for the first time.

He didn’t lace it with reverence or mockery, didn’t use it to wield it like a weapon to remind you where you stand.

No, the sound of your name rolls from his tongue as if it’s important. And it makes it stick to your ribs, makes it burrow under your skin and settle there.

Your name, stripped of its title, has never sounded so human.

“Do you understand me?”

You are face-to-face at this point. You could count the lines on his forehead. There is a freckle on his nose.

There is something in his voice that makes your skin crawl uncomfortably.

Is he afraid? The thought almost doesn’t compute. Bucky never seemed outright nervous, not even walking through the marketplace. But now, with his eyes like steel, his knuckles whitening against the hilt of his blade, the way he can’t help but keep his hand hovering at your side - It really seems like fear stitched into the corners of his expression.

But not for himself. For you.

Your throat bobs as you swallow against the knot rising there.

“I understand,” you whisper back to him, so hushed, he only hears it because of his closeness.

His eyes dart between yours with a swiftness that has you holding your breath. He is searching you, testing the truth of your words.

And when he finally moves away, it is slow, reluctant, as if some part of him still doesn’t trust you to stay put.

The woods abruptly seem overly silent. The type of hush that descends before something terrible happens. This isn't the peaceful, tranquil silence you have become accustomed to, even finding comfort in, during this never-ending journey. Silence from the birds. Silent foliage. Silent everything. Even the wind, typically so turbulent, halted in caution.

A snap of a branch.

Rigid Bucky.

Another snap.

Bucky positions himself in front of you.

Then you see them.

Fife men, all clad in mismatched finery, that seem to lose its luster. Their faces beat marks of wealth - sharp cheekbones, powdered skin - but their eyes are dark and hungry.

The uniforms. You know them. They are remnants of the royal army. Those men belonged to your father.

A shudder is rushing up your spine. Because they don’t carry themselves like that. They have cruel air around them. Arrogance. Greed. Spite.

Your breaths turn sharp, frantic.

There seems to be a leader. A man with hair as black as the shadows around you walks at the front. He’s taller, bulkier than the rest. And he stops a few inches before Bucky. The man oozes with haughtiness, his hand resting casually on the hilt of a jeweled sword.

Bucky is standing still in front of you. Like a stone wall. You watch the grip on Bucky’s blade tighten.

“Well, well,” the first man drawls, his voice slick with mockery. “James Barnes. The mighty soldier.” He lets out an ugly short laugh. “It really is you, eh? Went quite off the map. Imagine my surprise hearin’ you’re still up and breathin’.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. But his rage is silent. Sharpened into something lethal. He looks almost different now. More like a machine.

Boots crunch against leaves as the arrogant man takes another step toward you. His companions hang back. They look eager.

“What’s the matter, Barnes?” The leader tilts his head sardonically. “Nothin’ to say? No loyalty left to that golden crown’a yours?”

Bucky still doesn’t respond. But you notice the slight shift in his weight, the faintest tremor in his hand.

The man circles slowly then. More leaves crunch.

“How’s that little girl doin’ huh?” the man continues, his wicked smirk widening, voice dripping with feigned thoughtfulness. “Rebecca, was it?” He drags it out.

Something changes within Bucky then. Something terrible. It’s not the sharp, visible kind of anger, the kind that burns bright and loud.

It is darker. Ferocious.

Your stomach turns to water, your spine to ice.

Bucky doesn’t snarl or shout. He simply turns his head, fixing the man with a gaze so cold and venomous it sends a chill through your veins.

He holds the knife in his hand low, deceptively casual, the blade tilting forward as though it is leaning into the kill before he even moves.

You try to press yourself further into the shadows. Watching with wide eyes. It’s all you can do. Your hands are curled, knuckles white and nails pouncing on your soft skin.

You don’t know what is going on, but it seems like Bucky knows these men. You don’t like it. At all.

The air grows thicker, cunning, and it prickles on your skin, making you shiver.

“Lookin’ good for a dead man, soldier. Got a lotta nerve showin’ your face after all this time,” the leader hisses, clearly losing patience.

“Likewise,” Bucky says lowly, malice in his tone.

Your mind becomes a crowded room, thoughts bumping into each other, none of them clear, all of them loud.

“We’re just here for the girl, Barnes.” The man’s tone is casual, with a humorless laugh accompanying it. His head jerks toward you and Bucky immediately shifts deliberately to block more of your form. “Hand her over and maybe we’ll let you walk away this time.” His tone suggests that that’s a lie.

A shorter man standing behind his leader with crooked teeth and a twitchy demeanor nods fervently, licking his lips.

You feel a quiver in your throat. It rises too fast, pushing past breaths meant to fill your lungs but only causes them to stumble out of the way. It vibrates so enormously, seemingly coming from beneath your ribs, a sound dredged from the depth of your body, where words were never meant to go.

A dangerous stillness settles over Bucky.

His cheekbones catch the faint glow of the early light, making the hollows beneath them look darker, deeper, like they hold shadows he’s never managed to shake and now try to control him.

The leather strap across his chest strains with every considered breath he takes, each inhale swelling his upper body with a contained kind of violence, each exhale releasing a promise of it.

“Turn around, Rumlow,” Bucky says almost flatly. Though there is a hint of ice. “This ain’t worth it.”

Your heart is trying to run away from you, desperately asking your legs why they are still frozen in place.

“She’s the king's daughter, ain’t she.” It’s not a question. “They’ll pay through the nose for her, dead or alive.” A cruel grin. “Preferably dead. I’d expect you’d want that too, Barnes. What happened?”

Your stomach drops. A freefall into emptiness.

The blue of Bucky’s eyes is glacial, like the frozen water of a lake that will crack and shatter and make you sink to your icy death if you step too close.

“I won’t say this again.” Bucky’s voice is dangerous. Too calm. The tendon along his neck stands out against his skin. “You don’t want to do this. Walk away.” There is a readiness in the way his feet shift slightly against the forest floor.

You realize with a shudder that his eyes assess them, weigh them, calculate the angles and weaknesses of the men he seems to know.

The leader barks a laugh, sharp and hollow. “And you’re just out here wastin’ her, eh?” the leader sneers. He spits on the ground, his face twisted into something ugly. “What, Barnes? You keepin’ her for yourself? Tryn’a ransom her back and cut us out? That your plan, huh?” There is bitterness in his voice. It is startling. Almost making you flinch. Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch.

Rumlow lets his head swing back to you, greedy eyes boring through your skin. You feel like prey caught in a trap. “You gonna be a good little princess and crawl over to us, eh?” His voice is wheedling. Hungry. The insult that is your title lands hard.

“Say one more word to her and I’ll make sure you choke on it,” Bucky growls, voice rumbling like thunder.

The morning mist swirls around his feet, as though it’s afraid to touch him.

“Oh, we’ll happily take her over your dead body.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

The first man, short and younger looking, lunges, but Bucky is already moving.

He sidesteps the attack with the precision of someone who has seen this play out a thousand times in his mind. His blade flashes for a second before slicing through the air to meet the man’s neck. The sickening thud of a body hitting the ground echoes through the clearing, but other than you, Bucky doesn’t flinch.

The second and third men come at him together. And you see the difference between them and him. They are noblemen who pick up their swords with comfort and arrogance, muscles padded with blinding rapacity and movements not entirely thought through.

Bucky is just brutal.

His steps are effective, his stance is strong. There is no hesitation, no wasted motion.

This is not the guarded, sarcastic Bucky you have come to know in the last two weeks.

There is an awareness lighting in you that this fight is about more than just your protection.

His lips curl into a snarl, his teeth bared as if he is more wolf than man. But beneath it all, there are other emotions carrying the blade in his hand, making his actions seem like not quite his own. Something personal.

The next man barely has time to swing his blade before Bucky disarms him with a brutal twist of his wrist. The attacker crumples to the ground with a strangled cry, clutching at his arm, but he is already sidestepping another attack.

He doesn’t fight like someone who enjoys violence, he fights like someone who has lived it. Who has been forged in it. His strikes are not just attacks, they are statements. Declarations of his interest to survive, to ensure no one leaves this clearing alive but him and you.

But there is no recklessness in him. Another strike, another block, another dodge - wanton, as though he has anticipated the outcome of each move before he made it.

He fights like a man who has nothing to lose and everything to prove. Like a man who has faced death before and came out the other side as a new bitter and harder version.

You press yourself closer to the ground, heart hammering so loudly you think it might betray your presence. But your eyes can’t leave him. You can’t look away - not from the fury in his speed, not from the way he keeps glancing over his shoulder to make sure you are still there.

Rumlow lunges, blades are clashing, the metallic ring sounding so shrill, it hurts your ears. Bucky grunts as their weapons lock, the veins in his arms straining as he shoves the other guy back.

“Girl’s worth more dead than alive. You know that better than I do, Barnes,” Rumlow shouts, spit flying from his mouth.

“Shut up!” Bucky’s voice shakes with fury and he dives in again.

He meets the man with a force so brutal, it makes you flinch.

Your hands grow restless.

Your chest is constricted.

There is that helplessness again. The worthlessness you despise within yourself, the initial thought for a reason Bucky might have, to grow tired of you and end your life when he clamped his hand over your mouth earlier. The uselessness that grates against your ears and makes you want to cover them with your hands.

You see something glinting.

But it’s none of the weapons currently used only a few feet away. It’s a blade glinting in the dirt not far from you, knocked loose perhaps from the first fool who lunged at Bucky. Who’s now a dead body on the ground. You try not to pay him any mind and rather keep your gaze on the discarded dagger.

The world narrows to that single point - the weapon within reach, the chance to do something.

And you do. Scrambling forward, fingers curling around the hilt.

You stand. Your breath comes in short, panicked gasps as you struggle to find out what to do with it.

But your hesitation was enough time for one of the men to catch your arm, yanking you back with a force that sends you sprawling. The blade slips from your grasp, skidding across the ground, and you barely manage to twist as he leaps on you.

You don’t know what he aimed to hit but due to your squirming, his fist connects with your shoulder, the impact radiating pain through your entire body.

But you don’t cower back.

Fueled by adrenaline and sheer desperation, you lash out, your hands wildly searching the ground for something. And there is something. A snaggy branch is lying in the dirt and your hands fumble to grasp it. You swing with all your strength, the wood splintering as it connects with the side of his head.

Your attacker stumbles and curses and you scramble to your feet, lagging the grace you knew.

Your heart pounds as you turn to search for Bucky and find him engaged with the three others, including the leader.

“Y/n!” He shouts, visibly aggravated. There is blood on your temple, the branch in your hand is trembling. His expression is dark. Almost panicked.

“Stay back,” he roars, not even looking at the man he’s ruthlessly shoving to the ground, a knife embedded between ribs.

Your gaze is drawn to Bucky, not noticing that your earlier assailant charges at you once more, anger fueling his strength.

Bucky yells your name again. He’s furious.

You barely manage to dodge in time, a blade grazing your side. The pain is sharp. One of your hands clutches your side, your fingers instantly slippery with blood, the dark warmth of it a horrifying contrast to the chill in the air.

You gasp at the sting, stumbling slightly, uncoordinated, and in that moment, you let go of the branch. It thuds to the ground and you step back, the soldier before you, only grinning at you. It’s cruel and dark. There is blood on his teeth. He is playing with you. He is enjoying your show of weakness. Making fun of the way he can easily overpower you. Making fun of the way you are scared despite him not doing anything.

But that dagger you dropped still lays and glints on the ground, and you scramble to reach it. Holding it in front of your chest, you grip it with an intensity so strong, your hands are shaking, partly to stabilize yourself and prevent this wound from overpowering your senses and breaking you down. The nerves in your hand are screaming at you to raise it and swing the weapon at your opponent once more, but the shock in your mind is resounding even louder.

Your assailant takes a step toward you, tilting his head in mockery when you take one back, despite the dagger lifting higher.

Your heart is racing, your side is throbbing, your head is swirling, and the man facing you seems poised to leap at you again, done with his taunting antics.

But before there is anything he can do, there is a wall in front of you.

Bucky. His back.

He is moving with a reaction that is instantaneous. Like he couldn’t afford to waste even a second. His knife slashes through the air so fast and fluid, your head is spinning, deflecting the other man’s strikes with a grace that is effortless.

The way Bucky is moving is terrifying and mesmerizing all at once. There is a fury in him, unbridled rage that you’ve only seen glimpses of before, but now it’s fully unleashed. His opponent falters. Just for a second. But it’s enough for Bucky to put an end to this.

He drives his elbow into the man’s gut with a force that makes him groan loudly, then follows it with a swift and clean slice of his knife. Another body slumps down.

Bucky turns before it hits the ground, focus snapping back to you. He quickly, almost urgently, scans your body, taking in every detail. “You okay?” His voice is unnecessarily loud, but not bitingly so. It sounds more like worry.

For a moment, with him standing there before you, blade dripping crimson, shoulders rising and falling with the effort of breathing, stormy eyes so intently fixed on you, he looks almost otherworldly. Like a fallen angel - beautiful in its lethality, terrible in its wrath.

You nod weakly, even though you’re not okay. Not even close.

The ache in your side is like a persistent, pulsing signal, and your sight blurs just slightly at the corners of your periphery. It gives you the feeling of a cruel kiss that burns hotter with every breath you take. But you succeed in standing a bit straighter, gripping the dagger still in your hand more firmly. Shivers move through your fingers around the hilt but you hold on tight. It almost feels grounding.

Bucky’s eyes are wild when he sees the blood.

“He got you,” he grounds out roughly. The cords in his neck tighten, his jaw a stark line against the pale light. Teeth click together, sending out a sharp sound that feels loaded with frustration.

He doesn’t say anything more, but his hand shifts and you let him carefully press against the wound to staunch the flow, and you bite back a cry. His lip twitches, caught between a word unsaid and a growl restrained.

His eyes resemble steel, yet they flicker with chaotic elements that spin and swivel so rapidly and then slip away, leaving you unable to comprehend them and grasp their meaning.

Suddenly, there is a rustling behind Bucky and your heart lurches. It’s the leader. Rumlow. The one Bucky fought before rushing to you. He’s not down yet. He’s battered and bloodied, red streaks lining his face, movements sluggish and uneven. His breaths are labored, but he is still standing.

Bucky’s focus is entirely on you. And Rumlow sees that. He sees the momentary distraction, the second of vulnerability. You watch with fear the way he angles his body, the way his eyes are fixed on Bucky’s unguarded back.

Bucky hasn’t noticed him - he’s too focused on you, his attention divided at the worst possible moment.

Slowly at first, Rumlow moves. Then faster, his sword trembling in his hand, but raised as he closes the distance between himself and Bucky with tottering steps. His face is twisted with hatred.

Panic floods your system, so cold and all-consuming. Your grip tightens on the dagger in your hand, palm clammy with sweat and blood. There is no time to think. There is merely time for instinct, untamed and primal.

You take a breath - a shallow and painful breath - and pull your arm back, the motion pulling slightly at the wound on your other side and it still feels awkward and shaky, but you are driven by the horror of seeing it unfold in slow motion in your mind.

You let the dagger fly. For a heartbeat everything else fades away - the pain, the terror, the sound of your own ragged breathing, the feeling of Bucky’s hand on you. There is only the blade, its trajectory, and the hope - the desperate, fervent hope - that it will hit its mark.

And it does.

The leader staggers, his eyes widening in shock as the dagger buries itself in his side. His body jerks with the force and his momentum falters, his steps stumbling as he plummets to the ground. Slipping from his grasp, his sword lands uselessly in the dirt beside him. His breath hitches in broken gasps until he lies still.

Bucky spins around, his eyes immediately locking onto the man on the ground, then snapping back to you. For someone whose expressions are typically inscrutable, he looks rather shocked right now.

He blinks. And then he just stares. In disbelief. Lips slightly parted. He even loosens his hand at your side for a moment in astonishment. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the strong tension in his shoulder visible beneath his blood-caked armor.

“You-” He starts to say something, but his voice falters, words stuck in his throat. He swallows hard, his gaze darting from your face to the wound in your side, then back to the man on the ground.

“He- he was going to-” You start to defend yourself, but he cuts you off with a rasp.

“I know.” He clears his throat. There is something more translucent in his eyes now, wild elements settling in place. It’s fierce and protective and proud and stunned all at once. His shoulders slump slightly. “I know.” It still sounds hoarse.

Neither of you speaks for a while. The forest is quiet again. But there is a distant chirp of birds that comes with the morning. And more light is shining through. Your hands feel weightless, the trembling so fine it’s almost a vibration.

Bucky’s hand steadies on your wound, his touch firm but not harsh. His gaze stays on you as if he is memorizing every detail of your face in this moment.

Then, with a slight shake of his head, as if remembering himself, he carefully lowers you to the ground, deliberate but brisk, as if afraid even the air might injure you further. He makes you sit on a tree stump.

He’s muttering something under his breath, perhaps a curse at the situation, or maybe just words to fill the silence, but you can barely hear it over the roaring in your ears. Pain lashes through your side and you hiss.

You don’t register if Bucky’s following words were an apology, or a curse, or something else entirely. Your ears are muting your surroundings, every sound collapsing into a muffled rush that swells in your head. You only see his muscles ticking.

Bucky is kneeling in front of you, his knee pressing into the dirt. Shadows dig deep into the lines of his face, his brows furrowed so deeply, giving the impression they are bearing the full force of the world.

Anger, worry and emotions much more deeper are stretching his mouth into a grim line.

He pulls the cloak he bought for you, the one you had shrugged off before the fight began, and drapes it around your trembling shoulders.

He grinds his teeth while doing so, hands tugging at the edges of the cloak, pulling it snugly against your frame.

His broad form casts a shadow over your shivering body.

He turns for a second and then the gleam of his knife catches your eye. Before your heart can even skip a beat he brings it to your new dress. To the part where your wound is sitting. You gasp. The tearing sound that follows makes your stomach twist and you flinch, but his hands hold you in place.

“What did you do?” you breathe, in shock. Staring at him. Staring at your side. Staring at the torn fabric.

“I need to see the wound,” he answers, not meeting your eyes. His voice appears to aim for indifference, but he doesn’t quite pull it off. Perhaps there's even a slight hint of an apology in his tone.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, softer this time, as though he genuinely regrets acting this impulsive. His fingers brush against your skin, warm and calloused, as he pulls the torn fabric away from the wound.

You take in a sharp breath at the exposure, the chilly air nipping at the tender areas of your wound. His jaw tightens. His hands go stiff.

“Damn it,” he grounds out, and you see a faint slip in his control. His features are taut, pulled into opposite directions. He is angry - there is a flash in his eyes that confirms that much. But the frustrated vibrations in the set of his shoulders sags lightly, and there is a hesitation in his fury. It shimmers underneath the blue. It’s crackling and colliding, crawling and fighting to reach the forefront. Guilt. Bitterness. Desolation.

A sharp exhale leaves him and he drags a hand down his face.

There is a tremor in his hands. And he leaks of tension. But there is something else, too. Something softer. Something deeper.

You saved him, and he knows it. But you can’t tell if that makes things better or worse.

Glancing at you then, his eyes search yours for something you’re not sure you can give. You think he might say something, but then he just releases another profound breath.

Sitting up slightly, he takes your hands and presses them to your wound. “Hold this,” he instructs stiffly, his fingers guiding yours to show you how to keep the pressure firm.

His touch lingers for just a moment before he pulls away to reach for something in his pack. You do as he says, though your hands tremble, and the blood soaking through your fingers makes you want to vomit.

You want to say something. Anything. To apologize for disregarding his orders to stay put, for being reckless, for putting him in this position. But the words don’t come. No words come. Your lips are barriers no word dares to cross. Your tongue is heavy. And you can’t really bring yourself to look at him. Especially his shifting eyes.

Instead, your gaze averts to your boots, then to the forest ground, but only to the sections that lack a corpse, your shocked mind desperately attempting to undo everything that just took place.

Squatting down in front of you again, you take notice of what he retrieved from his pack and your skin grows hot with uncomfortable blisters.

The flask glints in the morning light. Bucky unscrews the cap and the sharp tang of whiskey wafts into the air.

You press your hands more firmly to your wound in hopes of shielding it better. You start to shake your head, but he sighs heavily.

“We need to clean that wound,” he explains, and for a heartbeat, his voice carries an unfamiliar softness. Maybe it’s vulnerability, maybe it’s tenderness. You can’t tell. “It’ll stop infection.”

Your gaze drops to the ground. To the dirt, the blood, and the remnants of the torn blue fabric that litters the space between you. A defeated breath falls from your lips and you build up all your courage to let your hands slide off your wound.

“It’s going to hurt,” he says with the same tone and still only holds the flask up in his hand, waiting for your permission to continue.

Your mouth is still guarding your words. But you manage a nod.

And with that he quickly tears a strip of clean cloth from the hem of his own shirt, soaking it in the alcohol. His hands are steadying themselves, but there is that uncoordinated twitch in his fingers, a quiver, when they linger too long.

“Bite down on this,” he says, handing you another piece of cloth. You hesitate, but the heat in his eyes compels you to take it and press it between your teeth.

With a last glance at you, and another nod from you, he presses the soaked cloth to your wound.

The pain is a searing fire that tears through your side and sends a strangled cry spilling from your lips, muffled by the cloth. Your entire body jerks, but his hands are there to keep you stable.

“Easy,” he says, low and strained, but you keep on hafting to the note of reassurance. “Easy.”

Your breaths are sharp and irregular gasps, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The world compresses to the searing torment in your side and the pressure of his hands on your skin, anchoring you even as the pain risks dragging you under.

“Almost done.” His voice is barely a whisper, as though the words aren’t even meant for you, but himself. His gaze falls over you, your face, lingering longer than necessary, trying to gauge your condition.

Finally, he pulls the cloth away and examines his work. “That’s the worst of it,” he says almost through gritted teeth, voice a little thicker than he surely meant it to be.

You watch him some more when he retrieves a bandage from his pack and wraps it around your side carefully.

When he finishes, he sits back on his heels, exhaling heavily. “That’ll hold for now.” His voice is low. He doesn’t look at you. His gaze is fixed on the ground. Then it’s fixed on his hands that hold your blood and the ones of the dead men lying around the clearing. The muscles in his face are tight.

You don’t look at him either. You don’t even know where you look.

All you see is this man you killed. His face is there every time you blink, imprinted into the dark of your eyelids like a haunting. His eyes wide and disbelieving, staring at you - not Bucky, the man who shielded you and bought you here - but you.

You, with the dagger in your shaking hand. You, who let it fly. The way his body had jerked, the dagger sinking into flesh, his mouth opening as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t. The way his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground like a heap. The way he didn’t get up. The stillness. Utter stillness.

No amount of air you fill your lungs with feels like enough.

The memory is too much. The knowing that he lies in eyesight on the ground is too much. Too much to hold. Too much to process. Too much too much too much-

You have killed before. In stories, in the sanctuary of your imagination, where brave princesses slayed dragons or vanquished evil knights.

But this is not a story.

This is not a knife thrown at a wooden log, or an idle thought in a quiet moment.

You aimed your throw not at a tree, but at a man. He was flesh and blood. A living, breathing man. And you made his breath stop.

Guilt twists its way up your throat like bile.

You saved Bucky - that much you know. That much you hold onto, even as your chest heaves and your heart races. If you hadn’t thrown that dagger, hadn’t acted, perhaps Bucky would’ve been the corpse on the ground instead. He might have fallen, lying in the dirt, lifeless, blood pooling beneath him.

The thought sends icy shivers up your spine.

But it does not undo what you’ve done. It does not change the fact that a man died at your hands.

This wasn’t just any man. He was a royal soldier. A soldier who should have answered to the crown. To you. He was someone who once swore an oath to the crown, to your family.

He should have presented himself with pride, with the discipline you’ve always imagined in the soldiers who served under your father's banner.

Instead, he had snarled your name like a curse, his words full of malice and predatory hunger.

He wore the insignia, the armor. He belonged to you, and yet he hadn’t acted like it. There was no salute, no respect, no recognition. Just malevolence in his eyes and voice and the gleam of his sword.

And, somehow, Bucky knew him.

There was something in his face, something dark and old and full of personal hatred.

Both their words held venom that spoke of history. Betrayal. Something you don’t understand.

How could this have escalated so quickly? One moment, you are shivering in the forest, trying to decipher Bucky’s moods and the significance of your choices. The next moment there is blood and violence and death and so many questions.

Here you are now, your thoughts shattered and wailing, grasping at fragments of logic and reason that continuously elude you.

You glance at Bucky.

He is pacing now, a few feet away, his movements sharp, almost agitated. But still controlled. He is wiping his blade clean, cloth coming away crimson, and the sight makes you nauseous.

There is a river not too far from where your clearing is. He’s told you, you would make a stop there today when you made camp here the day before. He could have cleaned his blade then. But it seems like he can’t wait to get the blood off right away.

His shoulders stand like armored gates, guarding a pressure that seems to press on him. The muscles in his forearms ripple with every tiny motion.

His features are half obscured by shadows and blood but the look in his eyes is clear, and it makes him seem more like a weapon than a man.

You are hit with the reality that you don’t know anything about him. Who is he? Really? What has he done? What has he endured? The man who carries himself like an unbreakable force, who moves with lethal and deadly precision and a soldier's instinct.

All those things said by the man named Rumlow, those accusations thrown, the ugly words about you. They try to choke you from the inside out.

Who is Rebecca? What happened to her? Who is she to Bucky?

And why did this black-haired man speak to Bucky about his loyalty to the crown? Why did he call him soldier?

Bucky has saved you. Protected you. But he did it because he promised your mother he would.

And those things Rumlow has said, the looks they all gave him - it tells a story you don’t know.

He is a mystery to you. A mystery with ghosts that still haunt him, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by.

Your eyes return to your hands. Your palms are still sticky, coated with dirt and blood - not all of it yours. You gulp down, feeling nausea knotting in your stomach once more.

Heat rises to your skin, clammy and unpleasant, a fever that clings without flame.

You saved him. That's the reality you continue to grasp at, yet it seems fleeting, hard to catch.

You saved him, but in doing so, you ended someone else’s life.

Layer upon layer of shame tightens like a noose around your neck.

It constricts. And the feeling spreads. It migrates - to your shoulders, your chest, your belly, your hips, pressing and squeezing even tighter around the part where your wound sits.

You threw the dagger at a human being. And you hit him. True enough to kill.

You want to feel relief. You want to feel proud, even. Bucky is alive and walking, and you had a hand in that. But all you feel is the way the world shifts under you, how unsteady it’s become.

You sense the chilling tendrils of guilt, winding around your chest, your throat, your thoughts.

Guilt for what you’ve done. Guilt for feeling guilty.

The cloak slips from your shoulders, and you let it. Your head bows, fingers curling into the fabric of your garment. It was new. It was blue. It was beautiful. Now it’s ruined.

“They were soldiers.” It leaves you in a breath. Maybe it makes it easier to handle that truth when spoken aloud. It doesn’t.

Bucky pauses mid-step, his back to you, his shoulders stiffening even more at your words. “Yeah.” His voice is unreadable.

“They- they served the crown,” you press. To him, to yourself, to the forest, to the corpses on the ground. You have no idea. It doesn’t matter. “They served-”You stop short, swallowing a lump down. Swallowing tears back.

“They served themselves,” Bucky bites out, his tone sharper than earlier, laced with something dark. He turns to face you then, anger shooting through his eyes, but not at you. “Swearin’ loyalty to a banner doesn’t make a man good. Men with badges and titles might do worse than those without.”

You flinch at his words. They fall. Like seeds dropped into cracks you didn’t know you had. You feel the heaviness of them. The thud in your chest, your heart catching something it wasn’t prepared to hold.

And all you can do is snap your mouth back shut.

You lower your head again. Fingers shake around the fabric of your garment from how tightly you’re gripping them. The guilt festers, tumbles, grows, and you sit there, silent, unable to reconcile the princess you once were with the murderer you’ve become.

“She was never quite ready. But she was brave. And the universe listens to brave.”

- Rebecca Ray

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld

106 notes · View notes

ambrosiagoldfish · 11 months ago

Note

HI! Can I request Vox, husk or anyone else with a s/o who has an addiction problem?

Yes I know my Grammar and punctuation is out of line 🙏🏽

Hazbin Hotel x Addict!Reader

(Vox, Husk, and Angel Dust)

Viewer Discretion is Advised!

Warning: Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Gn!Reader, Reader being defensive, happy-ish endings.

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1170

A/n: Hi! Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing both Vox and Husk so I had to do some research (and by research, I mean reading 2+ hours of how other write them) to get an idea of their main characterization.

I really enjoyed writing this as I personally have my own experiences with addicts and how it’s affected me as a person. So this was also a little bit of a vent post if anything. I also added Angel cause I think it fits the theme but also he’s one of my comfort characters and writing for him made me happy.

Hope you enjoy <3

Proofread like once so sorry for any mistakes!

Vox

He’s used to being friends/knowing addicts. I mean one of his closest allies (And TOTES not previous hook-up buddy) Valentino, is also an addict who also employs many as well. So he’s not a stranger to it.

So mostly he’s indifferent to it, almsot desensitized to it. He doesn’t really see a danger to it, I mean we’re in hell and you can’t exactly OD and die

But of course, death isn’t the only thing that can happen when you're an addict. The breakdown of you as a person often happens, as well as you being reckless with money. And this is where Vox starts to have a problem.

If you’re in a relationship with Vox, then clearly you mean a lot to him, he may not be the most expressive about it but he does. So to see the partner that he has opened up to and grown attached to deteriorate slowly in front of him is something he refuses to accept.

So one day he cancels a meeting with his staff and calls you to his office so you two will be alone. When you get there he gives you a cup of coffee and you catch up a bit. How was your day? Have you ate yet? Those kinds of things.

Until finally he decides to just break open the floodgates with one simple statement.

“Darling… I think you should get clean”

You were caught off guard at first

“It’s fine, What’s the problem? we’re in hell”

He then comes out with his honest opinion

“*Sigh* I know it’s hell and you can’t die… but surely you can see how it would make me a bit… worried for you.”

He paused

“I mean even last week you spent all the allowance I gave you on it and you would have starved if I didn’t buy you food, surely you can see why it’s a fucking problem!”

Eventually after talking and depending on how it goes you either agree to go clean or it ends with an argument and he’ll just try again later.

If you agree, he’ll make sure he’s with you ever step of your sobriety. Considering he’s one of the top rising Overlords and owns VoxTech he’s got money so He’ll higher the best people to help you go clean(Do therapist exist in hell?)

“Thank you dear, you have no idea how much this means to me”

Husk

Similar to Vox in a lot of ways but also really different. He himself is an addict with alcohol so he clearly understands the struggles of it.

He has lots of walls up but for someone who “lost the ability to love” he sure does care a lot for you. I don’t think he would try a get you to go clean, at least not right away (or even at the beginning of the relationship) simply cause he thinks he doesn’t have a right to judge. So in all honesty he might just let you be.

That is until he realizes that you do it to forget things and ignore your problems/past. He knew first hand that drowning your sorrows away with your choice of addictive vice did nothing but harm you.

Then when you two are alone at his bar he’ll talk to you about it in a similar way he did with Angel. Perhaps a bit more softer than he did with Angel but even then “softer” is a bit of an overstatement.

“Look, I know you got a lot of shit that you don’t want to think about… but doing this *sigh* it’s not going to work, at least not in the long term.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He laughs. I mean, you were right. He was single handedly the worst person to be judging you. But surely you can understand his point of view, right?

Either way though, he leaves it alone again. Occasionally bringing it up when you’re both alone. He expresses the same sentiment about it each time hoping that eventually, hopefully…you’ll come to see from his perspective.

When you do finally see that he’s worried for you and understand why, you agree to go clean. Which, for once in a long while, made his supposedly cold dead heart melt.

“Glad you finally came to your senses… Seriously, I’m glad…”

Angel

He is THE addict of the show, so obviously he knows what you are going through and THEN some. Now,. Here’s the thing, how he handles it depends HEAVILY on when exactly you got with him/when you started having you addiction problem.

If you started dating him when you already were an addict he most definitely wouldn’t question anything about it. Hell, chances are you both might have taken part in it together. And it’s only when he starts making progress in the hotel (post EP4) is when he starts realizing how bad of an influence you both were on each other.

If you started sometime AFTER you both started dating then this boy would honestly feel terrible about it, ESPECIALLY after EP4 when he actually started being sober more often. He’d feel like he was a bad influence on you and that it was his fault you turned to your addiction.

Either way though, he will eventually realize that he doesn’t want you to be/continue to be on the same path he was. He’d talk to Charlie about arranging you to stay in the hotel, either in your own room or you guys could share one (he would honestly prefer the latter) and then after the preparations are made he would finally ask you too

Angel wasn’t expecting it to be easy, he gets what it’s like to suddenly be asked to go clean. And he knows how addicts act when they don’t get there vices, how he acts. So he mentally prepared himself for the worst first before asking you to come over and talk.

“Uh… Y/n can I talk to you about somethin’?”

You nod your head

“I’ve been thinking and… I think you should crash here at the hotel with me… and’ go clean.”

You only laugh “Angie I’m glad this hotel thing is workin’ for ya but that’s not really my style. No- I mean, I’m fine!”

Angel knows he put you on the spot, so he lightens off a bit but continues pressing on. He explains how he feels and how he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, to end up where he is. The poor boy starts crying honestly with how much he’s worried. He rarely opens up to people so this was a big step for him.

Seeing how much he cared and worried about you really put into perspective how important this was to him. So you agreed after some thinking.

“*sniff* thank you Baby, I’ll be there with you every step of the way… I love ya’ you know.”

494 notes · View notes

imagines--galore · 10 months ago

Text

||I Will Always Choose You||

Summary: As a soldier you had expected to find yourself in dangerous situations. But trapped in the claws of a Homunculous who went by Lust and watching the man you love try to save you was on a whole other level.

Pairing: Roy Mustang x Reader

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Action. Angst. A bit of mention of injury so be prepared!

A/N: Sorry its late but I hope you like this! @smallartist08

Roy Mustang was not in love.

He had never been in love, and there was no possibility of him falling in love in the future.

Not when he had an entire country to think of. Not when he had to help make Amestris a country he would be proud to call home. Not when he had so many people to look after. His entire team. His best friend’s wife and daughter. The Elric brothers. Madam Christmas and the girls.

Most all of them were in constant danger, one way or the other. There was no time for him to be in love when he had to make sure he knew of their every step. Make sure they stayed safe.

Or as safe as the Elric brothers could be.

Those two boys got in so much trouble sometimes, he was sure they had targets painted on their backs.

But most of all?

Roy Mustang did not deserve love. Not after the bloodshed he had carried out as the Flame Alchemist. Not after all the innocent Ishvalans he had killed when he had been ordered to.

He was ashamed of his actions, and deeply regretful that he had not stood up to those in authority back then. He may spend his whole life trying to atone for all his sins. Which is why something as pure as love could never be in his life.

Not with how tainted his soul was.

How broken.

But............the only problem about not falling in love?

Was that he was already in love.

With you.

Just like Riza and Maes, you had been beside Roy every step of the way.

You had been with him when he was stationed to the front lines. As a weapon’s specialist, and a liaison between the superiors and the alchemists, you had been in-charge of all the weapons that came your way.

Mechanical and human.

And all the State Alchemists were seen as nothing more then weapons at that time.

You were to make sure that each piece of weapon stayed in shape, and you were aware of every alchemist and where they were stationed, what they were capable of, and how far they could go with the abilities.

As one of the best sharpshooters, Riza would often be found in your company. Not only because you were the only one she trusted with making sure her weapon was in working order, but also because there were so few women on the front lines.

It was nice having another woman around, someone the both of you could trust to watch each other’s back.

You had been walking around when you had first heard Roy. He was speaking to Maes, telling him of the guilt he felt for using his abilities to kill so many. All of this was spoken in confidant, and you were not meant to have heard it.

But you did.

And your heart went out to the poor man.

You had seen so many soldiers die. So many lives wasted.

And for what?

For a war that had started because the Ishavalan’s had revolted against the people who ruled them. Later you would come to know the true reason for the war, but even then, it didn’t sit right with you.

Riza had been with you, and when Roy and Maes had seen you standing there, she had reassured them, saying you would not breath a single word of it to anyone.

Although the next time Roy was given an assignment, it had no killing involved and only a few patrols. He had been confused at first, and after a little detective work on Maes’s part, he was told that you were responsible for it. While writing your weekly reports you had managed to surreptitiously add a few points that would make it seem that the areas Roy would be stationed at were in dire need of a cleansing.

Of course, that was a lie.

Leaving Roy rather impressed with your clever wording, and quick thinking. He voiced it to you out loud, but what he didn’t say, at least not in so many words, was that he was sure that you had done so out of the kindness of your heart.

He had known of you long before you knew him. At least you were are of his existence, and that he was the Flame Alchemist. That was as far as your knowledge of him went until that fateful and unintentional run-in while he had been speaking to Maes. Roy Mustang knew exactly who you were and what you were there to do.

He had seen you, a few days after your arrival. You were crouching down next to a dying Ishvalan, offering him some water. And you had stayed there, held his hand and spoke to him.

Most soldiers would’ve simply walked by the dying man. But not you. No, you stayed with him until he died. And when he did, you cried.

You sat there crying in the shadows for a good long while, until your tears had dried and you had composed yourself enough to walk back to your post. And Roy had watched you, a piece of his broken heart mending at the reassurance of your simple act of staying with a dying man.

That there was still kindness in this cruel world.

————————–

Your life had never been easy.

For one you were related to the esteemed Armstrong family. A cousin of the family. You had quite the legacy to live up to.

Your father had been a decorated army officer until his death in the Ishvalan War. You had been expected to walk in his footsteps. And as his only child, there was a lot of pressure on you. And given the fact that you were a girl, you had to work twice as hard. It didn’t help that your father made you aware of your gender every moment of everyday. And not in the most positive of ways.

You could never be an Alchemist like your cousin Alex, you had no desire to become a weapon like him. And you could never be as ruthless and heartless as your cousin Olivier. Even she had once stated that if you were to ever loose the kindness that radiated from your very being, you would loose part of yourself.

So you had decided to forge a path that worked for you. And though you had to hide your real nature while in the army working at the front lines, you had been lucky enough to find people you could be yourself around.

People you trusted had your back no matter what would happen.

After the war, you were personally asked by Flame Alchemist Roy Mustang to work with him. He had said he needed a person who could talk their way out of a situation without having a single shot fired. Translation: He needed someone who could speak to those superior them him without pissing them off. And once you were made aware that Riza would be a part of that Unit as well, you had agreed.

And while that was your initial reason for joining Mustang’s Unit, it began to change over the years as you got to know the rest of your Team.

Riza Hawkeye, your first true friend in the military. You had both shared your worries with one another, your hopes for the future. Talks that had brought the both of you all that much closer to one another. Close enough that you considered one another sisters.

Kain Fuery, the little brother you had always wanted, and since your own mother had died giving birth to a sibling who had never had the chance to draw breath, you saw Kain as your second chance. And given how you were almost always working on the radio, taking orders, sending messages and keeping updates on the latest going-ons in the military, he was always by your side to help however he could.

Vato Falman was your go to person when you needed to get a fact checked about history. He knew everything, and sometimes you would share your information with him to see if he knew anything about it. Not to mention the fact that the both of you would carry out long historical debates and discussions that you both thoroughly enjoyed, and ones that put the rest of your Team to sleep.

Jean Havoc had tried to flirt with you when he had first met you. But had backed off when you had given him a glare Olivier had helped you to perfect years ago. He was still a little afraid of you, but you both got along now. Enough that he would tell you all about his dating life, which you would critique him for quite viciously, much to the amusement of the rest of the Team.

Heymans Breda and you were partners in stealth. The both of you knew everything about everyone’s business. At least everyone who were important. But sometimes the insignificant tidbits the both of you shared did help once in awhile.

And finally there was Roy Mustang.

Your superior. The one who had brought you to be a part of his Team. He must’ve seen something in you that had him bring you in. Then again, he had seen something in all of them. And while you knew you were a valuable asset considering your way to talk yourself out of trouble as efficiently as any conman, you couldn’t help but hope for something different.

Which was utterly ridiculous because nothing could ever happen between the both of you.

You were his subordinate. A soldier under his command. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still it didn’t stop you from growing closer to him. To share your most deepest thoughts with one another. And while Riza was also his confidant, one you were aware of, there was something different when it came to the talks you had with Roy. They were more personal, and felt more like a conversation between a man and a woman, rather then the exchange of information between two soldiers.

And though you tried to stop it, tried your best not to, you couldn’t help but fall in love with him. Fall in love with the man with who regretted every life he had taken, who wanted to see Amestris become a better country. He had a vision, one that was just as grand as him, and you hoped you would be a part of it.

That you would be by his side when it became a reality.

And while it was hard to keep your feelings a secret, considering how they were always just simmering beneath the surface whenever you interacted with him, especially outside of work, they remained unspoken.

And since they remained unspoken, your feelings only grew stronger with each passing day.

————————–

Unbeknownst to you, Roy was in the same predicament as you.

He hoped that you would be by his side when he achieved his dream. Perhaps then his heart would allow him to do what he wanted for so long.

To declare his love for you in that signature rambunctious style of his.

He had kept his feelings a secret from you for so long. Maes was aware of it. As was Riza. He only knew the latter because she had, in thinly veiled words, threatened to dismember him should he ever hurt you.

But he would never hurt you. He would rather die then hurt you intentionally. You, the only source of light and kindness that provided some sort of comfort to his broken soul. So many times he had come close to just confessing, to let everything come out in the open and damn the consequences, but he never did.

He had very nearly confessed when he had broken down in your arms after Maes’s passing. The man who had been his biggest supporter when it came to his feelings for you, but he had stopped. He had no desire to associate such an important moment with the worst time in his life.

Though if he had known that a few short weeks later, you would be on the verge of dying yourself, he would’ve confessed to you right then and there.

————————–

The pain at his side was still near overwhelming. The back of his palm itched and stung where he had carved the symbol he needed for flame alchemy.

But all that pain was nothing.

Nothing compared to the horrifying sight of you in the clutches of the Homunculi Lust.

You looked like you had taken quite the beating, with multiple bruises and cuts littering your body, a majority of them visible through your torn clothes. And you had.

You had lost all control when you had heard Lust speak so proudly and boastfully.

About the Flame Alchemist.

About killing the Flame Alchemist.

But you were no match for an all-powerful creature. Despite your years of training and weapons mastery, she had you pinned against the floor, one of her deadly claws aimed straight at your heart.

Though she changed positions when Roy stumbled in, followed by Riza.

Now she held you in front of herself like a shield, her sharp claw ascending from above your heart to press the tip of it against your delicate throat.

You let out a sob of relief at the sight of him.

“Roy!”

You hardly ever called him by his first name. And just with that word, he knew how worried and scared you had been that he was gone.

“Put her down.” He growled, his thumb itching to throw a fire blast in the direction of the Homunculi. Lust let out a soft laugh.

“Do you really believe you are in position to make demands of me Colonel Mustang?” She purred, the claw wrapped around your waist tightening, causing you to whimper as one of your fractured ribs throbbed with pain. “I shall enjoy tearing your little plaything apart.” Roy gritted his teeth as you let out a painful cry, unable to help yourself as her hold tightened. Beside him, Riza was no better. Her grip on her gun only increased, finger twitching to pull the trigger.

“D-d-o-on’t lis-te-n to h-er.” You managed to call out hoarsely, loud enough for your words to echo in the blindingly white room. Another laugh for Lust, one that had Roy growling under his breath, the fire in his eyes burning just as bright as any flame he normally created.

“Oh my, even on the brink of death you wish to bring your Colonel comfort.” She turned you around so she could look at you in the eye. “Tell me, are you willing to give up your life to save his?” She cooed, smiling sadistically. Your head turned slightly, so you could look at him over your shoulder. The true intensity of your love for Roy Mustang finally sunk in, burning so bright that it prompted you to look at Lust straight in the eye and say one word.

“Yes.”

Behind Lust you caught sight of Alphonse rising to his feet where Lust had thrown him aside during their fight. His armor was hidden behind a wall of stone he had built, so Roy and Riza hadn’t seen him yet. His red glowing eyes found yours, and you knew what was coming next.

A smile pulled at your lips. “But today is not that day.”

Lust barely had time to react to your words when Alphonse suddenly burst into action, sending a wall of stone in her direction. She had to drop you to save herself from being knocked off her feet.

“Now Roy!” The scream had barely left your lips when you felt the searing flames of his alchemy rush past you and engulf the Homunculi.

Lust’s screams of utter pain echoed all around you. Alphonse quickly surrounded you with a stone wall before rushing to your side and shielding you with his body.

Roy’s flames were intense. He was not holding back. Not when the image of you looking so broken, defeated and hurt was fresh in his mind. Not when the sight of you willing to die for him had his insides twisting in a painful way.

Despite the physical pain that had his body throbbing, it seemed nothing compared to the pain he was certain would ravage his very sense of being should he loose you.

And so he unleashed all that fear, anger and anguish in his flames, unblinking and unrelenting as the creature Lust screamed and screamed. Even Riza did not stop him, did not tell him to hold off. Lust was too dangerous to be left alive.

In Alphonse’s protective grasp, you felt your entire body trembling from the pain, but that didn’t stop you from lifting your head once Lust finally fell silent. Somehow, you broke free of his grip around you and managed to peer around the protective wall.

Only to be met with the sight of Roy falling to his knees, looking just as bad as you did. “Roy!” You whimpered, worry lacing your tone, as you tried to stand. But the twisted ankle did not allow you to get any further then a crouch.

“Alphonse, keep an eye on both of them! I’m getting help!” Called Riza as she all but sprinted away knowing neither you, Roy nor Havoc were in any position to be moved without medical assistance.

Roy was lying on his back now his eyes were on you, his arm outstretched, hand reaching out towards you. “Y/n.”

You quickly began to try and crawl towards him, though seeing you struggle, Aphonse quickly took over, lifting you up and bringing you to lie down next to your superior.

As soon as you were there, your hands found one another’s. Your fingers laced together and you held on tight as tears filled your eyes, while his shone with relief. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice hoarse as he gripped your hand tighter, if that were even possible. You shook your head. “Forget about me. Lust said she killed you. I thought you were dead.” The tears began anew as you looked at his smiling face, very much alive and just as handsome as ever, despite his injured state. He reached out with his other hand to wipe away one of the falling tears. “Its gonna take more then a Homunculus to take me out.” He said in that confident voice of his, prompting a tearful laugh from your lips. Now that the danger has passed, the adrenaline was beginning to leave your body and you could feel your head begin to grow heavy and fuzzy, your eyes burning as you forced yourself to keep them open.

But it was no use. Already your eyelids were drooping, and everything around you was beginning to loose coherency.

Seeing you struggle with staying conscious, Roy turned his gaze to Alphonse who was hovering over them, Roy smiled. “Thanks Alphonse. Thank you for looking after the woman I love.”

Those were the last words you heard before you slowly slipped into the sweet embrace of darkness.

————————–

The next time you became aware of your surroundings you were lying on something soft.

Mumbling incoherently, you lifted a hand to your forehead, only to be met with resistance given that your arm was in a sling. Your entire body ached and felt so heavy that you were sure it had been run over by a tank.

But the real reason behind your current predicament slowly returned as your brain began to wake up.

Lust.

Lust hurting Alphonse.

Lust fighting you.

Taunting you.

Telling you Roy was dead.

Roy?

Roy!

“Roy!” His name fell from your lips as you suddenly sat up straight, followed by a cry of pain as your still healing ribs protested at the sudden movement. You wrapped an arm around your abdomen, grunting in pain.

“Yes?”

Startled you looked up, your head whipping to the side, only to be greeted with the sight of a very much alive Roy Mustang lying in a bed adjacent to yours. You could make out another bed next to his, with Havoc snoring away. It was the middle of the night, the only source of light in the room from the small lamp Roy had turned on as he read a book.

And seeing him sitting there, bandaged and looking so much better from when you had last seen it, doing something as mundane as reading a book, you couldn’t help but let out a sound of utter relief as you buried your face in your hands. You didn’t cry, but you were rather close.

“Oh you bastard.” Your words were muffled, but he heard you, considering he let out a chuckle. “Not exactly the words a man who confessed to you wants to hear, but I’ll take it to mean you’re feeling better now.”

You sighed, before removing your hands and turning to look at him. “It took you nearly dying to finally confess to me. You really know how to make a girl feel special you know.” You said, your smile soft yet teasing as you turned your head to look at him. Roy shrugged. “What can I say? I have a dramatic flare. Its a big part of my personality.” He admitted, smirking at you as he carefully slid from his bed, wincing from the pain at his side.

Your eyes dropped to his abdomen as he sat on the bed beside you. “How’re you feeling?” You asked, worry lacing your tone as your gaze moved to his hand where the symbol for flame alchemy was now scabbed over. You couldn’t help yourself as you reached out and gently took his hand in between your own. “Well my side still hurts, and I’m sharing a room with two other people despite my rank and not being looked after by a hot nurse, but other then that I have no complaints.” His words prompted a gentle laugh out of you as you finally lifted your gaze from his hand to meet his.

To say you were taken aback by the intensity of his eyes would be an understatement. You held his gaze, even as he reached up to brush your hair behind your ear. He didn’t lower his hand. Instead it stayed there, moving only to gently cup your cheek, brushing his thumb against the half-healed cut where Lust had caught you with one of her claws.

“I know you’ll probably tell me off later, but when Lust told me that she had killed you.” Your voice trembled slightly at the memory. “Something inside me broke and I started to attack her, with no regard for my own life.” The admittance had you a cold feeling creeping down your back but you continued, your eyes dropping to his chest. “In that moment I realized that I didn’t want to live. Not in a world where you weren’t alive.”

You sighed. “What I’m trying to say Roy, is that you mean so much to me. And I know this goes against every military rule there is about fraternizing with your superior but I-I love you too.” The words were barely out of your mouth before he closed whatever distance there was and pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. The gesture was so unlike him, that it had you staring at him in surprise once he pulled back.

He smirked. “I know, I’m that good.” He said, and though his smile was smug, his eyes were sincere and adoring as he looked at you. Shaking your head you leaned forward to press your foreheads together, noses just barely touching, a wide smile on your lips. “I’ll need a repeat of that to judge for myself.” You stated, prompting him to let out a laugh, before he moved to comply to your request.

However the moment was broken by the grumbling of a certain fellow team member.

“Would you two stop flirting? People are trying to sleep here!”

You couldn’t help it as you muffled your laugh by pressing your lips against his once more.

#Roy Mustang #roy mustang x reader #Roy #roy mustang x y/n #roy mustang x oc #Fullmetal Alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fmab

368 notes · View notes

floralscented · 11 days ago

Text

──ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤokay, sunshine ㅤ ♫ ⋆ ｡ ♪ ₊ ˚ ♬ ﾟ .

aftercare ! jensen & sunshine. now playing ! cut my hair, tate mcrae. find sunshine's setlist here.

content warnings. alcohol & drug mentions. don't need to read aftercare to understand this but if u have, the cameos might be fun for u.

the recording studio used to be your safe space.

it was a place for you to unleash the words in your head, to piece together the fragments of a song that wouldn't leave your brain no matter how hard you tried. it was a canvas, and you were paint, the glue, the brush.

things hadn't been the same since your label started adding rockstars to their lineup.

dozen roses. powerless. you were the original; their first big risk. now, as much as you loved them, they'd grown far too comfortable in the art of taking risks. and frankly, isolating you to be the sole pop music artist in the company of rockstars was like leading a doe into a wolf den.

it was hard to not view it as a betrayal of your contract and the promises you'd made. especially when powerless was led by a man that seemed determined to push you out of your space.

jensen ackles as a piece of shit. you knew it, your manager, dean, knew it. hell, you were sure that dozen roses knew it, too, even though they were never still or settled enough to pay attention to the self-combustion happening within the walls of the sunset blvd studio.

share your space, dean had conceded to agree with your label's higher ups, it'll be fine. it was yours first.

things were not fine, and no longer was it yours.

the powerless guitarist, reggie, was such a scrawny guy. lanky and gangly and somehow, still, capable of producing guitar riffs that shook the records lined on the walls. your records.

maybe it's a bit of a diva move, the way your hand slaps against the record rattling on the deep red wallpaper. but you were bound and determined to assert yourself - even if these hapless justifications did nothing when jensen ackles inserted himself into your conversations.

"do you mind?" you threw at them, voice loud over the decrescendo of the melody. "i booked the three o'clock."

steven daniels is about as big as jensen, but he's more timid. you know an addict when you see one; hell, you've been in hollywood now for how many years? his palm thumps on the bass guitar in his hands. "it's 2:57."

"nothing you do in three minutes is going to matter," you fire back, desperately trying to reel it in enough to where you aren't physically spitting at them in your rage. it was that serious to you, but there was no need to give ammunition to the older band in front of you. they were powerless, after all; stealing the abilities from others when they could. "it'll either make you cut into my time, or it won't make the cut at all."

they're all a little timid compared to jensen, really. a few harsh sounding words and reggie's slapping his fingers over the strings of the guitar in his hands to cut off the lingering effects of the notes. "maybe she's right."

"no, she's not," steven scoffs, arms crossing over his chest, "jens has a few more ad libs to record. it'll take sixty seconds."

"you have two minutes." it's like arguing with children. what does the short hand on the clock mean? "that's multiple takes. that's figuring out what sounds good. that's─"

the door clicks shut behind you. a palm splays on your ribs as the man in mention gently uses that touch to step around you, those his hand lingers. it always lingers. "alright, sunshine," jensen sighs, his voice drawling in the process, "enough of this. we'll pack it up."

"was that so hard?" you sound pissed because you are pissed. you need every minute of your three to five allotted time to pick through the scraps of this stupid song you can't get to sound like it does in your head. it wasn't your fault that powerless probably didn't show up for their one to three because they were too cross faded to function.

there was only one person who could probably toe-to-toe with jensen in his band, and she's fatefully beautiful, noa trevor. and definitely warming his bed, even though she's supposed to be dating the addict. you don't care. it shouldn't cross your mind or bother you that the girl inserting herself into your tirade has seen more of jensen ackles than you have. don't care, don't care, don't care.

"you know," she says with a little tilt of her head, "you probably would have gotten your point across quicker if you hadn't come in here guns blazin'."

texans. the accent sounded so pretty out of her mouth. it made you want to never speak again, or to subtly adopt that dialect yourself.

your arms are crossed firmly over your chest. the hoodie is too big for you, and right now, it serves its unintended purpose of shielding you from these older, meaner adults who have somehow weaponized your punctuality. "are any of you sober right now?"

low blow. it wasn't supposed to come out of your mouth.

"okay, sunshine," jensen's voice is low like a warning, the alarm sounding before the tornado touches ground, "that's enough."

you aren't usually so volatile. you, like every member of powerless besides the lead singer, are timid and reserved. any other day of the week, you would have granted them the extra five minutes. but there is something so infuriating about letting people walk over you enough to assume that you will let them again, that makes you snap. to make it in hollywood, you have to show a little teeth.

"no, because i've been working hard this whole week," but his hand is on your waist again, guiding you backwards and out of the snarling teeth of people you keep mistaking for weak in comparison to the man leading you toward the door. he keeps them around for a reason, doesn't he? "while you're all six drinks in!"

"so damn mouthy today," jensen snorts, closing the door behind himself once you're in the producer's box. he turns to the knobs and settings splayed out on the table, twisting one of them fully to the left. "tantrum all you want now, honey, they can't hear a thing."

your eye twitches. "you are so─" too many words could fill that blank. instead of picking one from the litter, you growl frustratedly deep in your throat.

"go on," jensen urges, the corner of his mouth tipping up, a dimple sinking into his cheek beneath the stubble, "finish the thought. as long as you growl like that again."

you'd hit him if dean wouldn't chastise the hell out of you for the apology tour it could cause, if jensen let it slip that the pretty little chart topper had a knack for swinging. you didn't think he would. but he was hard to read. and unnecessarily stressing dean out wasn't always on your mind. "shut up. you know, i swear, ever since you got here─"

in the booth, reggie's strumming idly on the guitar. the promise that they were 'packing up' was nothing but a lie, and that was just how powerless worked, making promises that they didn't mean.

noa picks up on the melody, adding a beat to the string of notes.

steven is barely present; you knew this immediately when you looked in his eyes. but he's still on the mortal plane enough to add bass into the instrumental in a perfect harmony. as much as you hated them, they were talented. really talented, if they could manage all of this while off their asses.

and it's your song. of course it's your song. the one in your head that felt like it'd been broken into jagged pieces, nothing lining up right again, until you're on the other side of the double-sided mirror, and they've created what you couldn't so effortlessly.

"you're pretty like this," jensen mumbles beside you, and you'd almost forgotten he was there. you were watching his band; he'd been watching you. "when you're passionate about somethin'."

it's cheesy, sure, but it's the nicest thing he's ever managed to say to you that wasn't dripping with sarcasm.

your eyes drift over to him. for a second, it's silent. for a second, he's not the jensen you knew and got off on the wrong foot with. he's a guy from texas, inked from shoulder to finger on each arm, big and looming, but soft, somehow, in the way he watches you.

"stay until five," your voice is distant, but at least you manage it between your parted lips, dazed expression melding your features.

"if you need me, you coulda just asked."

the illusion snaps. but you don't look away, and neither does he. "i need your band."

"okay, sunshine," he says finally in response, after too many seconds pass, his voice more rasped on the edges for it to come off natural, "put me to work, then."

song credits. apparently i rly missed aftercare!jensen to alr have this written bro 😭 everything 4 popstar!reader is gonna be based on a song <3 and include a lyric from it. bc if there's one thing i'm gonna do, it's too much. the worlds are all interconnected & might overlap (dont ask how dean & jensen exist in the same world thats not my business) but each one has its own designated endgame ok <3 anyways enough lore and rambling. thank u for tuning in

sunny's monthly listeners. to play / pause on being tagged, comment sunshine! @titsout4jackles @moonstruksandco @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @itzavahere @sagegreen17 @bruceewayne @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @deansbeer @blushpinkdoll @warpedless @sabrinasopposite @k-slla @deansbite @foolinthera1n @honeyryewhiskey @angelblqde @whyyouegg @bluemerakis @fallbhind @jackleslvr @figthoughts @beausling @chevroletdean @mccartneyqp @bluestrd @sthefferrete @rubyvhs @tortureddarkstar @aileenunfiltered @frosttbitessam @theosaurous

#──★ dahlia's jrnl #──★ aftercare #aftercare!jensen #rockstar!jensen #popstar!reader #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles one shot #jensen ackles drabble

73 notes · View notes

bithcisweartogod · 18 days ago

Text

something something possible symbolism of the characters’ assigned chess pieces

i’m not that big of a chess player though, so if you are and have something to add/correct PLEASE DO 🙏🏻

xia fei - a pawn. most commonly met as a metaphor to a person who’s being used by others. but if we consider the pawn’s importance in the game of chess, they’re far from weak. pawns remind us not to underestimate those who wield less power. after all, if the pawn manages to reach the end of the chess board, it can turn into any chess piece, even a queen. and honestly that really correlates with my perception of him so far. xia fei seems way less threatening than vein and liu xiao, but i think he has his own motivation to be with them, and this image of a nice cool popular guy might be helping him in his pursuit. no one expects anything dangerous from him. maybe they should.

lu guang - the knight. knights are unpredictable. they’re the only chess pieces that move in an L-shape, even the queen can’t do that. because of their small range of movement, they have to be thoughtful and tactical. they are not limited by colour. knights are also the only ones who can pose a threat to the queen without putting themselves at risk. all this adds up with lu guang’s character so perfectly. he’s literally a walking unpredictable mystery. his own power is limited - he can only see 12 hours into a picture. he’s tactical and calculating, he quite literally writes down all his steps. he’s quick to come up with new ideas and thinks several steps ahead, like when he put a phone in cheng xiaoshi’s pocket to make a photo of vivian. [lu guang’s also a convincing actor, as it was noted by cheng xiaoshi, so i’d assume he’s good at lying and (reaching omg) maybe he’d even be able to control his heartbeat 🤭]

cheng xiaoshi and vein - the rooks. brute force. they move in a straight line, forward and backward and are not limited by colour. they are the second strongest piece after the queen, but they are way more predictable than knights and bishops. and yeah, that does sound like cheng xiaoshi. in times of danger he acts really quickly - jumping in front of lu guang to shield him from a bullet, or how he acted in that fight with liu min. he’s quick, and sometimes marches forward without thinking. his power is so influential that it is even desirable by others - remember how li tianchen wanted to “try it” for himself. i’d assume vein to be somewhat the same. we see that he also isn’t the type to try and escape a fight, the exact opposite. and if cheng xiaoshi’s goal seems to be more defensive - protecting those he loves, then vein is (seems to be for now at least) full on offence. bold, brutal, unrelenting, moving forward and getting rid of those who stand on his way. liu xiao - the bishop. they own the diagonal lines. they also have to create strategies and need other chess pieces to protect them. they can only move on one colour though, so in that aspect they’re limited. but as the board gets emptier their power grows - they can move a long distance. that’s also how i see liu xiao so far. “mastermind stays in the dark” and all that, he prefers to have others work for him than perform the actions himself. he’s quite young and i’d think he’s generally weaker than vein and maybe even cheng xiaoshi, but he’s dangerous. he pulls the strings and no matter how strong you are, if you’re not careful - you’ll get roped into his game. one more interesting thing about the bishop is the motif of belief and religion which is, well, in the name - we see it played out in liu xiao’s trailer as well.

but the board isn’t complete. we’re missing the queen and the king. just a theory, but i’d assume the beautiful mystery lady to be the queen. in the ending her eyes SHINE just like lu guang’s, so i think she also is an ability user. and if that’s true then well…her eyes shine yellow…looks familiar…haha..;; the queen is the most powerful chess piece, moving in all directions, on all colours. so i’m really looking forward to seeing her enter the game

and the king - if i continue to theorise, i’d say it would be cheng weimin. the king’s range of movement is small - yet he’s the single most important piece on the board. and i’m sorry but if we look at this official art (oh god tumblr wtf what’s up with the quality) then we can see a black king (and i’d assume it’s a king, they’re characteristic of having a cross on top, right??) lying defeated…i’d guess papa cheng isn’t coming home :(

also while i was reading about chess and stuff, i found that bishops and knights are worth roughly the same, though the bishops are considered more powerful. if that matters at all, i’d interpret that as liu xiao and lu guang both being incredibly smart and good at creating strategies, yet liu xiao’s network of connection and influence outweigh lu guang’s. but maybe that’s also why there are several moments that point out liu xiao’s interest in him - maybe he’d think he met an equal.

#link click #时光代理人 #shiguang daili ren #lu guang #cheng xiaoshi #liu xiao #xia fei #vein #long post #ramblings ramblings

67 notes · View notes

jazeswhbhaven · 23 days ago

Note

Do you still accept requests?? If so, is it alright if I ask for a headcanon about how the kings + lucifer and bael about how they feel towards the fact that MC excels very well in leadership and is actually capable of leading (like a group or whatever), but they refuse to do so because they don't trust their abilities and much prefers to be a follower instead of a leader? I don't know if that makes sense..🥹

Ty so much for waiting anon (if you're still here?) I started looking back at old requests and I'm just like YEAH dunno why I waited so long on this omg. Please accept my thoughts on this MC!

Bael: He's seen MC's potential when they stepped in to help him out when Beelzebub decided to cause a ruckus in Abyssos and ditch yet again. Making sure to clean up the trouble, ease the devils, Bael was impressed and wanted MC to be a permanent resident in order to keeps things going well. However, when figuring out that MC would rather be in the shadows instead of the front lines, he understood completely. Though he wouldn't mind having a break now and then, it was a lot to ask that of MC. He still makes it a point to compliment their leadership skills when it's due and remind them often that they do have the potential.

Satan: He loves a good leader that reflects his own qualities. That's why he hypes up MC all the time and even gives them free reign to order around his military and nobles just to see how they act under the pressure. Too bad MC would rather be fine as a supporter, just following Satan's command when it comes to battles or how to conduct certain practices. Satan understands, but he's still randomly throwing MC into the leadership role now and then as a surprise.

Mammon: His master is the best at everything, so it's no surprise that they would be this good with leadership roles. I mean, they even got Bimet to listen to them and that's difficult for anyone who isn't Mammon to do. But, he can see without having to ask that MC would rather be more of a support person than a leader. Mammon still compliments them and while he may have a strange way of doing it...and without a filter...his heart is in the right place.

Beelzebub: Yeah, uh good luck with trying to convince Beel that MC would rather not be the leader of his country alongside Bael. He makes it a joke each time that MC should work part-time as the ruler of Abyssos and that he can make it to where MC kinda looks similar to him too. Needless to say, MC wasn't having it. But it's not like Beel is gonna remember, but he treats it like a fun joke each time. The only place where MC isn't holding up the fort...is the bedroom.

Leviathan: He gets frustrated easily when MC doubts themselves. He'd even be inclined to agree, that they don't have what it takes. But he doesn't truly think that about MC, in fact he hopes someday that they can get out of their head and be more of a leader and showcase those abilities to the fullest. He encourages them to spend more time with him, and perhaps he can influence that to a certain extent. Though...sometimes he's fine with MC being a subordinate under him. To think if they surpassed him...

Lucifer: Naturally, he doesn't want MC to do anything they aren't comfortable with so he understands when they would rather be on the support team helping out the healers and following orders. He knows what it's like being a leader in both Heaven and in Paradise Lost and it can get quite exhausting. He supports MC in any way possible, and compliments them when they do well and want affirmation.

Belphegor: Well, since this king is asleep majority of the time and leaves things up to his right hand noble, Beleth there's really not much to discuss about MC not being a leader. He can't really be bothered with it, so in short MC just supports Beleth and helps him with whatever he needs. They thought they'd get more relief with how things are run in Nifelheim but turns out it's just because it's Beleth and Belphie's teamwork that gets things done. So much for that!

Asmodeus: A leader? Well he thinks that mindset is adorable. He likes watching MC use their potential to the fullest, but in actuality he's just getting off mentally to their determination. When they aren't feeling like their skills are the best, he's right there to say he's got it, and boy does he. Asmo doesn't mind being the leader in just about everything. MC won't have to worry for a thing, the battles lasting mere seconds when it comes to having Asmo around. His favorite human just has to listen to him and the rest will follow. Maybe...MC should consider being a leader sometimes to resist his charms? Maybe...

#whb #jwhbasks❓#whb kings #whb headcanons #jwhbrequests📬

57 notes · View notes

joelmillergirl · 4 months ago

Text

Intro (end of the world)

Sweet Joel Slut Miller

Word count: 3,550

Warnings: not proofread, p in v, no cream pie for this one 😞, hard sex, but also soft sex! Not a lot of warnings for this one!

Authors Note: This took way longer than I liked but… I’m happy with it. 🤍

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

He started off as your patrol partner. He didn’t like you, never spoke more than four words to you every day, ‘Stay focused, be quick.’

His disinterest and bluntness had genuinely upset you at first, taking you aback when your cheery greeting was met with dead silence. You’d gotten used to it though, not once did you cease your talking, albeit, it was falling on deaf ears. Overtime, his eyebrows began softening, his lips quirked up at the side when you told a funny story, and with your teasing and your ability to never shut up on patrols, Joel found himself opening up to you, finding trust and comfort in yet another person he’d wanted to keep at arms length.

He never revealed much to you, only brief snippets of a life from before; a life he was starting to forget. He listened when you talked, placed an awkward hand on your shoulder when you cried, offered you his coffee when you ran out of your own. He had become your closest friend, one of your only friends.

Despite Jackson being a growing, close community, you often felt alone, your experiences feeling unmatched to those who had lost so much and had fought so much harder than you had. This feeling of discomfort and guilt led you to be quiet, always putting on a smile to avoid unanswerable questions. Joel saw right through this façade, going as far as cornering you in your own house, almost pleading with you to talk to him.

The rumours started within the first few days of your relationship, word spreading quick that you had managed to win over stone-hearted, broody Joel Miller, two polar opposites. Joel seemed to have no interest in these rumours, shaking his head at the mention of them. You on the other hand, became bashful at the thought, furrowing your eyebrows as if the idea was such a stretch.

Perhaps it was a stretch, the idea of Joel Miller dating made anyone snicker. He was undeniably attractive, physically pleasing to the eye with the Southern gentleman manners to match, naturally attracting many women in Jackson, older and younger. Some were brave to approach him, blinking their eyes at him over-dramatically, pushing their arms against their breasts in an effort to catch his eye, but none of these advances ever worked.

The hardest part about the rumours was how you couldn’t even blame anyone for thinking you were going out with Joel. You were always with each other, mostly found drinking in Jackson’s only ‘bar’, a small building with a home crafted bar top with tables strategically placed around the room, decorations hung up on the walls, most old and ripped. No one dared approach you when he was with you, Joel acting like somewhat of a bodyguard, looming over you. It was in his blood- you told yourself- his protectiveness, even though a small voice in the back of your head begged to differ.

You thump your fist against the wooden door, listening to the sound echo inside. A couple seconds of silence and then you hear heavy boots, seemingly trudging down some stairs, and then the door opened. Joel looked down at you, his usual stoic expression not shifting as you smile at him, “Drink?” You simply ask.

He tilts his head slightly, leaning on the doorframe. “You paying?” He joked lamely, a small smirk manifesting on his face.

“That’s not funny. You’re not funny.” You shake your head, a smile threatening your lips as he pulls himself off the doorframe, turning slightly to close his front door, then he’s stepping forward, pushing past you and down the porch steps.

He looks back once, jerking his head forward gently. You hop down the steps, falling in line next to him as he starts walking, sending a small glance to you. “Feel like I haven’t seen much of ya.” He confessed, looking down at the gravel below his feet.

You furrow your eyebrows, looking at him. “Oh… I mean, I picked up that extra patrol to help Maria out yesterday.”

Joel nods, “Yeah, I know. Went okay?” You were silent for a moment. “Did it?” He further pushed, looking at you properly.

“Infected were fine, not many… it was quiet.” You shrug, looking away from his piercing gaze. He didn’t say anything in response, but you could feel his eyes boring into the side of your face. “It was with Zack… I don’t know, he’s…”

“Pushy?” Joel finishes for you, finally looking away from you.

You sigh, raking your hands through your hair, “Well, yes, he is. But he’s a good person to be with on patrol, I just… He’s a bit much.”

Joel nods slowly, pushing into your side slightly as a group of women walk past, giggles following after them with a few looking back over their shoulders to look at him, you laugh under your breath, nudging him gently. Joel scowls, moving back to his original position, a gap between you. “Who’re you with tomorrow?” He asks.

You grimace, “Zack. Just this last time. Should be fine.” You perk up at the sight of the bar, your eyes craning to see how busy it was. You dreaded the thought of tomorrow's patrol, so used to being with Joel. His comforting aura replaced with an uncomfortable one with Zack. He wasn’t creepy, nor was he rude, just too enthusiastic about himself and his ability to charm women, he wasn’t what you were used to.

Joel stepped in front of you to open the bars’ door, moving to the side and nodding his head towards the entrance. You thank him quietly as you walk in, immediately moving to take your jacket off, the unexpected, yet pleasant warmth rushing through your body. “I’m kind of hungry.” You say, handing your jacket to Joel for him to hang up on the stand by the door.

“We’ll get you something to eat then.” Joel muttered, placing his hand on your shoulder and pushing you forward gently. You choose to sit down at a table in a corner, your back facing the wall. “Beer?” He asks, hand resting in front of you on the table.

Your eyes fall to his hand, tracing up the perceptible veins running up his arm. You blink and look up to him, “Uh, yes. Thanks.” Joel looks at you for a second longer, squinting his eyes before turning around, approaching Seth at the bar, the man who made the alcohol as best as he could given the circumstances, which surprisingly, after a few months of testing, had resulted in near identical flavours from the world before.

You found your mind wandering as you waited for Joel to come back, your head face down, completely tuning out everyone around you. After what seems like a few minutes, you look up, eyes scanning the bar for Joel, who is picking up two glasses when you see him. You’re about to stand up to help him but a voice pulls your attention away, Zack, talking loudly to his group of friends.

You’re still absentmindedly looking at Zack when Joel appears next to you, placing one glass in front of you along with a little bowl of peanuts. You look up at him when he stays standing, he’s looking at Zack “Thank you.” You say.

He looks down at you when you speak, eyes flickering to the bowl which you start grabbing from, then nods once, sitting down with his glass. He doesn’t drink though, remains looking at the liquid, every so often swishing it around in the glass. You frown, taking a sip of your own. He looks up at you, “You’re welcome.”

You almost laugh at the delayed response, opting to instead smile at him, eating the peanuts he had brought you. Next to you, you hear three sets of small giggles, belonging to young teenage girls, all of them looking at you and Joel before looking away at each other, whispering amongst themselves. Joel’s fingers sneak their way over to your side of the table, grabbing a handful of peanuts for himself, smirking. You laugh at his face, “Why’re you smirking?”

“Peanuts… Takes me back, eating them at the proper bars… Tommy sittin’ next to me. He was underage, of course.” Joel points out, shaking his head slightly, “Guess I was a bad influence.” He looks up at you, tilting his hand into his mouth and then finally taking his first drink of the beer, all while staring at you.

You look down, sigh, then look back up at him. “I wanna go to bed.” Joel raises his eyebrow, laughs slightly.

“It’s like eight. Not even I wanna go to bed this early. You’re older than you think, girl.” He says, looking at you amused. You roll your eyes at his remark, finishing off the last bit of your drink.

Later that night, he walks you home. You tell yourself he did it because of a deeper meaning, but you knew it was only because his house was a street away from yours. Still, you thanked him for walking you, listened to him tell you off for thanking him, and then said goodbye. You made sure to check on him from your window before you made your way up to your room, as if anything would happen to him in the confined town.

The sun was just creeping over the horizon as you stood by the patrol roster near the horse paddocks, a deep sigh escaping your lips. You really were dreading today's patrol, knowing it would be spent being subjected to Zack’s borderline narcissistic rants about himself. A part of you felt bad, he wasn’t a bad guy. He was attractive, he treated women with respect, he had an airy voice, higher in pitch. The opposite of Joel.

The comparison threw you off guard. When did you start thinking about him so much? Comparing him to other guys you interacted with? It was the rumours getting to your head, you told yourself as you made your way to the gate, where you knew Zack would be with both horses. Only, it wasn’t Zack you laid eyes on when you got there, rather Joel. He was holding the reins of his horse and yours, skilfully avoiding the eyes of everyone around him, until as if knowing you were there, he looked up and made eye contact with you.

The gap closed between you, questions and thoughts running through your head before you could even reach him. “Mornin’.” Joel muttered when you were close enough, his hand reaching out with your horse's rein.

You gently take it from him, “Thanks… Zack’s probably trying to find her right now though.” You laugh, placing your hand on the side of the horse's face, gently smoothing down the short fur there. Joel clears his throat gently in front of you.

“Probably not. You’re with me today.” He nods to himself, glancing at you for a second before turning away, slowly pulling his horse behind him. You stood still for a moment, more questions arising in your head. Zack appears in the corner of your eyesight, standing alongside one of the younger patrolmen, he sends you a friendly wave.

Maria stands tough in front of everyone, going through all the rules and regulations you have to listen to every week, you fight the urge to just barge through and get on with it. Everyone’s on their horses now, making sure their weapons are ready and that they have everything they need. You had already checked twice, and Joel seemingly had as well as he sat next to you listening to Maria’s words intently. He glances to the side at you, “Pay attention, don’t need you forgetting any of this when we’re out there.”

Another joke of his. “Funny.” You say with a flat tone, shaking your head. At last Maria had given the green light, sending the signal to open the large gate in front of everyone. You always got nervous watching the gates open, the intrusive thoughts and anxiety always hitting you suddenly. Your hands tighten around the leather, and you start consciously telling yourself to take deep breaths. Joel reaches over slightly and taps the side of your leg twice, nodding gently. You nod back, and then you’re moving forward.

You were on your favourite trail, everything about it was peaceful and normally quiet. You were quiet. Your usual chirpy attitude was replaced with a more sluggish one, something Joel picked up on instantly. “Favourite trail, huh?” He started, letting out a deep sigh, “Pretty cold, should light a fire when we get up to the safe house.”

“Mhm.” You hum, closing your eyes for a few seconds, “Warm fire.” The cooler air surrounded you, almost wrapping itself around you in a cold grasp. It temporarily lifted your worries, all your questions and anxieties soothing for a while as you focused on what you were meant to be doing; patrolling.

Joel effortlessly located any infected that were in the way, relying on you to move at his pace, watch his back and defend yourself as he focused on taking them all out. You worked in harmony, doing your jobs well, and by the end of the day, the sun now back at the horizon darkening the sky, you were exhausted.

The safe house was freezing when you finally were able to walk inside, seizing up your body. You immediately turned to Joel, opening your mouth to complain. “I know.” He said before you could, “Give me a minute to light it up. Make yourself useful and heat up our food.”

You roll your eyes at his command but obey nonetheless, fishing out the cans of food he had brought along and moving to the semi functional kitchen, doing your best to make the most appealing dinner you could. You walk out with the two plates in hand to a soothingly warm living room, Joel sitting by the fireplace peering at the flames. “Dinner.” You announce after a shameful amount of seconds simply admiring him, and more specifically, his back profile.

You glance up at him every now and then when you eat. Sometimes you make eye contact, other times you go unnoticed. You’re speaking before you can stop yourself, “Did you change patrols with Zack?”

He pauses, his hand hovers in the air for a moment before he places his fork down and looks at you properly. “Why?”

You shrug and look down. “Just asking. It’s a little weird, I wasn’t told it was changing.” He seems a little tense now, so you quiet down and finish eating, the air thick around you.

Joel stands up, grunting as he did. “I… I asked Maria to change ‘em. Thought you might’ve been uncomfortable with him.” You look up at him and try to catch his eye, which seems impossible given he was looking everywhere but you.

“You’re right.” You stand up, taking his empty plate from his hands, “Thank you.” You leave him standing there to go wash the dishes, cringing at yourself. Your mind was wandering, thinking about Joel in a way you hadn’t before. You couldn’t tell if it was in the heat of the moment because of him changing the patrols around or if you’d always felt this way, hidden inside you, scared to ruin your friendship.

He was sitting on the couch when you went back out, his posture drooped. He looked up when you walked in, his lips parting to let out a sigh. “Can I confess?”

You stop in front of him. “Confess what?”

He seems to debate something in his head, his eyes close and his head falls into his hands. “I thought it was a heat of the moment thing… I tried to stop, but I just can’t stop thinking about you.” He rambles, almost looking in pain to admit such a thing.

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say in one go.” You joke, stifling a smile. He looks up at you unimpressed, shaking his head. You frown, “Joel… I don’t know what to say. Is it a bad thing?”

He looks at you again, “What?” A log falls in the fireplace.

“Is it a bad thing that you think about me?” You clarify, shrugging your shoulders.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips gently. “Depends.” He finally answers, looking into your eyes.

You smile awkwardly, breaking eye contact. “I’ve been thinking about you too. And it doesn’t annoy me as much as I’d expect it to.” You tease.

Joel shakes his head, but you see a small smile. It tugs at your heart, taking you by surprise. In a moment of confidence and slight lust, you sit down next to each other, thighs brushing. You look at each other for a moment, studying every feature, every dimple, every colour. And then he kisses you.

His lips are soft against yours, and more skilled than you expected of him, his tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth, metaphorically and literally taking away your breath. You lean away from him, laughing softly before taking him in another kiss, this one more desperate and messy than the one before.

His hands rake up your thighs, moving over the dip between your hips and ribs then moving up to the side of your breasts, his fingers barely touching them. You move your torso to the side, forcing his hand to cup you, the unexpected gesture causing him to moan in your mouth, his hand subconsciously squeezing you harder.

Whilst his hands move up your body, mapping out every curve, your own hands sneak their way over his belt, skilfully unbuckling it before you suddenly stop. Joel stops kissing you but stays close, panting. “You can.” He whispers, so you continue.

In a matter of seconds, both of you are practically naked, only confined in your underwear. You palm him through his boxers, his cock already rock hard and throbbing under your heavy touch. He pushes you further down onto the couch, caging you down between his arms. Your hips move upwards, almost chasing his cock, silently begging for him to fuck you, a plea he listens to.

He reaches behind you and unclasps your bra, throwing it to the side on the floor. He immediately moves down to take your hardened nipple in his mouth, twirling it around with his tongue before closing his mouth around it, sucking gently. You arch up into his mouth, using your feet to push down his boxers, his cock springing out of the confinement.

He moves closer to you, one hand on the armrest behind your head, bracing himself up. His cock teases you, the head of him pushing against your underwear, leaving a spot of wetness where precum had dripped down. One of your hands delicately pushes your panties to the side, the other moves to his cock, moving up and down the thick length of him a few times before you take your hand away, moving down to rub your clit.

He pushes inside of you tentatively, stopping every couple of seconds to allow you to adjust around him, having not had anyone fuck you for a while. He whispered in your ear, soothing you and praising you for taking him so well, his spare hand rubbing your thigh, whilst your fingers moved slowly against your clit still, small moans spilling out your mouth.

He gave you a little while to breathe after he pushed himself as far as he could inside you, despite being desperate to fuck you how he wanted. “Take your time.” He whispered, shaking his head at you.

You nod at him, closing your eyes in ecstasy at the mere feeling of him. “You can move now.” Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer to you as he starts to roll his hips, moving slowly at first, allowing you to feel every stroke. You moan breathlessly in his ear, your hands raking up his back, digging your nails into his skin hard enough to leave a mark. He fucks you harder, pulling out almost completely and then pushing his way back inside you, the sound of your skin slapping together and your moans filling the otherwise quiet room.

You can feel your orgasm tearing its way through your body with every rough thrust Joel delivers, his pubic hair grazes your clit adding to the growing pressure. You whisper in his mouth you’re going to cum, your legs start to shake. The intensity of his thrusts slow down a bit, becoming unrhythmic and sloppy, his own release making its way through.

With a final few hard pushes inside you and gasps of pleasure, you cum, your muscles tensing up and squeezing around his cock, effectively causing his own orgasm to hit him. Joel manages to pull out in time, his cum spurting out onto your pussy. He breathes in deeply, a shaky breath, and then he’s kissing you gently, softer, brushing your hair out of your face as you come down from the high.

You sleep together for the first time in one bed, limbs tangled and breaths in sync as the night fades away into a new Dawn.

#joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel smut #joel x reader #tlou #tlou part 2 #tlou smut #tlou hbo #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #smut

107 notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 5 months ago

Text

False Prophets

A/n was looking through my drafts and decided to let this logan fic leave the vault also fun fact the title is inspired by a line in a gracie abrams song

Summary: After the laboratory that's served as the only home you've ever known is ambushed by those that don't believe in the mission you've dedicated your life to, you're left with no other option but to trust the stranger that helped do so.

Warnings/info: slight allusions to manipulative use of an unspecified religion, reader has a touch of stockholm syndrome bc she was raised by a cult that experiments on mutants, brief mentions/implications of being medically abused by a caretaker, age gap (reader is in their early 20's)

----

The knife is as intangible as everything else. You squeeze the blade's handle regardless, knuckles straining against your skin as you try to force the metal's weight to mean something to you.

How did--how did things turn so quickly? Father Daniel grabbed you by the arm, he dragged you up the stairs and into the above ground. He gave you little instruction and even less explanation.

Protect the cause. That was all he could say before the defiers found you. Things had moved so quickly, your instincts allowing you to neutralize an assailant before--before the world became little more than a nauseating haze.

The pulsing ache behind your skull, the weight of your limbs, the resistance of your lungs, the dark spots clouding your vision. You set a palm against the floor, the coolness of the tile doing little to ground you. It's not unusual for you to feel unwell after over exerting your abilities, but this has been something else.

You need to--to evaluate, to begin the contingency process. Who knows how much time you've lost?

You bend your legs, hand pressing against the ground as you try to stand. A sharp pain immediately latches onto every tendon in your body. You screw your eyes shut. Breathe. Breathe.

A soft creak brings you back to where you are. The handle in front of you begins to twist. The door's pushed open, revealing a man who occupies too much of the doorway for you to consider bolting.

His attention shifts around the small space before settling on you. Everything about the stranger is harsh--his stance, his expression, the blood staining his clothing and skin.

The man takes a step forward. You flinch, head hitting the closet's back wall. He presses his lips together before exhaling. He holds his hands out in front of him as he steps back to where he was before, behind the doorway's threshold. "I'm not going to hurt you."

One of the many lies Father Daniel had warned you about. When you don't respond, the man sighs again. "So drop the knife. You look more likely to hurt yourself with it than me."

The perceived weakness only adds to your mounting unease. You scoff. He may have the physical advantage, but you have something he doesn't. You tilt your head, ignoring the pounding of your skull as you focus on mentally reaching for him. He's easy enough to latch onto, but actually doing anything takes more from you than you'd ever admit.

You take a deep breath, letting your energy build before pushing it onto him. It takes longer than it should, but eventually, your mind finds the strength to obey you. Just as the man's starting to bend to your will, his feet beginning to drag against the floor, your hold on him lapses.

Great--you've revealed your only real advantage and for what. You try to stand a little straighter, eyes landing on the stranger. You stare at him with wide eyes, fear making it difficult to breathe right. Father Daniel has always warned you about what happens to your kind in the real world.

You don't know what you expect from him--anger, horror, something else equally brutal. Instead of displaying any of that, the corner of his mouth briefly pulls itself upwards. "Got it out of your system, kid?"

"I'm not a kid." The raspiness of your own voice surprises you. "Where is he?"

He seems to know what you mean immediately. "The man that held you hostage and experimented on you for what--twenty years?"

Of course that's what he'd believe. "Father Daniel is a visionary with a divine calling, who is doing what he needs to do to pioneer a better future for mutants and humans alike."

"Yeah? Is that why he hasn't let you go outside in two decades?"

You scoff. It's not--the situation isn't like that, and to pretend that things are that black and white is ridiculous. You've been outside. Family outings to the movies after particularly strenuous medical trials, birthdays, and sometimes Christmas. Sure, you're not worldly, but that's the cost your family pays for safety. Until society is no longer cruel to your kind, you're safer in the lab.

If you were feeling a little more like yourself, you'd tell him all of this. But all you can manage is a defensive, "I've been outside."

His eyebrows draw together, something in the look coming terribly close to un-harsh. He doesn't believe you. Whatever. This man's opinions mean nothing to you. The only thing you know about him is that he's one of the ones that decided to invade your home in order to target you and Father Daniel's work.

His eyes drift downwards, landing on the band-aids stuck to your forearms. Some urging part of you wants to explain that things aren't always like this. That your labs and medical trials only make a fraction of your life, that these last few weeks have only been extra uncomfortable because Father Daniel has been getting closer. But the words needed to explain this to a stranger feel so far, and you doubt he'd be able to understand, regardless, so you settle for turning your forearms away from him.

"Congratulations," he mumbles dismissively, attention shifting away from your arms, "You're going again."

"What?" He sighs, as if there's something deeply irritating about the question. He can't--he can't possibly mean to take you from here. You squeeze the knife's handle. "No. I'm not--" Your protests don't impact him in the slightest. "No."

"I know it doesn't seem like it," there's something measured about his gruff assurance, "But you'll be okay if you come with me. I'm taking you to people that want to help you."

You press your a hand against the wall, as if the plaster will offer you a means of escape. "No one like you wants to help someone like me."

He watches you for a moment, something behind his expression becoming a little less fragile. "Someone like me?"

The man takes a measured step forward, crossing the door's threshold. Dread digs into you as your mind tries to reach for him. You've barely touched his energy before a piercing ache in your skull forces the connection to snap. If the stranger noticed your attempt at self defense, he gives no indication of it, taking another step in your direction.

He continues forward, his movements slow and definitive until he's so close you have to tilt your chin upwards to look him in the eye. Like this, his anger feels less...prominent.

After a moment, his eyebrows draw together slightly. If you didn't know any better, you might have mistaken the look for a barely there grimace. The man drops his gaze downwards, and you follow his line of sight.

His hand, the back of his palm--he had been weaponless before. And now, sharp, metal blades have split his skin from the inside out. You lift your chin to meet his gaze. He's not exactly smiling, but there's something gentle about the set of his mouth.

You angle your head downwards again, carefully pulling your free hand away from the wall. You move slowly, holding your arm out between the two of you for a moment before letting your pointer finger touch the edge of one of the blades. In another life, you might've been willing to tell him how cool you find his mutation.

He pulls back immediately, his hand moving away from you as his claws retract back into his skin. "You get it now?"

You press your lips together. Just because he's a mutant doesn't mean he's like you. Very few people understand your family's mission, and he isn't one of them. The fact that he broke in here is proof of that. But the ache in your skull is too disorientating for you to be efficiently hostile, and maybe there's a small chance that the fact he wanted to ease you when he could have easily just attacked you is throwing you slightly.

There is no good answer, so instead, you offer another question, "Where is he?"

"He left." The response is flat. "Ran downstairs and then disappeared."

What? Father Daniel--he left. That's not...that's not part of the contingency plan.

Okay--you let out a breath in an attempt to neutralize your expression. If Father Daniel left, he must have had a reason. There are other things that needed protecting. He'll come back.

You must look as thrown as you feel, because the man sighs. "Do you understand now?" When you don't react, he pauses. "You can stay here--in an abandoned warehouse, or you can come with and--and get some help."

Help. The word digs at you. You're not--not some kind of victim. You were chosen for a higher purpose, your mutation was given to you so that you could help others. However, that doesn't mean that the prospect of staying here, in a now compromised lab, without your family, isn't much more unappealing than leaving with this stranger.

You swallow, ignoring the lump in your throat as you weigh your options. Maybe there's something to remaining within a certain proximity to those that attempted to destroy Father Daniel's work. You could learn about their operations, their goals and desires; then, when the time is right, you'll have information to share with your family. It might not be the simplest task, but it's better than waiting.

This man also knows more about the outside world than you do. You could always just use his offer as a way to get some distance and then bolt once you're somewhere more secure. It might be easier to find Father Daniel from somewhere...out there.

You can't will yourself to look at him as you nod, wounded pride only amplifying your anxiety.

"Okay." His voice gives you no indication of what he thinks of your compliance, but something tells you that he'll be cautious of you for awhile. "You gonna drop the knife?"

The request is spoken so casually, you do briefly consider listening. You've never been much of a physical fighter, and you're sure the stranger could easily overpower you regardless of your small weapon, but you can't bring yourself to let it go. Besides, the stranger gets to have multiple knives physically attached to him. You should get to keep your one.

You briefly lift your chin in a vague gesture towards his hands. "I'll lose mine when you lose yours."

Some aspect of him seems to shift, his brow relaxing and his lips pressing together. The differences are gone too soon for you to dwell on them, his expression returning to its default blankness as he turns. You assume that's the closest thing to an 'okay' that you're getting, so after a beat, you follow him.

----

a/n i was considering adding to it and it lowkey feels like a waste of lore not to, so if you'd like a part 2 lmk!!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool and wolverine x reader #x men x reader #xmen x reader #hugh jackman x reader

131 notes · View notes