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writella · 10 months ago

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Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan…” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s half past 10.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever. “8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I really do miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him— no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was and how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time because, for once, he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won.

He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

#negan smith smut #negan smith x reader #negan smith fanfiction #negan smith x you #negan smith x y/n #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #twd smut #twd fanfiction #twd fic #the walking dead #negan smith

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gyuswhore · 11 months ago

Text

Remembrance of Ice

"Fear does anything but land with precision."

PAIRING: ice king!xu minghao x fem spy!reader

SYNOPSIS: Xu Minghao rules over a land where the sun never rises and crops never grow, shunned by the world for their nature so ruthless it has them caged within their borders.

That is, until you land straight into the dragon's den to find the story untold.

CONTAINS: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, kinda lore heavy, reader and minghao are in a perpetual spat, talks of military and political power, manipulation (not by minghao), ft. chan

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

masterlist

[AN]: MIKA DAY MIKA DAY MIKA DAY except im a day late bc I don't know how to time manage ANYWAY mika my love I hope you enjoy this you mentioned villain hao that one time and I stuck to it praying this is good ksjgnvrkjgn @toruro

id love to turn this into a longer, more detailed fic in the future, I really like this concept and theres loads more I could do with it. lmk if you'd like to see it hehe

edit: had to repost a couple times cuz it wasn't showing in the tags. it still isn't but idc anymore if this only reaches mika then so be it sgnkrtjg

The cold was the worst.

Your iced pride had been swallowed down to accept the flimsy cloth the guards that pushed you into this stone dungeon had given you. Not that it was doing much to help you, the thin fabric acting as more of a permeable layer than your gear.

Huddling into yourself, you breathe out warm exhales in the hopes that it’d do something about the face you couldn’t feel anymore. With the sight of your discolouring fingernails, you hope the people in this wretched place would decide what they wanted to do with you before you succumbed to the cold. There’s a bad taste in your mouth at the thought of dying a death like this – that the cold would become your ultimate demise.

The croning of the metal doors of your prison wrench open in what feels like a deafening sound, the screech having you throw the flimsy blanket off your body in haste. You would not be seen taking advantage of their supposed kindness.

The two guards that trudge in are quick to tell you to stand. You nearly laugh at the prospect of doing anything they ask.

“What do you want?” your voice has eroded to a brassy sound.

“Stand up,” the guard repeats, his face covered in the black balaclava that wraps around everything but spares his eyes. Cold, dark, soulless.

Your pride screamed to refute. But you were at a dead end, and perhaps it was time to accept it. Eyeing the weapons strapped to both their waists, moreso the lack thereof of your own, you make the first attempt to pull yourself up. It’s difficult, you find, needing a moment to regain your senses before pushing up completely. You tried not to show it, not wanting to look weak in front of the very people you need to show strength.

“Hands,” the other guard gruffs out.

You hesitate before bringing your shivering wrists forward, cursing yourself for not being able to control your own body. The cuffs they bind to your wrists are somehow even colder, and you have to consciously bite back a cursed wince.

Your resolve begins to truly thin when you struggle to simply take a few steps forward, the muscles in your legs frozen like everything else in the room. You manage to not fall. A commendable feat when your goals went from overtaking a couple of (very armed) guards to simply not falling over like a newborn fawn.

You feel them lightly shove you out the gates, something you should not have struggled to recover from from, but alas, you can only grit your already ground teeth as you try to not tip over entirely. The halls of the dungeons are made of the same gray concrete as your cell, the tight corridor leading you out into an only slightly larger hall with a single door at the seemingly dead end.

The large brass handle with the distinct reptile circling its expanse stares at you. You are forced to consider the idea that these may be your final breaths.

One of the guards squeezes out into the hall and approaches the door, three sharp knocks to the wood before you hear a muffled “come in.”

Your feet remain planted to the floor as you feel another push of the guard that remains behind you, urging you forward as the other one stands at the door, expecting you to walk inside. Perhaps some would classify this as a moment of weakness, especially when all you’ve been taught is to face death with anything but fear. But it seeps into your bones regardless.

You wonder if all those stories you were told of fearless soldiers and sheilds of humans were as lionhearted in their final moments as the storytellers claimed, as brave as the legends that followed.

You considered yourself one of the best in your field, most of your peers agreed. And yet, that moment of hesitancy in the face of potential death caged you in an unimaginable retaliance. What on Earth was wrong with you?

And so you moved forward, one foot in front of the other with resilience fueled by pure outrage at your own feeble mind. You would do as you were taught, you would march into the mouth of the dragon because you were not allowed to fear death. You refused to meet your end as a coward.

The cuffs that encase your wrists burn at the skin as you walk into the room. It’s small, small enough to force you and the two guards to shift closer to keep from the man that stands across the room.

You almost don’t notice him, which alarms you immensely. Regardless of the stark black attire that matches the dark, gloomy atmosphere of the tiny room, the man seems to blend into the shadows, becoming part of the walls. His back faces you as he looks out the window, like he’s invigorated with the snow that drifts to the earth.

It’s nighttime. It’s always night time here.

“The prisoner, sire,” the one in your left gruffs out.

The man at the window turns to face you, the sight of his face causing you to bite back a gasp.

His skin is the same colour as the snowflakes that fall behind him, near glistening white. It seems to make every other feature of his face stand out in earnest; the black of his eyes, the crimson of his lips, the dark of his hair.

He’s gorgeous, you decide, but you also decide that you may be about to die at his hands.

There’s also the matter of how he was addressed by the goons that flank you. Unless sire means something else in this godforsaken land, you should have realized who this is by now.

Xu Minghao’s expression remains unchanged, the mild disinterest evident as he barely glances at you before taking a seat at the makeshift office area in the middle of the room. He leans back against the plush, finally regarding the other people in the room with words.

“You can leave.”

You hear the guards begin to file out the room.

“Ah—take off the restraints before you go. And shut the door.”

You want to describe what his voice sounds like, and while indifferent to another, it’s like a million icicles plunging into your eardrums. It isn’t until the guard blocks your view to unlock you that you realize how strained your eyes were, like it was draining to simply look at him.

When both guards have left the vicinity, doors closed with a deep thud, you set yourself in steel. Just because he was about to kill you didn't mean you were about to make it easy for him.

You wonder why a king was meddling to discard a mere enemy officer, but if you knew anything of their bloodthirst, this was a form of amusement.

“Well?” you say, your voice still bare-there.

“Take a seat.” He means the lone chair that stands on your side of the table.

“No,”

His eyebrows shoot up, “No?”

You stare at him, and it's the first time he’s looked at you for more than three seconds.

“No,” you reiterate. “If you’d like to eliminate me, I’d suggest we cut to the chase. I don’t want your bleak hospitality.”

“Are you offering your head?”

“I’m asking you to quit the niceties. We know what you are.”

He studies you for a moment before continuing quietly, “Who is we?”

Your jaw is set as you calm yourself down, “The people who keep coming into your barren lands, only to never return. My people.”

“Your people that keep invading this barren land, only to find out that actions have consequences?”

“The mere thought of us is a consequence for you vermin,” you spit.

“Your people, you had said?” There’s a strange hint of jest in his voice, and it only infuriates you even more.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Your people who have not once attempted to negotiate your release from us vermin, I thought your people were known for your camaraderie. Especially for such an important soldier, do they truly consider you that disposable? ”

The low fester of embers had now ignited into a full flame, the rage becoming near indescribable. Aside from how heinous, you had underestimated how infuriating his kind could be.

“You know nothing of me!” your voice is loud, your own shade of venom that laces your tongue.

And then he says your name.

You falter.

He shouldn’t know that. You don’t have a nametag, nothing to identify you on any record, anywhere. And yet, you know what you’ve heard is your name that fell from his lips, undeniably so.

He continues with the faintest sneer, “Captain of the SUN team, first in line from your peers for a promotion, and of course, right hand of your idiotic General of the Army.”

You can't be sure if you’re shivering from the cold or the rage that courses through every vein in your body. Perhaps it was the latter as you feel your mind shortcircuit at the sight of his smug face.

And, of course, with the way you lunge.

It takes barely a second for your numb fingers to reach his pristine throat, curling with the need to rupture his airways beyond measure. It also takes him barely a second to step out of the way, causing you to thud into the table, fingers faltering as they grasp onto nothing.

The air is knocked out of your chest, and you don’t realize what’s happened. He’s quick, and you’re out of shape. He’s on the other side of the table, hands in his pockets as he stares at your weak attempts at regaining your bearings.

“This is the problem with your people. Why must your first response to any confrontation be to fight to the death?”

Leaping over the table, you attempt to corner him against the wall, only to find him leap over to the other side of the table when you advance, switching your initial spots. It might have even been laughable if you weren’t so heated, like children running around in circles in a lethal game of tag.

He takes advantage of yet another moment of weakness you’ve shown, pushing the separating table directly into you, forcing you back as you stumble to hit the window. The opening is just enough to fit your waist, with no room for your legs to leap back over, locked in at the sides of the table that effectively cages your body between wood and glass.

Your first instinct is to push the wretched thing back, but you realize very quickly that you can’t. It shouldn’t explain how he was able to cage you in a place like this, especially with his scrawny build. Unless he’s locked it in place somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out to mostly yourself.

“You’ve weakened, little soldier. I heard you were better than this.”

“Let me go so I can prove it to you then,” you spit, still fruitlessly struggling against your prison.

“Had your chance,” he states, hands in his pockets, an eyebrow cocked. “Of course, fear does anything but land with precision. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“What makes you think I’m scared of you?”

“Oh, you are such a simpleton,” he narrows his eyes.

“You haven’t been talking about anything of substance for someone who doesn’t claim to be scared. What’s holding you?” you gruff.

He stares for a moment like he’s studying you. For some reason, your struggling falters, his piercing gaze leaving you wondering what he had up his sleeve.

“You know you are weak. Your strength isn’t nearly where it had been when you arrived. I’ve also been told you’ve been starving yourself.”

“I said I don’t want your hospitality!”

“You were supposedly indifferent to everyone in the room, including the guards, but you kept your eyes on me like a hawk. The first mention out your mouth was of death.”

“Was I supposed to expect compassion?” you mock, but the desperation lingers in your voice.

“Can’t be helping knowing nobody is looking for you,” he finishes.

“Because you would’ve sent me on my way home if they were? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Quite right, yes.”

“Like you did with the other soldiers that seemingly disappear in your lands?”

“Nobody asked, so we did not deliver.”

“Lies!” It comes out as a near scream.

You think of all the stretched months that turned into inevitable years trying to retrieve your lost manpower. Of course, your higher-ups asked for hostage negotiations, did everything in their power to bring them home.

Fitting for the man in front of you to deny it, but infuriating nonetheless.

“And you’re wildly defensive,” he sighs. “You’re scared. Of being in enemy territory, of dying, of being alone. One or the other, that’s for you to decide.”

You want to scream again.

“They lied to you, soldier. And I may be a villain in your self-written history books, but you will come to know of the harsh truth, from me or anybody else. You should know what exactly it is that you’re fighting for.”

“What are you yapping about?”

He turns back around, moving to the door before rapping a knock. The guards re-enter the room.

“Take her to base.”

“Chan?”

He stands at the entrance of the tent, speaking to somebody in armor with a solemn expression. He turns around at the sound of his name, catching sight of you walking up.

He breaks out into a smile at the sight of you, eyes going wide as he excuses himself to sprint over. You’re not quite sure if the fatigue is causing you to hallucinate, but with the way his face becomes clearer with every step he takes, you have to convince yourself that you’re not.

As appropriate as it is to slam into him in a hug, considering you thought he was dead mere seconds ago, you can’t see yourself caring.

“They told me it was you that arrived,” he says.

“Oh my god, I thought you were dead. Everybody thought you were dead. How are you here?” you breathe into his ear.

He pulls away slowly, and you note how he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Chan?”

“There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

A lot to unpack there was, you realize, as the guards leave you with Chan when said to. The questions doubled when you entered the significantly warmer tent to find it swarming with familiar faces, busy working on tables littered with charts and papers, military symbols drifting overhead.

Chan is quick to let you know that none of the ‘fallen’ soldiers were missing at all. In fact, were stationed here at this military base.

Your gaping mouth renders no response as he fishes you both through the hustle and bustle of the industrial canopies, destination unknown. As much as you’d kick yourself for your lack of vigilance, you find yourself trusting him to take you wherever, your mind preoccupied with trying to absorb every detail of your environment.

If this was what sensory overload was, you’re not sure you like it blocking your thinking capabilities this much.

He lets you into another tent, littered with trunks and equipment, lit with a couple hardworking oil lamps. He goes to rummaging in random trunks as you watch.

“What is this place?”

“Inventory. Clothes and a bunch of other stuff,” he says as he throws you a pile of fabric. “Here, change into this, it’s warmer.”

He leaves you alone in the tent to change, which you do quickly to meet him again outside. Moving the flap of the tent away, you find him out in the snow waiting.

It isn’t until you’ve adequately cornered him that you can ask. “Chan, are being held here against your will? Is everybody here—”

“Wait, hold,” he holds a hand up to silence you. “Just—let me explain.”

You’re rendered silent in a corner of this base camp, albeit a little warmer than when you came in with the effective coat you’re now shrouded in. Other than being lost in a mine of confusion, you notice the calculated expression on Chan’s face when you bring it up. Like he didn’t know how you’d react.

“There’s been a lot of lies our entire life. One’s that we didn’t realize till we landed here,” he starts, facing the endless plane of snow to the East.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” you ask, keeping your eyes steady on him.

“These people aren’t cruel, nor are they the animals we’ve been told they are,”

“Chan, what is wrong with you?” you take a step back in mild exasperation.

“Listen, this sounds insane, but it’s only because we’ve been brought up to believe anything the government told us, anything our superiors drilled into our heads. I’d started having doubts while we were still home—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nobody wanted to tell you anything. You were more loyal to the General than you were to yourself!”

“I—because…” you falter. He was right.

“They’ve taken advantage of the way this land refuses to retaliate. We’ve been in the wrong this whole time.”

“I don’t know what it is that they’ve been feeding you for so long, but this isn’t the Chan that left home all those months ago.”

“You’re right,” you hear, but it’s not Chan.

Whipping your head around, you find the overlord himself walking to where you were.

“Apologies for interrupting, but I think you’re needed back there, Chan,” Minghao informs him as he regards him.

You whip back around to Chan, “Wait, you can’t just—”

“Listen, it’s going to take you a little bit, but I promise you’ll see what I mean,” he reiterates.

“This is absurd—” you start again but are cut off by him again. He lurches forward, grasping both your wrists in his, forcing you to pay attention to him.

“Do you trust me?”

“W-what?”

“Answer the question. Do you trust me?”

You stare at him, stumped for a moment. Did you trust him? Five months ago, before he left, you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. Yet, now you find yourself hesitating.

“Yes. I trust you,” you decide out loud.

“Then give it time. You’re shaken, you’re exhausted, you’re confused. You’ll make your decision yourself when you see for yourself.”

He watches your shoulders droop ever so slightly, a clear sign of your surrender. “Fine.”

“Good.”

You turn back to find the other man long gone, the vast expanse of snow and darkness engulfing the plane that leads to the congregation of tents. Chan begins to lead you back, mumbling about how he needs to get back inside.

It’s during your trudge that you realize there’s something that still bugs you, supposing you’d get your answer if you asked him.

“What’s the king doing meddling in military bases and war prisoners?” you begrudgingly ask.

“He’s very… hands-on, I guess. He cares about what happens around here, his land, his people.”

“Like a normal ruler?” you mumble in annoyance.

“When was the last time you saw the General leave his office?”

You haven’t.

A month. That’s how long you’ve been at this base camp.

Enlightenment may be an understatement to what this place is giving you, absurdities that they call the truth. Absurdities, as you may have called them a moon ago.

This barren country did not have a military, you were told. These makeshift headquarters were made to keep up with the endless external aggressions from the other side.

“They’re all people given the choice to stay. We needed the manpower. Military precision was never our forte,” Minghao explains.

You hate how he has an answer to every critical question of yours, how you’ve gone past thinking this was some elaborate, well-thought-out story to put your guard down, to put everyone’s guard down.

Sitting at this wooden table with maps and charts littering the surface, he looks you down from the other end. Chan remains silent next to you, knowing that if you asked, he would’ve given you the same response.

“So you’re trying to build an army? To what, retaliate?” Your arms remain crossed over your middle.

“We cannot retaliate,” Chan says.

“The difference in military power is too much, anyway. We can’t fight something that fights us in different ways,” Minghao finishes. He looks stressed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You watch him drag a chair to sit down.

The majority of camp was resting for the day, leaving the base relatively empty save for the three of you.

“Different ways?” you question.

You watch him close his eyes, running a hand over his face. “Chan, you told me she was smart.”

“She’s having a harder time adjusting than I thought she would,” he chuckles humourlessly in response.

“Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to take another month to figure it out on my own?” you snap.

“What have you been told about our borders? Why is this land the way that it is,” Minghao starts.

You don’t have an answer because you’ve never been told. The general was forever adamant that a land and its people were interconnected, that Minghao’s nation was as ruthless as the land itself was.

“What about what you thought?” he tries again.

“Nature’s weird, I don’t know,” you huff.

“You were so loyal to a man that had no rhyme to his reason. How blind did you have to be—”

“Keep to the question,” you monotone.

He exhales before continuing. “This land is the incarnation of balance. It might not look like it, but we play the most important role in making sure your nations remain stable.”

“Regular communities cannot survive in this weather, the livestock perishes, and crops cannot grow. Everything that makes humanity thrive remains absent here.” Minghao places his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “But it remains like this here so the rest of the world can foster humanity; that’s the purpose of this land.”

“A sacrifice of sorts,” Chan adds quietly.

“My land remains lifeless so others may thrive,” Minghao finishes.

“Why…why this land?” you question after a few beats.

He leans back against his chair, “I don’t know. Perhaps my ancestors were cursed. Perhaps this is just what this land was made to do. All I know is that my mother and father left me the job of ensuring this place is protected, as their mother and father taught them. All for the sake of keeping balance.”

It was wildly ironic that a place that was the definition of extreme was seemingly also harboring the balance to this world, but you found no jest in his words. You had also learned that it was the more unbelievable things here that would turn out to be most true, so you let yourself believe in whatever lore you had just unlocked.

“So you can’t retaliate,” you echo.

“Not if we wish to keep the peace, no.”

Chan chimes in this time, “This is all really just a misunderstanding that’s fallen into the wrong hands. The General’s a bloodthirsty fuck; this is just an excuse for him to retain power and satisfy all his sick fantasies.”

“How do we fix this then?” you dare to ask.

“We can’t,” Minghao says. “Not right now, at least. If we want to make a move, we have to grow as an entity. What your General doesn’t understand is how he’s feeding his own enemy whenever he sends some poor soldier our way.”

“That’s what everyone’s been working on. The SUN team is nearly complete with you here. We need to equip everyone here with skills more than anything,” Chan says.

“And then?”

“And then we let the General know who’s side we’re really on.”

Xu Minghao had a very peculiar way as King.

Other than remaining in the same bunkers as the rest of the population, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone besides the guards address him as sovereign. He sat with everyone during mealtimes, spoke to everyone like a friend, yet remained the one in charge.

Over the months, you remained the last newcomer of the bunch, learning slowly but surely of your new truth. That was, until your sixth month.

It happened during breakfast, walking out into the dark sky to greet the person Minghao had told you was the newest aggravated prisoner. You knew her from headquarters, having seen her multiple times as she trained, but never learned her name. Her brows unfurrow slightly at the sight of you, recognizing you immediately.

You try to stay as others who remain familiar to the newcomer speak to her, adding where your credibility was due. You underestimated how difficult it would be, not because she was being frustrating, but because she was frustrated.

With every surge of exasperation she showed, every snarky remark to words of reason, you saw yourself. A strange, heavy feeling sets itself in your chest, making it difficult to speak, difficult to simply stand there as you watch her ideologies rendered as lies.

So you excuse yourself, moving out of the way into the snow you’d learned to make a confidant instead of an irritation. It wasn’t strange to find somebody contemplating alone in the snow, the constant darkness ready to keep everyone company.

You aren’t sure what it is that you want to contemplate, but simply sitting in the snow helps, allowing you to remain unstimulated. The weird feeling remained, but what also remained was your brain's inability to distinguish one from the other.

You don’t know how long you had been sitting there, but are aware of the lighter sheen of blue that the sky has turned into when you hear trudging behind you. You turn to find Minghao approaching, halting a foot away.

“Did you see the newcomer?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’re handling it, she’ll be fine.”

It falls silent once more. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t warmed up to the man in the past months, perhaps even enough to call yourself friends. Chan had quite the role to play in that.

He invites himself to sit next to you in the snow, letting out a deep exhale that fogs the air. “I wanted to ask if you were okay.”

You’re stumped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” he chortles. “You’ve been sitting here for a good three hours, so I only thought it was natural to assume.”

“It’s not good to assume.”

“And that you can’t be doing too well seeing the newcomer.”

“...Got me,” you whisper, still gazing into the far-off mountains.

“You can talk about it if you want,” he offers.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you sigh.

“Or is there too much to talk about?” he raises a brow.

You’ve turned to look at him at this point, making out his facial features with the low light of the lamps that burn in the distance.

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Know what I’m thinking about.”

“You’re easier to read than you think,” he chuckles. “Why? D’you think I’m reading your mind?”

“Seems like it sometimes.”

“Do you miss home?” he asks, albeit a little cautiously.

“I do. I miss what it meant to me. I don’t think I could go back and feel the same way, though,” you answer. If he was trying to get you to open up, he was succeeding.

“Why’s that?”

You snort, “Obvious, isn’t it? Can’t call a place full of lies home. I can’t believe I let them manipulate me to that extent.”

You think of the mental turmoil on the girl's face.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were doing what you taught.”

“Other people found holes in the story, though. They saw the beginnings of what was really happening. I was so blind, they couldn’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. It was the General’s job to be conniving. What use if his right hand could see through it. With how long it took you to come around, it only shows how dangerous he is.”

You remain silent as you absorb his words. There was truth to them, but you find it hard to dissolve it into your mindset.

“What matters is you're here now, that you chose the truth despite what you’d grown to learn.” He’s staring right at you when he says it, something you find as you look up to do the same.

There’s a lurch in your stomach, one that has your cheeks burning despite the temperature.

“How do you not hate any of these people? How do you not hate me? We’re the reason your people are so detested,” your voice comes out shaky, yet thick with a weird mix of emotions.

“I hate the ones that choose to be like this despite knowing what the truth is.”

“Like the General?”

“Like the General.”

It’s silent as you watch him gaze into your soul, an uncomfortable feeling yet one that stops you from looking away.

You want to kiss him.

The thought alone has you jumping in place, shaking off the way your body seems to have seized up. You move your knees away in blatant ignorance, looking at anything but his face.

“What?” he asks at your sudden change in behavior.

“Nothing!” you say, a little too loud to be considered casual.

“Why’d you move away?”

“I didn’t!” Of course, you realize how stupid you sound. You huff as you continue, “Just—I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?”

“Goodness, you need to learn to drop things.”

“Not when it involves me,” he says.

“Who says it involves you?”

“Do we need to go over this again?”

You look at him in question, only to realize he could read you just as well as he could at any other instance.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you finally say.

“Try me.”

“Would you hate me if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

He pauses for an agonizing few moments, ones that make you feel like erupting into a ball of fire that could melt all the snow in the land. Your numb fingers fidget with each other, hating yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

Minghao uses his mouth in ways other than words when you feel it against your lips. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening and another to let your body take control.

He’s kissing you so painfully slow it has you wondering if you’re imagining it, the feeling of his surprisingly warm lips on your frozen ones. You pull away for a moment, a question ringing in your mind.

“I’m not making a mistake, am I?” you breathe into his mouth.

“Absolutely not,” he says, diving back in with a force not present before.

You throw your arms around him in instinct to keep yourself from falling back onto the snow in his newfound enthusiasm. Not that you can find yourself complaining, especially not when his tongue prods against your bottom lip, urging you to open up for him.

You let him pull you closer, let him explore your mouth, let him hold you as you give yourself up to the feelings that now, after so long, have finally boiled over.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, remaining in each other’s arms as you gain your bearings.

“Figured it out, did you?” he asks with the slightest smirk.

Of course, with every passing instance that he’s reminded you of the mental walls you don’t seem to have with him, this was perhaps his end goal. You want to ask when he figured out you liked him before, wondering if he had known before you had in the first place.

He doesn’t let you, though, as his smiling lips meet yours again, chasing the feeling that's come forth after months of waiting.

You’ll find out the run down soon enough. For now, you give into him, believing in your ice-cold heart that Xu Minghao would never lie to you.

Taglist: @weird-bookworm @rubyreduji @vampirexlotita @simqly-yunjin @tomodachiii

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #minghao #minghao fluff #minghao angst #minghao imagines #minghao x reader #the8 #em.writes

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tangibletechnomancy · 8 months ago

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Doing It Wrong On Purpose: Episode 1 - The Un-Ship

Today's experiment: What happens if I prompt for something, and then negative prompt all the main keywords, plus various synonyms and related words?

The answer: Some gloriously weird stuff.

For example, let's look at a negative cat:

Positive prompt: A cat on a windowsill during a storm

Negative prompt: Cat, feline, felidae, kitty, kitten, animal, pet, windowsill, window, glass, pane, house, storm, rain, water, lightning, thunder, clouds, torrent, downpour, snow, blizzard, wind, windy

Interesting! Let's get a little more fantasy with it and try for an anti-deer:

Positive prompt: A deer in a peaceful flowery meadow, crystals, midnight, fantasy, colorful

Negative prompt: Deer, cervidae, animal, elk, moose, stag, doe, fawn, reindeer, antelope, cervid, antlers, flowers, night, dark, trees, foliage, bloom, stars, night, tranquil, fantastic, vibrant, cool, magic, blue, moon, sky, crystal, stone, statue, topiary, floral, blossom

Between these two experiments, including a few dozen other generations that remain unposted, one thing I can say for sure is that for living subjects, it's a great way to get the kind of anatomical wonk that older models are (in)famous for - and it makes sense why, the model is trying to make something that looks like a certain subject...but once it starts to look too much like it, well, shit, we told it NOT to do that! Break something up! Given that I love that kind of wonk, I think I've found a useful tool for myself.

One more living subject, and let's get even more abstract with our direction here:

Positive prompt: mind horse

Negative prompt: horse, equine, colt, filly, mare, stallion, bronco, pony, mind, brain, thought, essence, psyche, intelligence, consciousness, imagination, dream, soul, visualization, intellect, wit, cognizance

Now let's try something that isn't alive. One thing I love AI for is surreal settings and landscapes - lets try one now!

Positive prompt: A magic palace garden made of crystal and gold

Negative prompt: Palace, magic, crystal, gold, fantasy, castle, estate, stronghold, temple, garden, flowers, plants, blossoms, bloom, blooms, trees, grass, stems, foliage, leaves, greenery, branches, bush, bushes, hedge, hedges, metal, luxury, stone, glass, brass, rose, polished, jewel, prism, courtyard

I then tried to see if, learning from the animal subjects, I could make it more likely to return one of my favorite "mistakes" - making it impossible to discern the point where a water area ends and a sky area begins. I wasn't immediately successful, but I came up with some results I found pleasing regardless-

Positive prompt: Secret hideout in a cave behind a waterfall in the foggy forest on a floating sky island in fluffy clouds

Negative prompt: hideout, camp, campsite, home, abode, house, dwelling, rest, shelter, waterfall, water, cave, grotto, forest, woods, woodland, trees, fountain, cascade, pond, stream, lake, river, brook, puddle, creek, pool, beach, ocean, sea, cloud, clouds, sky, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus, fog, storm, rain, sunshower, falls

It seems that with landscapes it's got a much clearer and more specific "idea" of what a [SUBJECT] without [SUBJECT] looks like; it's more inclined to invent very specific, very consistent unasked for related elements. With the animals, I was tweaking the weight on the positive prompt to avoid getting straightforwardly just what I had positive (and negative) prompted, but with landscapes, I just get... almost something else entirely.

So how about inanimate objects? Let's try a ship, perhaps?

Positive prompt: A huge sailing ship with brilliant prismatic crystal sails on a stormy, turbulent sea of sunset clouds

Negative prompt: ship, boat, sailboat, sailing ship, pirate ship, galleon, ketch, schooner, sloop, cutter, sail, sea, ocean, storm, wind, rain, water, waves, cloudy, clouds, fog, sunset, dusk, dawn, sunrise, twilight, evening

...okay, I'm in love with the un-ship. It truly does manage to consistently give me results that look like, yet entirely unlike, a ship. It is everything I love about AI as a medium. More than that, it is my friend.

At lower positive prompt weights, they only get even more beautifully chaotic.

I want to live on one of these (in an alternate universe where they're geometrically possible and structurally sound, that is).

Failing that, I will be featuring them a lot from now on.

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

#ai art #generated art #simple stable #stable diffusion

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gojoswhitebabydolllashes · 6 days ago

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Girl, your stories are so GOOD! I love reading your fics. I just saw you may be taking fics for Jayce or Viktor. Is there any way I could request a Jayce x Viktor x Reader fic where the reader is very naturing, cuddly, and gentle with both of them, but maybe she hides all her stress and struggles cause she deems theirs more important? Like, she always knows when they want coffee, how they each take it, covers them up when the lab is cold or they pass out at the desk, rubs their shoulders when she sees them shrug too much, just very attentive. Yet, she’s not a scientist and thinks that being stressed over literature projects and teaching is ridiculous cause it’s not as difficult or as important (in her mind) as hextech. So she just ignores her needs until these two notice.

I’m so sorry if that is too much! I hope you enjoy the third act when it comes out. Thank you so much for reading this! 🩶

OH ABSOLUTELY I CAN DO THIS. 😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND LIKING MY STORIES IT MEANS SO MUCH.

--fem reader. Fluff. Small sad. Angst if you squint. Cute throuple time.

The laboratory is cold, and the rain that batters piltover decorates the window like glass tears. Your eyes droop tiredly as you watched viktor twist the cogs in the next hextech project and listen to the sound of slow puffs of steam every few minutes that came from brass pipes on the walls.

Jayce is unmoving as he sits at his own desk, sorting through two stacks of papers. You hate it, hate watching them so vulnerable and so tired. Both are so hard-working and loyal to their studies.

"Allow me to help you both," you spoke as you stood up.

Reaching for two soft blue blankets stored in the corner, you walked firstly to jayce and draped the blanket across his shoulders and gave his cheek a soft kiss.

"I can't have my boys going cold now, can I?"

You spoke as you walked to viktor to drape a blanket across his much more lean shoulders, kissing his cheek, too. Viktor looked up at you and smiled tiredly.

"Thank you, my love." it never failed to make your heart flutter hearing viktor call you that, especially when his accent made it so smooth and endearing.

"Are you staying with us tonight?" Jayce spun in his chair, leaning an arm on his knee.

"I um" you cleared your throat.

The truth was, you had things to do. Your own assignments and activities to tend to. But viktor and jayce's eyes were gleaming deep brown in the dim laboratory light and so often you found yourself missing them when they would make you go to bed without them because they were afraid you would pass out after spending so long with them doing work.

"I have no where to be"

Paperwork

Documents

Assignments

Blueprints

Papers

Papers papers pap-

"No," you shook your head. "I have nowhere to be"

You smiled as you walked over to stand by the window, viktor and jayce came to stand on either side of you. The rain still pounded the glass, crystal city and enforcers were hounded the soaking streets each night, like a herd of elephants stampeding with metal boots.

"You need not worry about what's happening down there." Jayce put his hand on your shoulder.

Viktor turned his head to you. "It is not our worry, my love" he spoke ever so softly.

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, as you thought over so much.

"You both must be hungry," you stated.

You stepped away from them both before you walked over to the door. You would make them cups of hot tea and nice warm soup. bread and butter.

"Stop right there, doll" Jayce spoke loudly.

You froze and turned around to see jayce holding up your textbook. You gasped and realised they had indeed caught you.

"When were you going to tell us you had assignments to do?" Jayce asked.

Viktor turned around to face you, his head tilted. You looked at the ground defeated before them, and began to cry.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you both. I was so entranced with helping you with your dreams that I forgot about my own, " you frowned and sighed.

The two of them walked over to you and hugged you tightly. If they had known you were in such troubles, they would have chained you to the table and glued a pencil in your hand.

"I love you both so much, and I'm so sorry that kept it from you." .You looked at them with gentle and sorrowful eyes.

"You need not be sorry. But It's time to start taking care of yourself, my love. " viktor held you close to him

You nodded, making them both smile admiringly.

"We love you, pretty girl"

You gave them both soft kisses to their lips and smiled. "You know I'm still going to take care of you both"

They were your boys. And even if you were working every day and night on your own papers, you would find ways to still make sure they had their breakfast lunch and dinner and were always hydrated and healthy. You loved them both dearly and they too loved you too.

"If I find out you aren't focusing on yourself, I'll take back my promise to buy cupcakes" Viktor spoke.

Not only did you gasp. But beside you, the man of progress did too.

#jayvik #arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season 1 #jayvik fic #jayce talis #viktor arcane #jayvik x reader #jayce x viktor

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zara-renata · 27 days ago

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Creature Feature with Sylus Qin | ao3 | lads fic masterlist

Summary: You and Sylus dress up for a Halloween gala. This is a short little Sylus series interlude, occurring after these idiots finally get together. Can be read as a standalone.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV Established relationship This story contains: fluff, banter, two utterly infatuated fools, mentions of alcohol use, smooches

You stand in front of Sylus’s ornately framed, three-paneled mirror in his disgustingly large dressing room, turning your body this way, and then that way, admiring the silver and gold sheen of the full set of plate armor you’re wearing from every angle.

The whole thing fits you perfectly, from the greaves covering your feet with their wicked points, perfect for kicking an enemy while they’re down, to the strangely sexy cuisses encasing your strong thighs, up to the cuirass, the breastplate shining brightly under Sylus’s tasteful spotlights. The pauldrons soaring from your shoulders are huge, imposing, probably designed more for intimidation than for use, but you feel like a badass as you flex your arms. The whole suit is made from what seems to be super lightweight plates, but underneath is a form fitting, incredibly soft leather bodysuit. It fits you like a glove—like the gloves currently on your hands, underneath elaborate gauntlets with built-in brass knuckles. They don’t look brass, but you can imagine punching the living daylights out of someone with these bad boys, even so.

At the edge of each piece of armor, where one plate ends and is layered over another, the silver bleeds into gold. Intricate, savagely flowing designs are engraved into the silver from your greaves to the bevor protecting your neck, and each gleams as if carved and then filled with liquid gold. The engraving of an anatomically correct diagram of a heart, gripped by the uncanny hand of some humanoid monster with sharp claws instead of nails, shines like the sun over your own heart. You stare at the design for a while, in awe of the delicate yet vicious design of the hand, the details of the heart’s chambers, its arteries, its meat gripped by the sharp, sharp claws.

You shake yourself out of your trance and gently touch the hilt of your greatsword. The plate armor is not real; it can’t be, with how light it is. You suspect carbon fiber, or some other strong yet lightweight material that mimics the shine and strength of real metal plate, but without the weight. But this sword… it’s real. Forged from carbon steel, sharp enough to slice paper. The hilt is intricate, encrusted with rubies but not in such a way as to affect the comfort of the grip. You could kill a very large wanderer with this as your weapon, if you could lodge it at the base of its skull or through its heart. You heft the sword with both hands, swinging it through the air experimentally. It feels fucking good .

You hear Sylus’s voice drifting from outside the dressing room.

“Are you ready, darling? May I finally gaze upon your wondrous, surprising form, oh conquering knight of my heart?”

You scowl. Sylus had balked at your insistence that the two of you put on your Halloween costumes in separate rooms, so that you could surprise each other. Well, so that you could surprise Sylus at least a little bit, since he had picked both his and your costume out, while you had no idea what either looked like before he presented you with the elaborate black box, as large as a coffin, tied with a red ribbon and giant bow. The two of you had agreed to go as a dragon-slaying knight and the dragon-to-be-slayed, but you had expected to go to one of those temporary pop-up Halloween stores to get your costume before Sylus surprised you with the coffin containing this exquisite work of art. He has been making petulant, snarky comments ever since you pushed him out of the dressing room and slammed the door.

“It’s not like I am going to actually be surprised, beloved. I did design the thing, after all,” he grumbled. “I’d much rather watch you put it on.”

“Think of it as a test of patience. You like challenges, right?” You twirled your finger, as if to say turn around and go on, now, shoo.

He frowned. “It’s not fun if it means you’re far away.”

“I’m literally right in the next room,” you laughed. “Now, out!” You planted your shoulder against his back and pushed as he planted his feet and leaned back against you with equal force, refusing to budge.

The tendrils of his evol drifted from your ankles, slithering up your legs, winding around your waist—up, up, up, until they brushed against your lips in an insubstantial, shiver-inducing kiss.

“Using your evol to distract me is not going to work,” you gritted out, blowing a raspberry at the tendrils. They dissipated where your breath blew through them, but reformed almost instantly. You decided to switch tactics.

“If you concede, and allow me to put on the costume by myself, I’ll let you take it off me after we get tonight over with,” you offered as you step aside so quickly that Sylus, who was leaning so much of his weight on you that your sudden move sent him stumbling backward with a huff before catching himself gracefully—a falling cat spinning in mid-air to land on its feet. He immediately tucked one thumb into his trouser pocket, the picture of studied casualness after almost falling on his big, fat, sexy ass.

“Fine. But only if I decide which parts I get to take off… while you keep the rest on for me, until I’m satisfied,” he counter-offered, the tip of his tongue sweeping out to lick his lower lip as his eyes raked you from your toes to your eyes.

Eyes which you rolled at him. “Yes, if you’re a good boy for me right now, and get the fuck out so I can pretend that you’re stunned to see me in the whole getup.”

“I can’t believe I let you kiss me with that mouth,” he laughed softly. “Deal, but you won’t have to pretend.” He then disappeared in a whoosh of air, ink and scarlet tendrils, and a puff of feathers. You ran to the dressing room door and slammed it shut before he could change his mind.

And now here you are, dressed as a knight in shining armor. You feel like a real knight, capable of slaying the largest of predators, impervious to fire and claws. You bare your teeth in the mirror and then grin in satisfaction. This costume is so cool that it almost makes up for the fact that you have to wear it to a Halloween masquerade gala hosted by one of Sylus’s business rivals, where Sylus hopes to conduct some shady deal that you asked he not discuss with you in case things go south and you need plausible deniability regarding the aftermath. You grip the sword a little tighter. At least you’ll be armed.

You’d much rather stay at home tonight on one of his big couches in the theater room, stuffing yourself with Halloween candy (full sized candy bars, thank you very much, because your boyfriend is fucking rich and can afford to give away the good stuff), watching horror film after horror film until you’re too sleepy to keep your eyes open. You don’t care what you watch, really, as long as it’s scary. Sylus prefers the classics—films shot in black and white, filled with the golden age of cinema ingenues and actually scary looking vampires. You snort, remembering his reaction to the Twilight vampires after he agreed to watch the entire quadrilogy with you. He promptly got bored, asked if you’d like to play a drinking game with soju shots where you had to take a shot every time Bella bit her lip or Edward stared menacingly. You one-upped him, adding a shot for every time Edward acted like a red flag and every time Jasper looked like he was in pain. You were both quickly tipsy, and the rest of the movie was ignored while he argued with you about what behavior, exactly, qualifies as a red flag, until he gave up in the face of your tirade, nodded until you seemed to run out of steam, and leaned in, licking up your neck, licking into your mouth, and kissed you breathless. You never made it to the second film.

Tonight, however, you’d just be happy watching the Alien series, or a bunch of indie horror films that you haven’t managed to watch this year. Sylus likes to lie on you, crushing you into the couch underneath him, as he rests his cheek on your stomach, insisting that you pet his hair through the whole movie. If you’re watching something scary and he senses you tensing at a particularly suspenseful part, he’ll gently lift the hem of your shirt and press soft kisses into your abdomen, nosing along your skin. If he is ever frightened by anything you watch, you’ve never been able to tell.

“Are you so desensitized to real life fear and violence that movies do nothing for you?” you asked him once.

He just stared steadily back at you, eyes glowing like fire-lit gems, until he drew you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. “Only one thing scares me, darling.” He breathed deeply. “And when you’re in my arms, I don’t need to fear it.”

You didn’t ask what scares him, and he didn’t tell.

But no. No scary movies for you tonight. No eating snickers until you could burst and tossing almond joys at him for having the audacity to include such inferior candy bars on your Halloween menu. You have to go to a fancy-ass gala full of rich criminal bastards because you love Sylus more than you hate being at large public events and the underworld in general.

You bare your teeth in the mirror again, and then yelp as a whoosh of air, black and red mist, and your beautiful boyfriend materialize at your back, scaring the shit out of you.

You gape at his reflection behind you in the mirror, feeling your heart begin to gallop. His soft silver hair is swept up and back from his high forehead, from which sprout two large … horns? Black, smooth and shiny like obsidian, spiraling up and back, ending in sharp, wicked points. His cheeks are layered with gorgeous jewel-like scales, red and black, slowly blending into the pale cream of his skin. He’s wearing a black leather collar, and a large ruby rests in the hollow of his throat. A black leather harness is strapped over his torso, but it doesn’t do much to cover him except to frame his tits in the most delicious of ways, because most of his chest and stomach is bare. The same pretty scales cover his big shoulders, the thick biceps of his arms, his pecs, his 8-million pack. He’s wearing tight black leather pants and knee high black leather boots. But the showstopper of his costume is the long tail, fully covered in those jewel-like scales, thicker the closer it gets to his ass, thinning towards the tip, which ends in a beautiful, sharp-looking blade the shape of a feather. It’s crimson, edged in black, like the rest of his costume’s color scheme. The tail flicks back and forth, like a cat’s, in a motion that seems completely organic, even though you know that’s not possible. This is just a costume, after all. Right?

“My eyes are up here, kitten,” he teases, and you have a really hard time tearing your eyes away from that swishing tail.

You try to cover your utter fascination with his tail by scoffing. “If you wanted my eyes on yours, you wouldn’t be wearing that harness with your big tits out.” You let your eyes drift to said pillow pectorals. You want to put your face in them, but you’re worried you’ll mess up the.. Make-up? Stick-ons? of the scales. They look so real.

His response is to hunch a little and then flex one pec, sending it bouncing, and then repeat on the other side. “It’s one way to ensure that your eyes are on me all night, instead of wandering,” he says smugly.

You laugh. “As if my eyes aren’t always on you, no matter how you’re dressed,” you murmur, the affection for this man swelling inside you.

“Yes, but tonight there will be lots of interesting costumes, and I know you’ll be fascinated with them, and insist on asking their owners why they chose them, and if they made them by hand or had them ordered, and they’ll be so captivated by your charming interest that I’ll have to interrupt business in order to remind them that you came with a date,” he says fondly. “You look magnificent, by the way. Just as I knew you would when I had this costume made for you.” He sounds satisfied, in the way an artisan is satisfied with his masterpiece.

You feel yourself glowing under his praise. “It’s so badass, Sylus. Thank you.”

His tail flicks faster. You want to ask him how it works, but he distracts you. “Does the badass costume make up for the fact that I’m dragging you to a gala instead of letting you laze around, intent on giving yourself diabetes and a heart attack?”

“Candy and a scary movie do not automatically lead to diabetes and heart attacks, you big drama queen.” You turn around so you can see him in real life, and not just in the reflection. Your costume is silent as you move, unlike a real suit of armor, and so comfortable and easy to move in. It’s truly a work of functional art.

He opens his arms, and you go to him. He wraps his arms around you, despite your oversized pauldrons. He kisses the top of your head. “I know you’re disappointed though. I will make it up to you, when we get back tonight,” he murmurs.

You look up, luxuriating in the softness of his eyes, the fond smile on his beautiful, and now slightly foreign face. The scales glitter under the dressing room lights. You notice now, from this close, that he must be wearing contacts. His pupils, instead of the usual round shape like any human’s, are now slit like a cat’s or a reptile’s. You admire them for a moment—he really paid attention to the details of his slutty dragon costume, just as he cared for the details of your dragonslayer knight costume.

“Sylus,” you breathe his name. Being able to say it—to roll it around your mouth, the name of this man you love so much—is a joy for you, every single time you say it, and every time he looks at you in response. “I don’t care what we do, or where we are. Tonight, or any night. I just like being with you.”

Sylus’s tail whips back and forth so fast that it knocks over one of the dressing room benches before it wraps around your armored leg and curls round and round, the flat of that blade-like end patting your plated ass in a sharp little rhythm, like it can hardly contain itself.

“How does that thing work—” you try to ask, but suddenly Sylus’s lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you softly, slowly. One big hand drifts up the back of your neck, cups the back of your head as the other drifts along your jaw. As he licks your lower lip, he thumbs it to open your mouth—you part your lips, bare your teeth, and bite his thumb.

“My fearsome dragonslayer,” he says softly on an exhale. You close your lips around his thumb and suck, never taking your eyes off his. “We’re going to be late,” he sighs, not sounding upset at all. You just nod.

He lifts you, armor and all, and in a poof of feathers, a whoosh of air, and the dissipation of black and red mist, he transports you to his big bed, where you make each other very, very late for the Halloween gala.

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #my fanfic #i only had a little time at work today to write a halloween specific thing #i hope it's fun #lads sylus

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on-a-lucky-tide · 1 month ago

Note

teehee its my birthday buuuuuut i am here clawing for nikprice on the ground like a chicken. anyway i wonder how would a nikprice drunk confession go. i just love that trope to death lol

It's your birthday? Happy birthday, mate! A small gift...

Price gets a medal and then gets drunk at the after party. Nik is surprised to hear what he has to say. No one else - and I mean, no one else - is.

cw: alcohol, drunken kiss.

"I hate these bloody things," Price mumbled into his scotch, staring bleary-eyed at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His speech had been short, concise, and he had spent the majority of it talking about the bravery and dedication of his Task Force. The rest of 'em had prattled on for ages about themselves, preening their egos with the new metal on their chests.

"It is a party in your honour, captain. You did a brave thing. And," Nik leaned back to pluck a canapé from the tray of a passing waitress, "there is free food." He pulled the honey-soaked sausage off the cocktail stick and chucked it in the air, catching it in his open mouth, much to the consternation of a gaggle of RAF officers nearby.

None of them were brave enough to let Nikolai see or hear what they thought of him, because they had all heard enough whispers of his service record to steer well clear. Even top brass were scared enough of him to overlook his multiple active Interpol arrest warrants so that he could attend.

Price smiled as Nik chewed, clearly pleased with his feat of dexterity, and then proceeded to slosh his scotch all over himself as he leaned his elbow against the bar... but missed said bar by about an inch and a half. "Bollocks," he growled, as expensive alcohol soaked into the equally expensive wool of his number one uniform.

Nik chuckled, snatching up a handful of serviettes from the bar. "I am starting to think you are a lightweight," he said, swivelling around in his bar stool so that his knees bracketed Price's, a folded serviette pressed to Price's chest to soak out some of the scotch.

"'M not," Price... slurred, fuck, maybe he was. "You wearin' cologne?"

"Da, number one majesté impériale."

"Sounds posh," Price said, lifting his scotch for another swig.

"Hm, it is $215,000 a bottle."

Price choked on his drink, spluttering it back into the glass. "You spent nearly four times my salary on some cologne?" He wheezed.

"It is a special occasion."

"Bloody fucking christ, Nik. It's a medal ceremony, not a bloody coronation."

"It is more important to me," Nik said, "because it is you."

Price felt his cheeks and ears warm. It didn't help that Nik's big hands were still on his chest, careful to pluck away the stray fibres of serviette from where it clung to the damp wool. This close, Price couldn't help but stare.

Fuck, he was so... handsome.

Nik had made an effort to look, and smell, his best. In his expensive tailored three-piece, no tie, because... well, who would be brave enough to tell Nikolai to put on a fuckin' tie? The open top button gave Price a really good view of his chest hair peeking through at the top. Oh, fuckin'... Hot, it was hot in here. Damn uniform.

"Careful, captain, you will fall," Nik said softly, palm pressed to the centre of Price's chest. Price had been leaning forward. Leering. Oh, this was embarrassing. He cleared his throat, shuffled back, and beckoned the barman over for a refill.

Two more glasses, one of vodka and another of scotch, and Price chanced a glance over at Nik again. "Thanks... for, uh, coming to this. The boys like the schmoozin', Simon doesn't stay longer than the talks, don't blame him, but, I, uh..."

"You find it hard to navigate the politics because you are honest and they," Nik waved his hand vaguely around the room, "are not."

Price smiled faintly. "Yeah, guess so. Full of compliments today, Nik. Man might get the wrong idea."

"Or... the right idea."

Price froze with the glass halfway up to his mouth. Even through the drunken dog, he managed to parse the meaning behind that. In payment, however, his brain had decided to bury his entire knowledge of the English language, so all he could do was make a small noise in the back of his throat, which he smothered with a large mouthful of scotch.

Nik hadn't turned in his stool, his knees still spread wide either side of Price's, and Price wanted to shuffle a little closer. He wanted those hands back on his chest, and he wanted... Christ, he just wanted. He had wanted for a long fuckin' time.

"Here," Nik said, sliding a plate of sausages over to Price. "It will absorb some of the scotch."

"Urf, naw, can't stomach that shit..."

"Then we shall go elsewhere."

"Wot?"

"Come, captain. The sergeants left for the clubs ten minutes ago."

"They did? Bastards..."

"Da. I will get your coat."

The fresh evening air hit Price like a sledge hammer to the face, and he was pretty sure he would have fallen in the gutter without Nikolai to lean on. He was intimately aware of the strong arm around his waist, one of his hands clinging onto Nik's expensive wool coat as they staggered into the local Maccy D's for a Big Mac and chicken nugget share box.

Nik paid for it, flashing his most charming smile at the young girl behind the counter as he collected the highly decorated SAS captain from where he was clinging onto a nearby condiments bench for support, takeaway bag in hand.

They ended up sat on a bench by the Thames, dressed to the nines, Nik smelling of thousand dollar cologne as he wolfed down over-salted MacDonald's chips at Price's side, and Price couldn't stop staring at him.

Nik could be anywhere else. Anywhere. He could be partying with the wealthiest men and women in the world, walking among the elite, and yet here he was sitting in London eating shitty fast food with a drunk soldier. He chose Price every time. Every time. Price felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. "Nikolai..."

"Da, captain."

"I think I love you."

Nik grinned, huffing a soft chuckle. "Mmhm."

"No, no," Price swiped his beret off, which had somehow managed to cling onto his head while they had staggered through the mean streets of Westminster. "I... I'm serious. I... I love you. Have for, uh," he hiccuped, fucking hiccuped, tried to recover by puffing into his clenched fist, "...have for a while," he squeaked. Oh, fuck, was that indigestion?

Nik put his box of chicken nuggets aside and turned, arm draped over the back of the bench. He slid a gloved hand under Price's chin and turned his head up. Seconds later, they were kissing. Fucking... Nik's fucking lips were on Price's and, and...

Price hiccuped again.

Nik chuckled into his mouth, before drawing away to smooth his thumb through Price's beard. "This is not how I imagined it, but it is... somehow, right."

Price's face was bright red, he could feel it burning, and his eyes were wide. "You, uh... You..."

"For many, many years, solnyshko."

"We've... that's a... a long time." Price said softly.

"I am a patient man. And you are worth waiting for."

After that, Price didn't really recall much. The MacDonald's hit the deck and Price climbed Nikolai like a bloody tree. They ended up in his hotel room, with Nik's expensive suit and Price's (honestly, perhaps slightly less) expensive uniform on the floor. It might have gone further than boyish fumbling if Price hadn't fallen asleep face down in the pillows after saying he didn't want to take advantage of Nik in his current state. Nik had chuckled at that and laid down next to him, stroking his hair.

Price woke up in the morning with a sore head and a dry mouth, and found Nik sitting by the open window in a hotel dressing gown. "Nik, did I..."

"Nyet, captain. You were an absolute gentleman." Nik put the newspaper aside and took his glasses off, delivering the waiting pint of water and aspirin to Prices hands. "Do you... remember what you said?"

Price's cheeks reddened. "Yeah, look, I'll understand if--"

He didn't get to finish. Nik kissed him squarely on his stupid mouth, stroking a big palm through his hair. When he drew back, he hummed softly. "Drink that and then we will go to breakfast," he said, walking away. Price couldn't help but stare as the dressing gown slid down his broad back, revealing a full arse framed in black boxers. "And brush your teeth."

Price downed the water and staggered from beneath the duvet. He was ready to head down within ten minutes, desperate for a strong coffee and a greasy sarnie. Unfortunately, the rest of his task force, Los Vaqueros, Chimera, Laswell and a handful of her agents happened to be in the dining room already.

"Eyy, there he is!" Gaz called, toasting his mug of coffee.

Soap looked round, glanced at Nik and then back at Price. "Fuckin' finally."

Laswell rested her chin on her palm. "Bagged your man then, Nik. Well done."

Price blinked, squinting in the bright morning light. "So you all--"

Simon walked past, his plate heaped with bacon and eggs, and shoved a coffee into his captain's hand before patting his shoulder. "Yeah. Everyone did 'cept you."

Price looked at Nik for help, only to receive a shrug and a quirked eyebrow before Nik wandered off to the buffet.

"Bloody bastards," Price muttered, glancing at each triumphant face, thumbs up and smirk, before slumping into a nearby chair. Bloody. Bastards

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #cod #call of duty

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pastel-gothfriend · 3 months ago

Text

explicitly lewd, this story is.

a Witch who treats Her dolls like the most beautiful antiques that they are. theyre ancient models you see, from the Time Before, wondrous living machies of brass and porcelain, decorated in the ancient styling, flecks of gold and silver dancing across their skin like the midnight dance of fireflies.

of course, like any good antique, they are there to be seen, not heard from, and most certainly not to be touched, except perhaps by the lightest touch of a feather duster, twice weekly.

but what is a Witch without Her dolls you cry! She has many servants, some of flesh, some others of the mechanical sort. She has no need for these two dolls to anything but stand and look pretty.

She keeps them in Her room of course. they watch over her bed, backs straight and hands clasped together behind their backs. they do not move, or speak, for She has forbade them to do so, but they cannot help but turn their eyes to watch when their Witch brings in a toy for her to take out her worries on. She has made one modification to the dolls, a cute metal cage wrapped a round their most sensitive places. She got tired of their shivers and whimpers when She dusted them down there after a night of sweet passion (and for Her, that was every night).

#SURRPISE ITS ABOUT CUCKING #dollposting #empty spaces #pastel original #pastel stories

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bird-in-the-space · 18 days ago

Text

Echoes of the Unknown

You save Miko from a risky situation and end up losing your patience with her.

Warnings: violence, reader getting annoyed, Miko giving bad name ideas, killing a con, an outburst, some regrets, and making up.

Chapter 13

-------------------------------------

A few days have passed and you have started to get used to your new life. You worked on the hologram projector with Raf, making great progress on it. He taught you more tech stuff and even agreed to teach you a few cybertronian things. Miko started calling you two nerds when you were invested in your little project. When you were not working on the projector, you would be helping Ratchet in the sick bay. He showed you the ropes, and whenever he was done, you would help fix things or clean his tools.

Today, Emily had to go back home to check on things, so you were alone with the kids and the bots. It wasn’t too bad since you had time to get to know them better.

With Ratchet’s permission to use his tools, you worked on making your prosthetic fingers. It was challenging but with the things you learned and the parts, you had an idea of how to create the joins and make it detachable as you doubted you could modify your own hand without causing any nerve damage.

You adjusted the finger joints and the straps you used to attach the finger between your two main fingers. You placed the tool down and looked it over, testing its mobility and density. You then grabbed a box and tested how well it helped you hold it.

“Hey, not bad,” Raf complimented as he watched from the side.

“Yeah. I guess this makes holding things much easier now. Maybe I could try making a little finger as well,” you said.

“Not a bad idea, then you five fingers again,” he said.

You then heard someone come from the entrance. It was Bulkhead as he came back from his drive with Miko. The energetic girl stepped out of the passenger seat, allowing the bot to transform into his robot form.

“What’s up geeks? Got anything interesting going on?” she asked.

“Nothing much. (Name) managed to make herself a new finger,” Raf said.

“Cool. Hey, maybe you could make new weapons and stuff? Maybe you could make one of those wrist blades or brass knuckles,” she suggested, throwing punches in the air. “Oh! oh! maybe you could make a cannon to blast cons away,” she said.

“I just made a new finger. I’m not a weapon engineer,” you shook your head.

“Oh, come on. Have some fun little?” Miko pestered.

“By the way, we should come up with a bot name for you,” she said.

“What’s wrong with my current name?” you asked with a frown.

“Nothing. It’s just it's a human name. You are a giant robot now. So how about you get a cool robot name!” Miko said.

You groaned as she had been at it for a few days now. It was constantly about being a cool robot and doing cybertronian stuff. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t find it a bit annoying by now.

“How about… Skullcrusher?”

“No,” you shook your head.

“Mauveine,”

“That’s a color,” you said.

“Metallica,” she threw in

“Isn’t that the name of that one metal band?” you frowned.

“Oh, now I got it. Mirage,” she said.

“I think I am going to stay with my current name,” you stated.

“Oh, don’t be so boring,” Miko whined.

“Sometimes boring is good enough. Deal with it,” you said, taking out your finger.

A loud beeping came from the main computer. You looked over as Optimus and the other bots checked out what their computer found.

“The cons are active,” Arcee said.

“Could be a false alarm,” Bulkhead added.

“Whatever it is. It is worth investigating. “ Optimus said.

“Autobots. Transform and roll out,” he said as they opened the ground bridge. They transformed and drove into the green vortex.

After the ground bridge closed, you tried to get back on your project, but then you noticed someone missing.

“Where’s Miko?” you asked.

Ratchet, Raf, and Jack looked around but the girl was nowhere to be seen.

“She was just here a moment ago,” Jack said.

You were then reminded of what Jack said about Miko joining the missions despite the dangers. She disappeared right after the bots left through the ground bridge.

“You don’t think she went after the bots?” you asked, glancing toward the ground bridge.

“Well, it would not be the first time,” Jack said.

Ratchet groaned loudly before contacting Optimus and the other bots.

“Optimus. Miko disappeared right after you left. Did she follow you?” he asked.

“Negative. We are currently engaging the decepticons,” Optimus said.

“I have eyes on her. Miko! Get to cover!” Bulkhead yelled as you all heard blaster fire in the background.

You felt worried for Miko’s sake.

“Scrap! They sound too engaged to get Miko out of there,” Ratchet said.

“What should we do?” Jack asked.

You considered your options. Ratchet was pretty much needed at the base. Jack and Raf would be too at risk to go get her. The bots were engaging the enemy and it would be too risky just to wait and hope for the best. There was only one option.

“I could go get her,” you stood up.

“Absolutely not,” Ratchet said strictly.

“I’m not gonna join the fight. I stay hidden, find Miko, and come back,” You explained.

“Are you sure?” Raf asked.

“We could wait here and hope nothing happens to her. Besides I’m a robot now, I have the least chance of getting hurt unlike Miko,” you answered.

You all then looked at Ratchet. He groaned with a sigh.

“Fine.” he opened the ground bridge.

“But you better be quick and stay out of harm,” He said as you turned toward the ground bridge.

“Be careful,” Raf said as you ran into the vortex.

You jumped out of the ground bridge as it closed behind you. You quickly hid when you saw the bots fighting the cons. It was violent as punches and kicks were thrown at each other. You looked around for the girl. However, you couldn’t see her.

“Bulkhead! Where’s Miko?!” you called out as he was the nearest.

“I told her to hide over there!” he pointed at rocks before continuing the fight.

You quickly sneaked toward the boulders where Miko should be and soon enough, saw her watching the fight.

“Miko!” you called out.

“Huh?” Miko looked toward you, but then one of those vehicons noticed her. Your eyes widened in panic.

“Miko! Get down!” you yelled as you ran toward the vehicon and tackled him to the ground before he could grab the girl. Miko yelped then watched as you started wrestling with the con.

The vehicon was stunned but struggled hard against you. You groaned as you tried to push him down. He then tried to shoot you with his blaster arm. You tried to push it away but when he fired, you were forced back to avoid getting shot. The vehicon then tried to get up. You tried to think something then remembered you shared a similar body, which meant you should have a blaster arm as well.

“Come on…” you tried to think of your arm as a weapon, and then a click happened and your arm turned into a blaster.

“(Name)!” Miko pointed at the vehicon as it prepared to shoot you.

You aimed and a blast came out of your blaster arm. You were thrown back from the recoil, however, your shot struck the vehicon right in the core, causing it to fall and lay on the ground motionlessly with smoke rising out of it.

You both stared at the dead con in stunned silence. Your arm turned back to normal and you released a heavy breath.

“Dude! That was so cool!” Miko said beside you. You frowned and then grabbed her into your hands.

You ran away from the battlefield, returning to the spot where you first arrived.

“Ratchet! I got Miko! Bring us back!” you said through the com and he then opened the ground bridge again. You ran into the vortex, away from the battlefield.

Back at the base, after the ground bridge closed behind you, you placed Miko back on her feet.

“Are you okay?” Raf asked when he saw you rub your head.

“I’m fine,” you uttered annoyed.

“Dude! That was epic! You totally scrapped that con!” Miko said excitedly.

“You are tougher than you look,” she said.

You looked at her. “You got to be joking you could have gotten yourself killed!” You said.

“Well, it’s a good thing you came. You make one awesome bot, and I got some sweet pictures” she said like what just happened wasn’t a big deal. Your patience finally ran out. You had enough of her antics.

“Are you fucking shitting me right now?!” you snapped.

“Oh oh,” Jack said, covering Raf’s ears.

“We were on an active battlefield just now and all you cared about was getting some dumb photos? Do you think this is some kind of a game?” you asked with anger in your tone.

“Relax. It’s alright now,” Miko said.

“No! Miko! It’s not!” you stepped toward her, causing her to step back and look at you with a bewildered expression.

“We could have gotten ourselves killed! I did not want to be there, but one more second, and you would have been a goner for good. No second chances. Like, come on Miko! That was an actual battle zone! You could have actually died there!” you yelled, pointing at the ground bridge from where you came.

“I…I…” Miko stuttered under her words.

“How about you actually think with your head once in a while instead of trying to get dumb photos?!” You asked.

“Okay. Everyone calm down,” Ratchet tried to de-escalate as he stepped forward.

“(Name). How about you go outside for a moment? Cool yourself down,” he said.

“For the record, Miko. I find none of this cool. My human body is gone. I can never return to my human life, so how about you stop with the stupid name suggestions,” you marched out of the hangar while Miko looked after you with tears in her eyes.

“That was… intense,” Jack said.

“I… I didn’t mean to,” Miko sniffed.

“Calm down, Miko. Give her some alone time. She’ll come around eventually,” Ratchet said before returning to the monitors.

Miko dried her eyes and quietly walked to the yellow couch where she continued to sit in silence. Raf and Jack looked at her with worry but did not know if they should try to comfort her after that outburst.

The bots soon returned to the base after dealing with the cons. Bulkhead quickly walked over to Miko after seeing her.

“Miko. Are you alright? You didn’t get hurt, now did ya?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Miko uttered. Bulkhead immediately noticed the sullen look and tone in her voice.

“Hey, Miko. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” he asked.

“Let’s just say… when (Name) brought Miko back, she kinda lost her patience and had an outburst,” Raf explained.

“Yeah, she did not like the experience and apparently there was a con she had to scrap to save Miko,” Jack said. "I guess she also got annoyed about being a bot," he added.

“I didn’t mean to make her that upset,” Miko exclaimed.

Bumblebee beeped something.

“Understand that (Name) did not become this out of her choice and that her condition is irreversible, which means she can never return to the life she once knew,” Optimus said.

“Meaning she can’t go home or do human things anymore,” Jack said.

“Maybe she actually misses being a human,” Raf added.

“Whatever the case, perhaps giving each other time to think will help you both resolve this issue,” Optimus stated.

Arcee looked toward Miko before her thoughts came to you.

At the top of the base, you were sitting at the edge of the cliff, gazing at the view after releasing a few angry tears and thinking the whole thing through. You felt regretful for cursing out on Miko like that.

“Hey,”

You looked behind you and saw Arcee walking toward you.

“Ugh… hey,” you replied, slightly awkwardly.

“I heard you had a blowout with Miko after bringing her back,” she said.

“Yeah. I lost my patience. I shouldn’t have done that,” you sighed, holding your knee as your other feet hung from the edge.

“No. I get it. Miko does tend to get herself into dangerous situations,” Arcee said as she sat down beside you.

“Yeah, but I still shouldn't have blown up on her like that. God. I’m so stupid. I said some pretty nasty stuff to her, “ you said.

“Don’t beat yourself over that. Miko is just how she is even though she could be more considerate of her own safety, and it’s completely normal to feel the way you did after saving her from a con,” Arcee comforted.

“I really didn’t think much. When I saw that con trying to grab her, I just ran and tackled the con to the ground,” you explained.

“It was a close call and her being so careless about it kinda pissed me off,” you said. “Now she probably won’t talk to me after that whole episode,” You uttered sadly.

“Don’t overthink it. Everyone can get frustrated at times and need to blow up steam. And Miko is just a kid. Kids tend to do reckless things without considering the consequences,” Arcee said. “I doubt she thinks badly of you. You came to make sure she would come back safely and fought a con. Bulkhead already appreciates you for it,” she said.

You considered her words. “You’re right. But… I think I still need to make up to her in a way,” you said.

Arcee smiled with a nod. “ You know, you might look like a con, but you’re definitely not one from the inside,”

You chuckled as you two then gazed at the view before you.

Back inside the base, you walked up to Miko as she was sketching on the couch.

“Miko,” you said, catching her attention.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for my outburst earlier. The thing is I’m scared by this whole alien war thing, and I was really worried when that con nearly got you,” you said.

“I’m sorry too. I know I can get a bit ahead of myself. Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said.

“It’s fine. Also… I kinda miss being a human. As a robot, there are now some things I can’t do anymore. Like I can no longer eat my favorite food. I can’t drink any of my favorite drinks, not even something as bland as water. I can’t run my fingers through my hair, and I can barely feel the wind on my face. I can’t even take casual walks outside to clear my head. Those seem like small things, but after a long time, you can’t help but grow to miss them,” you explained.

“I— didn’t really think of it that way. I can’t imagine myself never being able to drink my favorite soda again, “ Miko said thoughtfully.

“I know right? Energon doesn’t really taste much and now it’s the only thing I need to survive. Being a robot might have been cool if it was temporal. However, I’m stuck like this forever,” you said.

“(Name). I’m sorry,” Miko said.

“No. it’s okay. There are some positive perks in being a robot,” you said.

“Like what?” she said curiously.

“You do not need to worry about getting a driver’s license. You can pretty much now climb and jump from any high places that would have gravely injured you as a human. And… well, you no longer suffer from periods,” you said.

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” Miko grinned.

“Periods?” Bulkhead looked confused.

“What I wanna say is… well… don’t stop being you, but maybe be a bit more considerate of your safety. I’m pretty sure none of us here wants to see you get hurt,” you said.

“No promises,” Miko teased, making you tilt your head at her. “But I promise to try,” she said.

You smiled and then glanced at her book, having an idea.

“You know, Emily has been talking about getting a new look for me. Do you wanna help us out on that?” you asked.

“Absolutely! I can come up with the most rad colors ever,” Miko said, taking out her pencil and began drawing. She rambled ideas while you just listened, nodding along as she came up with interesting color design ideas.

#transformers x reader #transformers prime x reader #tfp x reader #transformers prime #tfp #x cybertronian reader #echoes of the unknown #various x reader #oc x reader

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shamrockqueen · 3 months ago

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Predator in the desert

Chapter 3

Pairing : Winter soldier x reader (post apocalyptic AU)

Warnings : Desperation, starving behavior, references to war, duality of the mind, emotionless man

Word count : 2020

Chapter 1

Bucky MasterList

You stopped breathing, the ghost of an echo bouncing through your ears after he’d yelled at you.

Your eyes snapped from his cutting and cold gaze, further down to the glimmer of his fearsome metal fingers as they closed around the old brass knob on the door. The only opening to the room, the only way out, and you wouldn’t be able to reach it, let alone slip past his solid stonelike frame.

You weren’t ‘calm’ by any means, but he had your attention, and even as you continued to shiver, it was all he really needed.

“Are you hungry?”

You flinched as he spoke; his voice edged only with a lack of patience as it reached out to you with heavy hands to shake you from your reeling thoughts.

You didn’t answer just yet, feeling your pulse thrum along your skin wildly. You just laid there, stunned as you stared at those metal fingers tightening around the knob of the door and trying to ease your own breathing before it made you feel numb.

“I asked if you were hungry.” He was much more stern, and even a little louder this time, watching with equal disinterest as you gasped back and struggled to answer.

“Y-yes… I‘m hungry.”

You spoke weakly, your lips shaking and your eyes welling with a wet dribble of tears. Like a small break in the smallest of bones as you gave in to the absurdity.

Of course you were hungry. You’ve been hungry since you were a screaming infant, just as everyone doomed to a life in the wasteland had been. Food in any amount was a luxury, whether it’s warm meat and grains or smashed bugs you find crawling along the floor by your bedroll.

This promise of food without a single bat of his eye should have felt like a dream come true, but something in your stomach felt heavy before clenching with a sharp cramp. That familiar pang of hunger pains morphing viscerally into obvious fear as your guts knotted together.

This was the only moment in your miserable life that you didn’t crave food, as you were consumed only with dread.

You didn’t want to take anything from this unholy amalgamation of man and metal. It was like cowering beneath the boogeyman, a monster of jagged teeth and twisted limbs that could steal your last shred of innocence, only to find an unreadable being that looked no different from yourself. He didn’t wear enough of his lethality on his skin, leaving you to spiral at the possibilities of what these chains binding you to his lair really meant for your near future.

It was no better than being a rabbit caught in a cage. There is the offer of water and now food, but the danger of your captivity, just as the chain around your leg, was a staunch reminder that none of this would be out of kindness. There is no good reason that you are here—none that could be conceived as all the terrible reasons swarm your aching head.

His expression never seemed to change as he took in every reaction you gave him, seeming to read it like new data to further his own strange purpose. When he was finished searching your jumbled tomes, whether having found his needed information or losing interest, he dragged that door open and disappeared through it before shutting you back inside that room. Only this time, you were alone with the crushing silence he had once held above you.

A silence quickly broken by the hard clack of a lock turning shut in the flimsy wooden barrier this soldier had placed between you two.

He fit the stories from old fantasies of war. An old story long left covered in dust, detailing how both sides ate away at one another until the bones were bare and empty of their marrow. He bore the red star, the mark of a demon of irradiated sands. One head severed from its ranks meant two would splinter out in its place, biting and gnashing its way through the wasteland.

The great hydra was supposed to be dead, a final rest assured long before your own birth. How wrong they all were apparently, and as you recounted those scary fairy tales, your stomach twisted harder and harder.

You tried to steady your breathing, letting it stutter and shake before it finally met an even rhythm.

‘You really did need to calm down’ The traitorous thought was the last fly to buzz through your brain before you let the muscles in your shoulders fall loose to hit the floor.

Your ankle still felt heavy with its new iron cuff, and you struggled back onto your elbows and further onto your feet, the sound of the chain dragging along the wood the only noise left to taunt you.

Your eyes narrow at the brassy knob, a small spark of defiance finally igniting in your chest only to fall short of catching a flame.

You were frustrated at best, hot tears stinging your eyes before spilling out over your dirty cheeks.

‘Why me? For fucks sake, why?”

How were you significant enough to be stolen? Did he pity you, thinking that keeping you would be better for your well-being, like a lost kitten climbing among the rocks he had scooped up?

Why would a monster want to help you? Why would he bother to care for you when he could do what any other villain would do to others who strayed too far from home?

But, this room didn’t look like a pen to keep his livestock. It had a small window at its other end, barred on the outside of the glass for your protection. The bed wasn’t shabby, only worn, and with actual blankets and pillows.

If you were to be kept, you suppose he chose to keep you well.

You turned back to the door, its knob within reach, but you didn’t jump to futilely pull or tear at it. You reach forward, a shriveled shard of hope still tearing at your heavy heart as you slide your fingers around it.

You know it was locked; you heard it happen, but you still clung to the possibility of this being a terribly real nightmare instead. Maybe your mind would let you open the door, but as you twisted the handle, it of course did not budge.

You stood closer, your head falling to your chest as you pressed your fingers to the wood. Your mouth opened with a shaking exhale of an empty scream, and new tears flooded over to wash the rest of your grimy face.

You did not expect the door to push forward on its own, nearly smacking you in the face as it knocked you back. You land on the floor unceremoniously. Still so weak and unsteady, you weren’t even a suitable match for an old door.

The man was back, standing over you with a plate in his human hand. He sighed before setting the platter of promised food on the bed, stepping over you in the process.

He spoke evenly, saying, “I didn’t mean to hit you,” but his voice didn’t carry any ounce of guilt for knocking you back on your ass. Would this have been the first time he’d knocked you down, or was it simply the only time he hadn’t meant to do so?

“Are you alright?” he asked as he leaned over your crumbled form, reaching towards your reddened cheek where the wood had initially smacked you.

You immediately shied away from his touch but didn’t fight to scramble backward.

He leaned away but offered you his less harrowing hand to help you off the floor instead of leaving you to do so by yourself again.

You never answered his last question, but as he didn’t press further, it was possible that he wasn't really interested either way.

He gestured to the plate of food he’d set on the bed and said flatly, “Eat.”

You looked over at the plate still perched on a pile of blankets. A slab of cooked meat, diced cubes of root vegetables, and a mush of something boiled, green, and leafy. It was the best thing you’d ever seen.

Actual meat the size of your hand coupled with real vegetables possibly rich with those vitamins and mineral-things the doctor used to talk about. Whatever it was, it made your tongue wet as you swept it over your cracked lips.

A small part of you still wanted to be cautious, as another balled its fists in frustration from being kept away from a beautiful plate of healthy food.

You opened your mouth, only to choke back on the words with a wet cough. You sputtered again, crying like a sad child for him to witness before finally speaking.

“Are you going to drug me?”

"No,” he answered quickly and with little care.

You watched for any signs of a farce, a twitch of an eyebrow, a quirk of a lip, anything. His eyes held their dull, disinterested blue as he waited for you to make up your mind.

You ventured closer to the plate, pressing a dirty finger against the still hot morsel of meat. It was light in color, like white meat off a rabbit, but you needed to be certain before going past this thin line you had drawn for yourself.

Your lips stuck together as you nearly whispered a squeak of a few words, “Is it people?”

The ‘P’ was sputtered by the drop of collected tears, making the sound more pronounced as it left your lips.

“No”

You looked back at him at the subtle change in his voice. With one word, one syllable, it was oddly unmistakable. He sounded a little offended, and yet he didn’t lift a finger against you.

That last ‘no’ was all you needed before throwing yourself at the plate, scooping at the wet potatoes and greens with your fingers to wipe the tasteless sludge over your tongue in ecstasy.

You tore at the meat with your bare teeth like a hungry dog in a frenzy of unending starvation.

You weren’t human anymore; no longer yourself. It was shameful how you felt. In this moment, as you tore at a lump of fat with your back molar, you wanted this more than ever.

You wanted to be a pet if it meant the promise of this minimal care. You wanted to be kept; you wanted the fresh water and food; damned be the consequences.

You weren’t thinking clearly, not until you licked the last stain of grease and green vegetable smudge off the plate with your desperate little tongue. You hadn’t realized you were panting, gasping at the air, and holding the plate with white knuckles and numb fingers as if he could fly off and never return.

His expression had shifted for only a second. A split moment where his eyes widened a single centimeter before returning to their natural steely state. His shoulders stayed stiff with new concern. It was all a subtle change you had missed during your indulgence.

“Do you want more?” He asked, his voice still tainted with that unspoken concern.

You swear you could nearly feel your heart stop at just hearing those words. You were still desperate, and you nodded frantically.

He reached carefully towards you for the plate, giving you his metal fingers instead of the soft fleshy digits of his other hand. Possibly anticipating being bitten when pulling away the saucer. You let him take it from you, watching as he repeated his earlier actions of leaving and locking you inside the room.

There was a burn of shame somewhere in your stomach, but it was greatly overshadowed by a deep desire for sustenance. And, this man, what should be a monster in your eyes, was unbothered to fulfill such a desire.

You stood in place, not reaching for the door like the captive you are, not waiting on the bed like a puppy missing its master. But, by god, you wanted that fucking food.

Chapter 4

More post apocalyptic AU

Tags : @itsswritten @cjand10 @dear-lolita @took-a-wr0ng-turn @scott-loki-barnes @ihavetwoholesforareason @potatothots @toozmanykids @wintrsoldrluvr @heletsmelovehim

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misguidedasgardian · 5 months ago

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Wild Cats (part IV)

MASTERLIST

Summary: It was true, strength did came in numbers

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, cannibalism,

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: Is it the name of the fic? I thought we all loved Daryl :(

“Hi, I’m Maggie”, she presented herself to you, and you shook her hand, she must have been around your age

“(y/n)”, you answered back with a shy smile

“Glenn”, she presented, pointing at the man who spoke first

“Now, we need to get ready, we are not going to make it easy on them”, said Rick, “grab anything you can and turn it into a weapon”

“I have some knives”, you said, they all looked at you amazed, and you took a knee and from your big ass boots you took two blades. You handed one to Rick.

Everyone got to work, and it was kind of fun, you made weapons out of everything, most of them took their belts off and use the metal part to make brass knuckles, and Ruck started trying to break the wooden edge of the door to make a stake

The boots you had on were a heavy duty boot, with a rubber edge and soles, and then a thick leather shin. Now that it was getting heated they were a bother, but once a walker tried to munch at your feet and it couldn't because of it. They allowed you to store things in them, you took out their laces and… well, you didn’t know what you were going to do with them but you already had a knife so you just wrapped your knuckles with them.

Daryl was by your side, making his own weapons, you looked at him, wondering if he was good with a knife, anybody could be better than you

“Are you good with a knife?”, you asked him, he looked at you like he wanted to bite your head off when you offered him your knife

“Keep it”, he said

“You have to be better than me using it”, you said, the weapon hanging in the air between you, just when a light hit you from above. A trap door on the roof of the cart.

“Everyone ready!”, Rick screamed but they only dropped what it looked like a gas can inside

“Be careful!”, someone screamed, as it started to release gas.

“DON’T BREATHE THAT!”, you ran to the back of the cart, protecting your face with the inside of your arm, the knife had been lost in the confusion, and you didn’t have time to look for it, everyone in the cart dropped heavily to the ground

When you came to your senses you felt people walking around you, speaking, their voices became more clear as they were as confused as you were.

You raised your head and looked around the cart, the visibility was already poor, but even now you could see… there was people missing

“Rick is gone!”, said Michonne

“Glenn!”, called Maggie

“Daryl”, you muttered when the archer was nowhere to be found.

“Bob”, called a woman

You stood up again, heavily, you looked at the ground of the cart but the blade was missing, you only hoped Daryl had took it, and not those fuckers.

“What are those sickos going to do with them?”, someone asked.

“We need to see if we can open that thing“, you said looking up, “you! big guy”, you spoke at the big ginger man, he nodded, grabbing you quickly and raising you without further questions. Michonne was there in a second to help him to give you a steady grip, so you could use the strength in half your body to tray and open that trap door. You couldn’t, so you help the man that you learned was called Abraham to raise Michonne this time, but she didn’t have any luck either.

“We need to get out of here, we need to find them before…”

You then jumped to the door and all of you together tried to open it. There was eight of you, still, you couldn’t make it work

It was Rosita now who wanted to be lift up to reach the trap door, and then, between four of you, managed to lift Abraham himself, but not even he could open it.

Just as you were trying to open the big door again. You heard a loud explosion, that shook the entire terrain

“What was that?”, you asked, Maggie stuck her head to the door, and even you who were just standing could hear the gunshots.

“They are under attack!”, she said

“That works in our benefit”, said Rosita

“Do you think that the guys are doing this?”, you asked

“No I don’t think so”, muttered Maggie

But you didn’t have to wonder anymore, someone opened the door and you prepared yourself to jump at whomever was behind it.

But it was Rick and Daryl

“Someone is attacking, come on let’s go!”, he yelled and you all jumped out of there.

It was mayhem. Smoke, walkers coming in, gunshots far away, pandemonium

“Get armed as fast as you can!”, commanded Rick, and you put your knife up and slayed a walker that was coming for you, as you kept together as a group. “kill whoever you see, they will try to kill you”

You were not an idiot, -despite what people who just got to know you might think-, you just didn’t want to accept it, you didn’t, those sickos might only want you to rob you and shit

But you threw up, when you saw… There was a huge pile of human remains on the outside part of one of the warehouses. And they did not look rotten, they were not walker’s remains, those were human, -human- remains.

“We ain’t got time for tha”, muttered Daryl, grabbing you by the arm, and pulling you with him. You had noticed that he had the tendency and grabbing you to encourage you to keep moving, to make sure you did move.

“They were going to eat us?”, you asked, disgusted

“These are some sick bastards”, you did not ask him what they saw in there, you didn’t have the time.

Your heart was beating fast, you could hear it inside of you. The reality of the moment sinking in, everyone but the people who were in the wagon with you were enemies, and the place was just crawling with moving entities, either dead or alive and they all wanted you dead.

You moved like ninjas through the building, following Rick like he was the chosen one, maybe he was, it certainly felt like it.

He signaled both to stop as you saw a group of those sickos gunning at walkers. You waited until the last one passed by, Rick grabbed him and killed him swiftly, then he shot at their backs. You all jumped and weaponized yourself with their guns before the walkers had those who were still agonizing. A fitting death, you’ll suppose

You had seen it before, but it will never stop hunting you, walkers tearing people alive. The screaming came quickly too.

“Come on!”, Daryl screamed, and you did, you ran like hell. When you were passing by a dead dude, you saw your ax on his belt of his half eaten body, you grabbed it quickly and slain the walker that just turned.

You lost your backpack too, those bastards took it, you still had things from your… previous life, but… there was no point in holding onto that sort of thing, right?

You preferred to use the ammunition against the living, so as you ran you tried to take down as many walkers as you could, you felt gazes on you. But nobody said anything as you made your way to freedom.

You barely noticed, it came at you, and you just, shot it in the head

Only when it hit the ground did you realize it wasn’t a walker, it was a human being, who you just slaughtered.

Funny, you had been with Rick’s group for a week and you quadrupled your body count for a year.

But it was a cannibal psychopath, so you hoped that fact would make you feel better.

You all went to the nearest fence, as some of you covered you when the others jumped, before this whole thing started you were ashamed to admit you had never been really athletic, and even more so when you had trouble to jump the fence, but without even asking someone pushed you up, no questions asked, and you in turn, when you landed, helped the others pass.

You managed to get out of there, weaponized and all, and you left those psychos behind as you ran for the forest

Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline had taken a hold on you and you could say you came out unscathed as you took cover behind the treeline

Everyone was still on-guard, pointing their guns around.

“We need to recover, and come back”, said Rick, you looked back at him like he had two heads

“It’s being overrun!”, said Daryl, and you watched as a big horde of walkers took the territory as their own, “it’s still on fire!”

“If even one of them is alive… they might come back for us”, he said. He did have a point

You only nodded s you started to fill nausea creeping up your throat, you took a couple of steps away from then and you just kept throwing up, the adrenalin having forsaken you

“I don’ think we are going nowhere naw”, you beard Daryl say.

“I’m sorry”, you whined, Tara, who you just met, came to comfort you, rubbing your back. “It’s just… those were some sick bastards”

“We should get out of here”, said someone you couldn’t quite recognize, and they started arguing

“They are armed to the teeth if we go back maybe we can get more weapons”, fought Abraham

Then, a woman approached the group, she was covered in dried blood, and weaponized to the teeth, and when they saw her, Daryl jumped in her arms and hugged her tightly.

Rick, Michonne, and Carl also were happy to see her, so she must be a part of their group, the one they lost, unlike Abraham, Rosita, Eugene and Tara, who, just like you, were new as well.

“You need to come with me”, she said, and you all got no choice but to follow her, and you wanted to put much distance between you and Terminus

You walked through the woods, and some dark thoughts started creeping on you

Were you doing the right thing by staying with them? You could tell there was strength in numbers but still you couldn’t help but wonder. Since you met the group you had encountered two hostile groups and almost got killed and eaten, you had killed people, more in a week than you had in over a year since this madness started. What does that tell you?

Maybe it would have been best if you just silently walked away. You hadn't noticed, but you slowed down your steps and you got placed last in your group, you watched ahead all those heads, waking forwards.

Oh you were so scared

You were upping the stakes here, big time. More people, more affection you could get and you knew all too well what happened when you believed you were safe and happy.

Oh gods

You almost got eaten today, by people, actual people.

But if you had been alone you would have walked right into the trap and got eaten anyways… no chance of escaping because you were alone…

You could walk away right now and nobody would mind or care… well it was only a few days until you had met them, but still, if you could only have a little sign that this was the right way to go…

“Hey!”, you raised your eyes to see Daryl looking at you, “what are ya’ doin’? this isn’t a stroll through the woods”, he said, always so angry at you

What that your sign? He sighed when you stepped up your pace and walked by his side, he always seemed so frustrated with you, but in some sick way, you didn't mind his gruffness.

“Sorry”, you mumbled.

“Don’t stay behind”, said Rick, “I know what just happened upset you, and I don’t want you to get distracted, walk with us”, he said softly, and you nodded. Yes, you were doing the right thing.

You walked until you saw a small cabin right in front of you. A big man came out of it, holding a baby. As soon as he saw him, Rick and Carl sprint full speed towards him, Rick took the baby from the man’s arms and hugged her with Carl

“A baby!”, you said happily, it’s been so long since you have seen one, and this one was adorable, “she is a cutie”, you murmured. You felt the gaze of Dixon in you, but you didn’t dare to look back at him

“It’s his daughter”, said the quiet man, Bob, and you smiled even more widely.

This was certainly a stronger sign, right?

You used to find babies really annoying, but now, in this context? It was like a small ray of hope. Like a representation of the most undeniable truth: nature always finds a way.

Now you were just quoting Jurassic Park

Post chapter notes: I feel like these are like filler chapters, but I’m setting a foundation here, and Daryl is a bit mean to reader but that also has some explanation.

#misguidedcats #misguidedtwd #daryl dixon #twd daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #daryl twd #rick grimes #carl grimes #carol peletier #michonne #maggie rhee #glenn rhee #abraham ford #rosita espinosa #eugene

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

there ain't enough room in this twin bed in our shitty Bogota apartment for the two of us

rating: E (explicit - 18+)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 13K 🫣

summary: after surviving the bomb, you and javier make it home to your apartment . . . and promptly pick up right where you left off in the car.

warnings/tags: canon typical violence, discussions of death/violence, oral (f receiving), piv sex, smut-smut-smut, edging, slight overstimulation, lots of feelings, no use of y/n

a/n: part two of Go On, I Dare Ya - the final chapter because writing smut for these two really wears me out

🤍 AO3 Link

🤍Series Masterlist | Prev | THE END

🤍Masterlist

There’s a ringing.

Smoke. Acrid and burning. It’s in your chest, your mouth, your eyes – is that why you can’t see? You cough and just breathe more in, inhaling nails that scrape your lungs. There’s a bright spot on your hip and back and palm – pain? – yes, that’s blood – fuck, where’s your gun? Why are you laying down?

There’s a ringing. A vibration. Like the world is made of brass and someone is tapping tapping tapping with their finger nail and you can actually feel the swelling ring –

There’s still smoke. Less now. Controlled. Intentional. But it still vaporizes the air in your lungs.

“Can you put that out?” You snap at the large fed standing by the doorway. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to you, frowning, as if you are being unreasonable. But eventually, your glare wins out over his and he, as if moving through molasses, reaches towards the metal table, and snuffs out the cigarette into a grimy ashtray.

You realize the ringing is someone speaking to you.

Noonan. She looks worried, pale, but determined. The lines around her mouth are sharp, distinct, as if someone with endless patience carved them out of her skin. She looks old, you think, an idea that doesn’t come to you very often, if at all. Her mouth is moving but you don’t really hear what’s coming out of it. You watch her lips move, they look like they’re made of rubber, flapping over an empty, black hole. White. Teeth. Bite.

Something warm touches your wrist and it’s like you’re sucked back into your body.

You blink, the overhead light of the empty interrogation room suddenly very bright, the scratch of the tape recorder as it rolls on in the silence. You can see yourself in the mirror over Noonan’s blue padded suit. God, you look terrible. Ashy, dirty, there’s a cut over your left eye and suddenly you’re aware of the blood there, the pain there, and in your hands and hips. By the pressure there, you know you’re going to have bruises if you don’t already. Your hands have bandages over them so you can’t see the damages, but the cloth scratches what feels like an open wound. How much blood is there?

Three sets of eyes watch you with varying mixtures of emotion. Noonan, verging on concern. The suit behind you – Ken Something – remains unimpressed. And –

The warmth on your wrist is Javi. Just the barest touch of his fingers. He gently says your name, your last name at least, and you hear it very, very clearly. You follow the bend of his fingers with your eyes, over his wrist, up his arm that has a large bandage just around the elbow, then up his shoulder – God, that white shirt is ruined, torn, bloodied, filthy – to his eyes.

Eyes you saw in the midst of all that smoke and fire. Panicked and white like searchlights. You remember him screaming your name – your first name – then.

He’s looking at you like he wishes you two are the only ones in all of existence.

“Agent,” he says softly but firmly, “the senator asked you a question.”

There’s a cut along the arch of his cheek and you want to touch it, but instead you turn back to Noonan.

“Sorry, I missed it. What did you say?”

Noonan glances at Javier, something about concern communicated, before interlocking her fingers on the table in front of her.

“I said, for the record, I’d like your account of what happened after the first bomb went off. We have Agent Peña’s and now I’d like yours.”

The microphone in front of your face feels invasive, like some streaker just flashed you before running off, giggling. You try not to scowl.

“The car bomb in front of the gambling den went off and blew out half the building. Agent Peña and I were fifty feet up the road at the intersection of Manacha and Comal. It had been a strictly routine follow up to a tip we received on Tuesday. The target, Edwardo Valasquez, was rumored to be meeting with one of the upper narcos so the mission was to watch where he went, to validate that claim. Peña and I had been tailing him all day. That night, in the car, we –,”

Your voice catches. The tape winds, black film consumed again and again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Javier stiffen. The room still smells like smoke, but this time you can’t tell if it’s coming from your clothes or the ashtray.

You swallow. “We had been there for seven hours when the first bomb went off. The target didn’t come out before then and we didn’t see anyone mess with the rigged car. It was a trap.”

“Who do you think the intended targets were?” Noonan asks, interest overtaking the worry on her face. Those lines around her mouth go slack, and that no-nonsense senator is back.

“If someone drove it there and parked it, then most likely the target was Valasquez. It was dark, I couldn’t make out the faces of the men that drove it.”

Noonan writes something down on the yellow pad beneath her hands. “And the perpetrators? Who sent the bomb?”

“Cali.” You say simply. “They’re sending a message that no one is safe unless they’re with them.”

Noonan nods grimly. She fixes those hawk-like eyes on you again. “And the second bomb?”

“Insurance. I didn’t see it go off, but it looked like it was stationed at the exit behind us.”

“And where were you when the second bomb went off?”

You swallow, mouth filled with smoke, and it feels like, for a second, that your guts are oozing out onto the table. You cross your arms to hold them in.

“I don’t know. I was providing Agent Peña with cover when the explosion went off. There was a firefight, between the two cartels. Did I mention that? After the first bomb, the street erupted into an active warzone. They shot at us because they didn’t know who’s side we were on.”

Noonan chuckles darkly, writing down something again. “I think a bomb going off would be enough to classify the situation as a warzone, but I understand your point.”

She sighs and looks up. “We’re almost done. Just a few more questions. What happened after the second bomb went off?”

This is where it gets tricky.

You’d think after a second bomb to go off within twenty feet of the first that there’d be noise. So much noise, for so much chaos. That much destruction cannot go quietly. But of all the things you remember about tonight, the first thirty endless seconds after you opened your eyes, sideways on the pavement, hip bones grinding into the rocks and debris, gun out of your hands and lost to the smoke, those were thirty seconds of silence.

You know if given time, you could parse it out, you could construct something like a timeline. But now, in this yellow smoky room, you can’t quite put it together. You remember people, people bloodied, people dead, you remember something about gathering up an old woman in your arms and dragging her until something inside you told you to stop. You remember you couldn’t find Javier, and the sinking, horrific dread that clawed into your bones. You remember EMTs and lights and the scream of sirens and the fires and the smoke. But you don’t know the order.

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Noonan frowns. “Were you cleared for release?”

“I . . .”

You trail off, unable to find the words. You think you remember someone checking for a concussion. Yes, thick, square hands grasping your elbows, forcing you to look, look at him, are you okay, are you bleeding, are you hurt –

“Yes, Senator, she was.” Javier’s voice is smooth, collected. He has his arms crossed against his chest and his left knee is bouncing. You know that look. He’s about ready to start cracking heads for a cigarette. “I saw it personally myself.”

“Okay, but why –,”

“With all due respect, ma’am, it’s shock. Plain and simple.” You don’t understand why he’s taking that tone so you look at him. To everyone else, he appears bored, disinterested, eager to get out. But to you, he’s coming apart at the seams. His dark eyes haven’t left your face since you started speaking. “This was her first bombing.”

Something about his words breaks through this numb little box you’ve found yourself in and you can feel the grime on your face pinch your skin as you frown at him. His mouth flattens; what are you looking at me like that for?

“Is that true, Agent?” Noonan pulls your attention away from Javi.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Noonan rifles through a folder to her right, another line appearing between her eyebrows. “And reports say you helped at least five civilians to safety? You did that, while experiencing shock?”

“I –,”

“Yes, she did.” Javier cuts you off and leans forward onto his elbows. He’s closer than he was before and you smell the smoke on him. “This agent performed admirably under intense pressure and I am officially recommending her for commendation.”

“Javier –,” you hiss as the air in your lungs evaporates. He won’t look back at you.

Noonan raises an eyebrow before putting her pen to the pad again. “Noted, Agent Peña.”

“Please, don’t write–,”

“Is there anything else, Senator?” Javier’s knee is incessant, liable to knock over the entire table in a single twitch. With a sigh, Noonan reaches over and switches off the recording.

“No, Peña, there’s nothing else . . . for tonight. But you can bet your ass there’ll be a shitload of crap tomorrow. I wish I could tell you both to take tomorrow off, given the hell you just went through, but there’s already inquiries coming in from the press and the government. Both ours and Colombia. What a fucking nightmare . . .”

She stands, collecting the folder and pad. She stares at you and Javier with unreadable eyes, a thick wall of distance brought about by exhaustion and concern. A house of cards straining to hold up bricks.

“Go home. Eat. Shower. Sleep. As much as you can because tomorrow we hit the ground running.” You nod while Javier just watches her go, but she stops by the door, Lurch already moving down the hall. “And off the record, your country thanks you for your service.”

Your stomach knots and she leaves, her heels clacking as she goes.

“Ready to go home?” Javier’s eyes are dark, soft. He’s filthy and he holds his hand out to you. You stand without taking it.

“Yes.”

By the time, Javi parks his Jeep against the curb, you can feel a bone-deep ache settling in. Exhaustion is so palpable in the air you can almost taste it. Given five more minutes, you would have dropped your forehead against the window and gone to sleep. But you fought it. You drove back the aches and the dreams and the steady pull into a dark sleep because Javier was driving and if he is awake, so are you.

The car engine shuts off, the air still warm from the heat outside, and Javi’s door opens and shuts. You fumble with the handle, pop it back, and almost stumble into the street. But he’s there. As if he had been coming around to get your door for you.

You stumble down from his Jeep and his hands catch you around your shoulders, your waist.

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs to a quiet street. This neighborhood in Botoga is empty this time of night, its residents asleep beneath blankets of darkness. His thumb rubs your waist once before letting go. You’re somehow upright and steady. His hand on your shoulder remains, grounding you, centering the unstable universe. “Can you walk?”

You nod and your eyes fall to his hand on your shoulder, so he lets you go. He watches you take two steps, then go up into the apartment building. He’s always close by, a shadow you could never lose.

He’s somehow even closer, more insistent, more there when you climb the stairs to your shared apartment on the second floor. If you breathe wrong, his hand will shoot out and snatch away whatever is causing you harm. You hear the jingle of keys behind you and you realize your purse is gone.

In the midnight blue hallway, it’s like he can see your thoughts as they cross over your eyes. He’s using his own key to unlock the door. “Everything recovered was taken in as evidence. Everything from the car and everything that was found. We can get it back tomorrow. I’ll talk to Noonan personally.”

What makes you so special with Noonan, you want to say. But you can just picture your keys and purse and everything you held important to you sitting exposed in the evidence locker for anyone to rifle through.

He pauses, as if expecting something from you, but when given only silence, he nudges open the apartment door with his shoulder and the familiar smell of home greets you in your time of need. It smells like the chilaquiles you made last week. It was Javier’s birthday and you didn’t forget and the look on his face when he walked in and instantly recognized the taste of home and –

He stands by the couch, taking up too much room, quietly thinking, the keys still in his hand. He’s so fucking broad.

With a sigh, he tosses the keys onto the coffee table and they clatter against the glass, the sound loud and ringing in the silence.

That heady mixture of fatigue and exhaustion slowly peels back from your brain like water receding from the sand when he tugs that filthy ruined shirt out of his waistband. He scratches the back of his head like he’s trying to knock a thought loose before pinching his eyes. With a huff, as though frustrated, he finally looks at you.

“You wanna take the first shower?” His voice is rough, attached to the back of a truck and spun in gravely circles.

It takes you a minute to realize he’s talking to you.

“Oh, I was, I was just going to go to sleep,” you say honestly. “Just pass out, face first, you know.”

You smile, hoping that might relieve the tension that’s winding up in his shoulders like a batter taking aim. But it doesn’t. In the dark, you can’t quite make out the expression in his eyes. But you do see the whites, like searchlights, seeking you out in the smoke.

“Don’t let it sit with you. Don’t . . . hold onto it.” You think you might know the “it” he’s talking about but you aren’t sure. But his tone lessens as he continues, “just at least rinse off. I wanna check your bandages before we go to sleep.”

The thought of Javier peeling back anything on you leaves you almost rooted to the spot. You want to move but you can’t. There’s a slow, expanding heat starting in your lower stomach, but you won’t acknowledge it. Won’t look at it directly. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Javier–,” his name is strangled in your throat, this entire night living somewhere between your memories and your windpipe.

He’s over to you in a second, hands clutching your elbows, are you hurt, are you here – I can’t find you –

“What? What do you need? Do you need me to help you?”

“Help?” Your voice is barely a whisper. You wonder if you press your thumb to the hollow of his throat, if your skin would come back gray and dirty, and there’d be a clear spot over his skin. His chest fills your vision.

“Yes. Do you need help getting into the shower?”

Jesus Christ, I miss pussy.

The memory is so suddenly clear and loud and invasive you feel like you’ve slapped with the strength of it. You jerk out of his arms, scowling.

“No. No. It’s not that.” You physically lift your arm to keep him back. “No. I’m . . . just make sure the front door’s locked, okay? I’ll be out of the shower . . . in a minute . . .”

You stagger backwards and his nostrils flare, teeth grinding in his jaw, and his eyes carry the ache you feel in your bones.

“You’re in shock. Let me help you –,”

“I’m fine. Just winded.” Turning away from him, your fingers brush the wall to guide you in the etched darkness, the lines of things just barely visible. You slide out of your shoes as you go, unbuttoning your pants and not caring if he follows.

“Can I help you into the shower?”

“No.”

“Can I wait outside?”

“No.”

“Can I sit outside the door, with it open just a crack? In case you fall.”

The fact that that was a mere possibility ran you cold. You pause with your hand on the bathroom door, the zipper of your pants undone. He’s a shadow in the dark apartment, neither one of you reaching for the lights, but you know he’s concerned, coming from a place of care, not condescension, or ire, or disgust. Something about tonight scared the shit out of him.

You nod, allowing this one transgression, and go in before you see him move. As per his request, you leave a small crack in the door and then brace yourself for the light switch. You squint against the bright blaze, the pounding in your head flaring for a second as you slowly open one eye, then two, and your vision adjusts. You meet your gaze in the mirror and gasp.

“What? What is it?” His voice is panicked and you know if you don’t answer in a way that satisfies him, he’s going to break the door down.

“I’m fine, Javi. I’m just . . . I just saw myself in the mirror and I look like I’ve been run over by a semi-truck.”

Silence. “It’s not as bad as you think,” he says simply. You can almost picture him huddled up by the door, not daring to step into the strip of light. “A lot of it is swelling and that’ll go down soon. Give a day or two.”

That’s not really what you meant, but the sentiment from him is overwhelming and for the second time tonight, you struggle to find your voice.

“G-g-good to know.”

You smother his response by turning on the water behind you.

Hot. Scalding hot. You want to disintegrate into the steam. With your belligerent guardian hovering nearby, you unbutton your shirt and ease your jeans off down your hips. Everything was unsalvageable. You wonder if you could get a reimbursement for clothes caught in the crossfire, remembering the story Steve told you about the time Javi got his cash bribery to a cop paid back in full by the DEA.

Despite the things you said to him in the car, and despite what you know about him, you know he’s not eyeing you through the crack. He would never.

I wouldn’t brag about you to anyone, even if you lost.

And I especially would never if you let me fuck you.

That heat blooms in you again and you quickly shuck off your underwear. The steam is overwhelming, soothing the singed insides of your lungs with a wet compress. You step under the water and bite back a gasp. Fucking Jesus, it hurts. It burns, but it feels like it’s stripping off layers and layers of dirt and grime and destruction and smoke and chaos and holy shit, you almost died –

“Javi.” His name is in your mouth before you can stop it. It’s so heavy there, you can almost taste it.

“Yeah?” He responds instantly, cautiously.

“Uh, nothing. Sorry. I was just . . . just making sure you were awake out there.”

“I’m still here.”

He sees through your bullshit so fast it makes you flinch in anger. You scowl at the floor, focusing on watching the gray water rush down the drain. You struggle to fully wash your hair – the bandages around your palms are completely soaked but don’t come off easily – and when you go to rub soap on yourself, you pass over your hips and hiss.

Yep, bruises. Purple ones the size of your fist, up your left side, and by your ribs. You remember waking up sideways, the blast having launched you off your feet and into the road. You were grateful you didn’t knock your head against anything permanent. And lucky nothing got pierced, shattered, or snapped in two. Or crushed or bent or displaced. Two bombs and you get to go home to your bed and sleep.

And so does Javi.

Even just imagining that Javi wouldn’t make it home ran a shudder through your body so painful, the water shooting out of the shower head could have been ice cold. But the images in your mind grow and distort, his eyes wide open and no life within, his body too mangled for identification, your consciousness and his separated forever or maybe lost together in the same snarling black pit of endless nothing – tears spring into your eyes so fast it hurts as sharpness clogs your throat.

God, you came so fucking close to dying and all this petty bullshit that you’ve dragged him through just because you didn’t want to seem incapable, when in fact, he thought you were the most talented agent he’s ever seen – why the fuck are you doing this to him? The intensity in your chest swells but you beat it back, beat it down, as you wrangle back your belligerent emotions into the box where they belong. No, fuck, that’s stupid. He’s fine. You’re fine. This is what you trained for. You cannot afford to lose it now. This is standard operating procedure. He’s not crying so neither should you. Buck the fuck up.

You stand there for a full minute, every muscle in your body locked to steady yourself, mouth twisted down, hands fisted, thighs clenched, thighs locking up at the memory of him, of his promises, of the line you nearly crossed before it all went to hell.

Just fucking relax and let me take you apart.

You release, eyes open, mouth apart with a gasp. Fuck, this is so fucked up. You wanted Javi alive and breathing, to annoy every day, and to rail you within an inch of your life.

I’d make it good. I’d make it so fucking good, I swear.

He is just outside that door. Just waiting for you to say the word.

No. He didn’t go running into the next open bed just because he was sad or some shit. Sad or scared or whatever. No, you aren’t going to be that pathetic, no matter how badly you throb, no matter how much you ache, no matter how much you already know that your fingers won’t be enough – and you can’t even use them. Hissing from the hot water on your skin and the frustration that grows between your legs, you carefully, gingerly, knowing full well what would happen if you made any sort of unusual sound, stepped out of the bathtub and took a towel down from the shelf. You wrapped it around yourself, your skin warm and smarting, but no longer aching.

The door hadn’t moved an inch.

You brush your hair a few times out of habit more than anything else and squeegee it until it's no longer dripping. Now to face him. You knock on the door, feeling as though you should respect this boundary you made on both sides.

“Uh, Javi,” your chest won’t let you forget you were near tears, or the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn that insatiable animal between your legs decided to make. You try again, firmer. “Javier, I’m done.”

“Do you want me to leave so you can go to the bedroom?”

Leave? Why would you want him to leave the apartment?

No. He’s asking if you don’t want him to see you in a towel. You can almost picture his broad hand on the other handle. A phantom over your own.

“N-n-no. It’s fine. I’ll just – I’ll just come out.”

You pull back the door and he’s there against the door frame, his broad shoulders turned away from you like someone left the paddock door open and all you have to do is run, run free, run away –

“Thanks,” you murmur, not meeting his eyes as you slide past him. You don’t even fault him if he looks at your ass, but you make it to the bedroom. The bathroom door clicks shut behind you and your lungs release a pent-up breath.

He was fucking right. Getting it off you does make it better.

From your dresser, you grab just some underwear and your older brother’s old college t-shirt. It comes to your midthigh and that’s exactly what you need right now. You don’t want anything thick on you. The smell is comforting in a way you can’t describe and you inhale as all the tension eases from your body.

You drop your towel over the handle of the closet, in which Javi had somehow managed to find space for his many collared shirts despite you swearing there was not an inch of room for him, when you see something on the floor by the dresser. Call it delusion from the events of the night, but you don’t recognize it for what it is until you pick it up . . . and immediately drop it when the realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

It’s a rag, one you both (horrifyingly) use to wash your face, and it’s stiff on the inside. Not full, but hardened. Vaguely you can still hear the shower running as you contemplate what this means. For all the shit you give him, you really didn’t think he would cheat and not fess up. No, this wasn’t him consciously cheating – the rag was too casually discarded for this to be considered evidence. This is something else.

All of this – the bet, the rules, the fact that you actually included wet dreams – you decided on!

Twice now I’m pretty sure I’ve gone blind in one eye, listening to all that and not being able to do a goddamn thing about it.

This is . . . your freebie.

Your face warms, your fingers flexing around the edge of your t-shirt. Holy shit. Wet dreams. Nocturnal emissions. Holy shit.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

The shower turns off just as the warm rushes between your legs, unrestrained and unrestricted. You swear your mouth waters at the thought that you might find an ounce of relief, tonight. Even soon. Your thighs quiver.

The bathroom door opens and you all but launch yourself under the covers. Your fingers are between your thighs before you can stop them, just there, a reminder of relief and you fight off a shiver. The respect he gave you slips into your mind the second before he rounds the corner into the bedroom and you snap your eyes shut, the covers to your chin.

He moves in silence, but the things around him do not. The floor cracks where he walks. The dresser drawer groans as he opens them and shuts them. You think you hear the rustle of a towel falling, then fabric moving on skin, and the floor squeaks in protest as he walks back out of the room.

You breathe out, the air hacked up and choppy as though through between blades. You take your fingers from between your legs, but the stickiness in your underwear remains, just as it has been for a month and a half now. You might be berating yourself – what kind of fucked up were you that this is your reaction to a near-death experience? – if the light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t so bright. You could take off that searing, serrated edge that’s kept you from sleeping well, from dreaming, remove your brain from the hot plate it's been sizzling in for a month and a half. You try desperately not to imagine Javi entirely naked as he moves about the room, but you can’t help it, not now that you’ve given yourself permission to marinate in those feelings, in that heat. Oh God, please can’t he just go to bed?

There’s a click and suddenly light blooms behind your eyelids. You squint open one eye to see him coming towards you with a medical kit in his hands.

“I know you’re awake. Sit up and let me dress your hands.”

The white gauze was damp and soggy from the shower, but you hadn’t really noticed. He sits down, just beyond where your toes are covered by your blanket, and sighs.

“C’mon. Faster you do this, the faster we can go to sleep.”

“Or we could just not. Just go to sleep now.” Just go over there. All the way over there. The bed sinks where he adjusts on your mattress and you swear you can feel his body heat through the covers. You bite your lip and force that whimper back down your throat.

“It’ll get infected.” He taps your thigh under the comforter. “C’mon.”

You sit up but don’t give him your hands. He’s turned on the lamp light between your two beds, not the overhead light, and it blurs all the lines of his shoulders, his jaw, his hair. His white shirt is warmly golden and you realize you had been hoping he wasn’t wearing one. He still hasn’t looked up at you. Maybe he really is irritated that he’s not asleep yet, which you marvel at – you won’t be able to fall asleep for hours, even if you weren’t low throbbing between your legs. With a sigh that’s more practice than sincerity, you stick out your palms. The gauze and tape no longer sit right over your skin and you can now see the pink skin beneath it.

Javi makes a noise in the back of his throat before digging around in the med kit for something. He pulls out a small pair of scissors and starts cutting back the gauze.

“I could do this myself, you know.” It’s petulant and bratty but you didn’t think Javier Peña was capable of the delicate touch with which he holds your hand steady.

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to do it for you.”

It is painfully obvious that you absolutely could not do this unassisted but for the life of you, you can’t imagine why he’s humoring you. You watch him as he methodically cuts through the wet gauze, inordinately careful not to catch or drag the material. He cuts down between your third and fourth knuckle on both hands, and eases the gauze away.

Exposed to the open air, the wounds on the heels of your palms sting and you hiss. Javi, who just had his head in the kit, snaps his head up to you.

“Don’t–,”

But it’s too late, you’ve already turned over your hands. Angry, red, pulsing gashes, some so deep you can see muscle, sit in matching places at the bottom of your hands. Presumably, when you were thrown, you reached out to catch yourself and your hands and hips got the brunt of the impact. But your hips had your jeans over them while your hands had nothing.

“You don’t need stitches.” Javi’s gaze is heavy, his voice low. His hands loosely hold the new roll of gauze and tape. He looks like he’s bracing himself, that he’s worried you’re about to yell at him. “I checked with the EMTs. You don’t need stitches.”

“Oh.” You won’t be able to properly close your hands for months.

“They don’t think–,” his voice catches. “They don’t think it’ll scar either. Maybe a bit, but not so much that –,”

“Where were you?” Your question isn’t accusatory, but curious. You look up at him and he flinches. “I don’t see anything on you.”

“You were closer.” The room is thick with his solemnity. “You were covering my right and I,” he swallows, his eyes fixated on your bloody hands, “I should have seen it coming.”

“Bullshit, Javi. No one could have seen that coming. No one could have stopped it.” His nostrils flare again and he not-too-gently takes your hand with his fingers. Your wrist looks so small in comparison to his fingers. He unwinds the gauze around your palm, and wraps it up against your wrist, securing it with tape, his movements tight and short. There’s real rage in his eyes.

“Yes, I could have.”

His fucking ego. It scratches against you until you feel your skin catch fire. You want to snatch back your other hand, but he’s insistent, not rough, but boasting no room for negotiation. “There’s nothing you could have done, you idiot. You’re not actually Superman.”

He grinds his teeth. “I should have just done my fucking job.”

There’s only so much you can take. This fucking man.

You snatch your hand back from him the instant the tape seals the gauze.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?” His shoulders are lined with tension. You want to kick him off your bed. His fingers dig into your mattress. “You fucking follow me around like I’m liable to break apart and then you go and pull this shit.”

“What shit?” He growls as he angrily packs up the kit and drops it on the floor.

“This! This tough guy, I’m-fucking-invincible, John-Wayne bullshit. We were both there, Javier. Both of us were in the crossfire of not one, but two explosions tonight. So don’t act like I’m the only one upset. Don’t act like this didn’t affect you.”

He goes still. His nails freeze in their excavation of your bedsheets, his shoulders hunched like he’s straining under some immense pressure. Just as you’re about to lift your eyes to find his, he stands – and moves closer to your end of the bed. You flinch, react, because this is not at all what you were expecting from him, and you pull your knees to your chest.

His hand hovers over your knee.

He’s so broad he eclipses the light until he’s all you see. There’s a twitch in his jaw and finally his hand settles down. His thumb rubs your skin once, as if to confirm you’re there.

For the first time in your partnership, his face is unreadable to you. His gaze is dark, stormy, raging, but the corners of his mouth are pulled down and his breathing is sharp. His swallow unsticks his jaw from his upper teeth.

“I thought I lost you today.” His voice is firm. Solid. Unwavering. It had been building up against his teeth, around the soft palate of his tongue. It sat in his mouth and waited for its turn. His confession makes him braver. He sits, closer to you than he was in the car, closer to you than he’s ever been. He watches his hand on your knee. How close it is to your thigh. How easy it would be to slide down to your hip. And then he shakes his head, as though physically fighting back sleep. “Don’t ask me to talk about it. Okay? I can’t. Don’t ask me about it.”

You can almost feel his gravitational pull. But you resist. You always resist.

It can’t be this easy for him. You can’t be this willing. You cannot be some stupid skirt for him or anyone to throw around.

“You told Noonan this was my first bombing, that I was in shock.”

“You were. That’s why you don’t remember what happened clearly,” he says gently, no condescension, “it’ll come to you, in a few days. You just need time to process it.” He speaks from experience and it makes you so angry. He breathes out his nose and his hand retreats, sliding back down your calf, his fingers wrapping around your ankle as if you intended to fly away and he wasn’t going to let you.

“But then why did you make it sound like I couldn’t handle it?” It’s not in your imagination when his eyes go dark, mouth flatting, when he sees you just have underwear on underneath your shirt. You watch him as his eyelids fall heavy and his head turns, just a bit.

What the fuck is wrong with you? No –

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“It has nothing to do with you,” he says softly, his gaze riding back up your knee, as slow and as steady as his hand. He stops in his touchless-roving of you and looks you in your eye. Now this look . . . this look you know. It was the same one he wore when he told you he wanted to ruin other people for you. “I’ve seen fully grown men curl up into a ball after experiencing what you went through. It was horrific. People died. There’s a natural reaction to these things. You’re only human.”

It’s a sentiment that disgusts you.

“And it’ll come to me too.” Javier admits. The words ring in the air, hovering, crawling into your ears, down your throat and taking root into your heart. Eyes never leaving your face, he suddenly comes forward, hand going across your hip, drawing his body over yours as you lean back as far as the headboard will let you go, but his broad shoulders have you pinned. You swallow a whimper in your throat. His head turns, and the electrons between the tip of his nose and your skin crackle. His breath is less close than he is. “It’ll come for me. I know it will.” He sighs as if your scent is soothing, “do you want me to help you forget?”

Just his gaze has you in a stranglehold. If you move a muscle, you’ll touch him. The tendons in his forearms flex on both sides.

“I-I-I want– I want–,”

“Tell me, baby, tell me what you want.” His voice is honey smooth, glazed with sparks and fireworks. He says one thing when he means, let me kiss you.

His nose drags down your throat, inhaling as if to savor, and he plants one chaste kiss on your collar bone, lets his lips linger. He’s tasting you for the first time. “What were you going to say? Do you need a reminder?” As quick and as hot as lightning, his hand leaves the mattress, eases around the back of your thigh and he presses his knuckles into the wet clutch of your underwear. He punches out a quiet groan as your breathing stutters – fuck, how did he know? “She seems to remember me pretty well. Remembers how I made her feel.”

You snag him by the wrist, your other elbow quaking, your breathing small and tight. This is it, this is how it all ends. You look him in the eye, knowing whatever is rapidly expanding in your chest has made it into your gaze, into the set of your jaw, and Javi looks like he wants to drink whatever’s in your mouth right out of your lips.

“I found the rag.”

Tonight’s full of firsts, it seems; Javier Pena fucking blushes.

“That wasn’t– I was sleeping, that doesn’t count. I can’t control it.”

Your breathing hitches, victory squeezing your lungs.

“F-f-fine,” you murmur. Slowly, you push his fingers back into your wet panties. You think you might melt from the intensity of his stare alone, “but I want a f-f-freebie too.”

You watch as Javi’s irises plunge into darkness.

“You want me to make you come, and it won’t count? The bet’s still on?”

You nod, frantically, rolling your hips against his fingers and he hisses, yanking back from you.

“Fucking finally. But we’re doing this my way.”

“What do you–,”

Snagging you by the hips, he twists you perpendicular to the bed as he sinks to his knees on the floor. Your heart is pounding in your throat as you watch him toss your knees over his shoulders, eyes fixated on that wet spot on your crotch.

“Javi, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Bed’s too small,” he murmurs, licking his lips, still focused on you. “Can’t stretch out with the dresser. Knees are gonna fucking kill me but . . .”

As though called, Javi drops his head and kisses where your clit would be over your underwear. All strength is suddenly zapped from your elbows and you flop back, the sound of his corresponding groan forever imprinted on your hips.

“Oh, fuck, Javi, what are you–,”

His fingers curve around the waistband of your underwear and with his nose hovering just over where the waistline sits, he tugs, over one leg and then the other. You feel his breath warm over the dampness in the thatch of your curls and you cannot fight the noise that breaks out of your chest. Your fingers dive into his hair and he hasn’t even touched you.

“Just the one, right?” He licks the inside of your thigh and you arch, just a bit. God, you are so oversensitive and it’s fucking embarrasing – but it’s been so goddamn, fucking long and it’s him.

“Y-y-yes, just, just the one.”

He surges forward, mutters something that sounds like, “we’ll see”, and licks the entire length of your slit.

He is relentless. He is relentless and talented and so very, very, very eager –

Head thrown back, you press your shoulders into the mattress as he licks the slick from your cunt, washing your clit with his spit and your slick. He plays there, twisting and swirling, and just at the peak of pleasure, he sinks two fingers into you and a moan rockets out of you.

“JaviJaviJavi–,”

His responding moan sends shivers across your skin as he opens his jaw wider to lick you even deeper. He shifts attention, focuses on your fluttering cunt while his thumb makes laps around that sweet bundle of nerves. With every heartbeat, you can feel his hands, his tongue, the tip of his nose, flush with your slick. It’s like he’s bleeding you dry, wringing every bit of pleasure from you while he still can.

His fingers pump hard and fast without warning and you jolt, thighs tensing, sending a crackle down your spine that thrusts your hips into his face. Oh god, they are so much bigger than your own fingers. Oh god, he’s right. Oh god, oh god, oh god –

The white-knuckled terror of what happened tonight snaps in half as your back arches against his chest. You can feel the hold it had on you crack as he beckons you forward, beckons you back to that knife-edge of relief, as he drags you out of this broken, horrified shell. How did he know exactly what you needed? That coil springs red hot and tight, pleasure rocketing between your legs and up your spine.

“Worst thought I had all night was that I’d never get back inside this sweet pussy,” he mutters into your thigh. He doesn’t even ask when he adds a third finger, his other hand ridiculously stroking under your knee, as if you’d ever be calm, ever be rational again.

“Do you hear that, baby? She’s crying for me. She missed me so much,” he grunts directly into your sopping wet pussy. He groans at the sound. Eyes fluttering, he drops his head and licks around your clit again, his wrist snapping against you so roughly you bounce up the mattress.

Goddamn it, Javier.

Your core starts to flutter, this orgasm that has been mounting for weeks every time you look at him roaring down on you. It's the one from the car that’s been lurking just out of sight. It’s the one from when you sat on the toilet as he paraded around topless, so consumed with hatred and blind lust you couldn’t move. It’s the one that sparked out, unwanted and unbidden when he smirked at you over his desk, and said, “fine, I’ll take your fucking bet.”

Your nails scratch at his head, fingers knotting his hair, that enormous, crushing orgasm just out of reach, with every muscle in your body extended out to reach it – if you could just get a finger on it –

“You come for me, now. Only me.” His gaze is transfixed on you, mouth, chin, cheeks shining in the low light, but the blazing in his eyes has a direct line to the white-lighting thundering behind the thrust of his fingers. Your eyes roll back in your head as he flicks his wrist faster, the precision of his thumb on your clit mind-numbing.

“Oh, Javi, Jesus Christ, I—,”

“Just let me take you apart.”

He curls his fingers, and sucks on your clit hard.

You’re launched.

Launched off the ground. Into the stratosphere. White noise, propelling you higher and higher, static where your limbs should be.

There’s the height, the peak, the intensity almost burning out your nerve-endings to numbness, you’re pretty sure you’ve stopped breathing, toes curled against his back, heels digging into his spine –

– and then –

He french-kisses your cunt and you slam back down so hard you curl inwards. It knocks you flat back against the mattress, your fingers ooze away from the crown of his head and flop against your stomach. You do not possess the willpower or ability to open your eyes. The warmth between your legs settles, purrs, satiated.

“J-Javi,” you try and speak through a completely dry mouth. “J-Javi, come here.”

He grunts, uh-uh, and slowly, as feeling returns to your legs, you feel his hands around your hips, fingers pulling you down, down into his open mouth where he’s still –

You whimper, that simmer ticking up again. There is no energy left inside of you to stop him, and you don’t want to. Not really. Not when he’s rocking you smoothly, gently with three fingers, through your first high and leading you towards another. He twists his wrist, middle finger brushing you yourself could never quite reach and your hips buck up, wavering on the edged line between pain and pleasure. He presses a wet, salty kiss into your hip bone, keeping you still.

Your own breathing seems to set you off, as if any movement at all is liable to heat that spark, make you clench tighter and tighter on his fingers. “Javi, please – it’s only-only supposed to be the o-one–,”

He groans, rubbing his forehead against you as his fingers plug you up again and again. He licks a patch of skin just below your hip bone and you shiver.

“You come for me when I tell you to come,” he tongues your clit and you twist, not entirely overstimulation, but god it makes you ache. “You come, you frustrating hermosita, and you let me give you as many orgasms as I want and you forget this stupid fucking bet–,”

Your trembling thigh pulls out of his grasp, heel digging into his shoulder, and with a jerk you pry him off you, out of you, and your second orgasm is wrenched away from you so fast, you actually black out for a second. You kick out, gasping in shock and agony, and he falls back on his ass on the floor. But you were too close, on the heels of what quite possibility was the biggest orgasm of your life, too sensitive and freshly fucked. A gyroscope of blinding heat and pulsing wet, you’re oscillating between pain and pleasure, and you clamp your legs shut, hand springing to your mouth. This is it, this is the moment you cry, the moment you break down. You can’t take it anymore. Not after a month, not after all this time as his partner, not after almost dying–

You feel like your body is actively rebelling against you, punishing you for being so fucking stupid.

And you know you’re being stupid too, but it's a reaction. It’s an instinct at this point – self-preservation above all else. Groaning, you roll onto your side, trying to breathe through it, trying to swallow it all down – but your thighs – they’re sticky, and wet, and you can feel your slick all the way down to the curve of your ass – and it makes you just –

“I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned the bet,” and he laughs. Easy, a little disbelieving, but not angry. You wrench your eyes open, mustering all that throbbing into a glare that you hope burns his skin. He’s climbed into the far end of the bed, leaning back against the dresser at the foot of your bed, thick cock fully tenting his shorts, but looking so smug you want to kick him again. You weakly bat at his ankle with your toe.

“Y-you . . . shut the fuck up,” you groan, your thighs quavering. You gulp down air, seeing

the other side of it, but it’s not going away fast enough.

He sighs, adjusting himself in his pants, but not trying to hide in the slightest. “Stop squeezing. You’re making it worse.”

“What?” you pant.

Javi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark, then lifts his hands, a universal white-flag, and he gently takes your ankle, pulling it back across the mattress. It spreads your legs, the cold air in the room against your overripe and exposed cunt almost tickling, but the pressure lessens, eases. You might have been embarrassed to be so completely exposed to him but you stopped worrying about dignity a long time ago.

“Relax. And breathe.”

You throw your crossed wrists over your forehead, sucking in lungfuls of air, as he slowly parts your thighs as they finally stop shaking. Inhaling, exhaling, you bury the sensation until it isn’t overwhelming anymore. He gently thumbs your ankle.

“There you go. You did it . . . whatever it is you’re trying to do.” You open your eyes to his smile, no longer smug, but a little delirious. He shakes his head, laughing a bit as he looks at the ceiling. “Do you feel better?”

You scowl at him and haul yourself to the other end of the bed, closing your legs that have completely turned to jelly. You curl away from him.

“No, you fucking asshat, I don’t feel better.” You eye his still-tented pants. “Do you?”

He sighs, a fraction of his control slipping, and he traces mustache with his forefinger and thumb.

“Not particularly.” He watches your ankles move on the blankets with interest, gaze hardening as it curves over your thigh. “So what’s your next move? What’s your plan?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just going to deny yourself, forever?”

“No, just until you come first. Then, fuck, I think I’m going to join a swingers club.”

“Not funny.”

“It is if you’re me.”

His cock is softening, easing back down, and he sulkily rubs himself. The hum between your legs has finally gone to sleep. You could turn your foot and brush his calf. This bed is definitely not meant to hold two fully grown adults.

You can tell he’s itching for a cigarette.

“Why do you want to win so much?” He crosses his arms, contemplative instead of sour. “I mean, you prove to them that you have more willpower than the rest of the building combined and every man at the DEA knows not to fuck with you. But then what? What do you get then?”

You push back with your shoulders, turning so that you’re facing him, your foot now near his knee. There’s a birthmark on his left inner thigh you’ve never seen before. Never before has anyone tried so hard to understand you.

“Peace,” you answer, the answer coming to you immediately. “Quiet. I can finally do my job without worrying about some mouth-breather taking a photo up my skirt.”

His eyes darken, an unsettling rage sparking to life. “Did someone actually do that to you?”

You pick at a thread on your shirt. “It’s none of your concern. And if it did, you don’t have to worry because I fucking launched his camera out the third story window.”

“Good. But I want you to tell me who it was.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“What if this was just for me? What if I don’t want to work with a fucking asshole who takes pictures of my female colleagues? What if I’ve had a shitty month and a half and I want to kick someone ass, huh?”

You sit up a little straighter, his diatribe flushing something warm inside you. He shakes his head, but you can see his gears turning about how to sneak employee records from the old lady in HR. But he brings himself back to the moment, to you.

“Okay, so peace, quiet. Fucking dead men who take pictures up your skirt. What now?”

“Now I live uninterrupted. My work is judged on its merit not what’s between my legs. I’m finally left alone.”

“Alone? Isn’t that . . . well, lonely?”

“Doesn’t matter when you’re queen of the mountain,” you smile. And that’s what you always believed. That was the goal. That was the end. Whatever you had to crawl your way through, whatever monstrous form your ambition took, there was always the mountain.

Javi chews on the skin behind his bottom lip as he looks at you. If there ever comes a time when he’s not frowning at you, there’s something probably very wrong.

And then he turns his head, as if seeing a light in the distance.

“So you’re queen of the mountain top. Ice queen, frost witch, all alone.”

Something in his voice tears at a vulnerable place inside you. “Javier, don’t. Just drop it, okay?”

“All alone and no one to call you a monster. What was your phrasing, a nagging bitch?”

“Get off my bed, Javier. Right now. Get out.”

“If I make you come first, I’ll tell everyone I went first.” His brown eyes catch the lamplight and burn gold for an instant.

You tuck your legs underneath you, your heart rate doubling. He’s cutting a line through your emotions, jerking you back and forth between anger, sadness, embarrassment, fear — you’d swear he was using a scalpel.

“Why is it so fucking important to you that I get off?” You snap. “Why do you want to be the one to do it? Why did you t-touch me like that? Why do you care?”

He moves quicker than he has all night, probably now that he knows you can’t out run him. That you don’t actually want to. You want him to catch you every single time. Javi crawls forward, follows your legs up to your chest, and cages you between his thighs. Your feet slid under the space between his calves and the mattress.

He’s not trying to crowd you, not trying to intimidate you. But he does want you to be overwhelmed by him. To let only him exist in your mind.

Gently, but this time because he wants to savor every delicious second, he takes your hand again and kisses your wrist, eyes closed.

“Cariño,” he murmurs in his native language and it’s like someone dropped a bucket between your legs. Your cunt bottoms out at that single word. His other hand scoops down around your waist, encouraging you forward, and of course you go willingly, until you’ve got your thighs around his hips and your head tucked into the curve of his neck. He breathes deep . . . And he holds you. Just holds you.

It’s so raw you’re trembling.

He lifts the collar of your shirt and presses his lips to your skin.

“Te han lastimado antes. No otra vez. No conmigo.” He puts his forehead against your temple. “You know exactly why I care. I thought it was obvious when I nearly lost my goddamn mind in the street tonight. I couldn’t find you in the smoke. I knew I was being too obvious, but I couldn’t care. It was written all over my face.”

He’s plucking back your exposed wiring, to the meat of you. To the fleshy tender bits. The thing you always feared the most.

And yet, with him, it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t feel like you’re losing, when he discovers your secrets. When he learns the truth of you. And more importantly, he doesn’t flinch away.

That’s quite literally never happened before.

Tears flood your eyes before you can stop them and you bury your face in his throat. You’ve gotten very good at silent crying but a single breath and he has his broad hands rubbing up and down your spine.

“I think even Noonan knows. But what’s she gonna do?” He snorts, characteristically cavalier about his career in the face of what he finds most important.

You feel very small against his chest, a position you never wanted to be in your most terrifying nightmares.

But looking back, there’s a lot you would tell your past self.

You lift your head, not trying to hide your tears as you gaze up at him. “Noonan knows what, Javi?”

His smile is sad, still disbelieving, but warm. Gentle. Loving. It pricks at your heart.

“Ask me again in the morning, baby. Okay? Pregúntame entonces.”

You nod and he wipes back the streaks of tears with his thumbs.

“Can I please make you come now?”

You swallow, that heat sparking from his hands on your cheeks, down your spine, and into the very center of you.

“Okay.”

You reach forward and cup the back of his head, fingers twisting into his hair, and you realize this is the first time you've ever touched him like this. You sniffle.

“Okay, Peña. Do your worst.”

He snorts. “It’s not supposed to feel like ripping off a bandaid.”

Logically, you don’t disagree. But . . .

“I know.”

Do you?

His eyes search your face, his hand on your cheek almost firm as if inspecting you. “We’ll come at the same time, alright? No winners, no losers, just us.”

You nod frantically, eyes tracing his lips, his nose, his chin. “Yeah. Just us. Just us, Javi.”

“Only us,” he murmurs breathily, gaze locked onto your mouth, and your hands tighten around the back of his neck. Shifting more into his knees, his fingers tug at his shorts, dragging them down over his hips and once you realize what he’s doing, your pulse instantly skyrockets.

His waistband slips down and his cocks springs free, tapping against your thigh and it’s suddenly too real – his arm around you is crushing the wind out of you, but it’s not enough and too much. Is that what was in his jeans? Is that what he rubbed up against the steering wheel over and over again?

“I’m gonna do it right, I swear,” he promises your sternum as he knees out of his shorts. “I’m gonna eat your pussy for as long as you can take it, but I –,”

His gaze flickers to your hand as you drop your shirt off the side of the bed and he stills for just a second. Then he looks back up at you, those dark brown pupils blown wide in lust and awe, and you feel the air sucked from your lungs. You are, in every sense of the word, naked in front of Javier Peña.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, pulling him on top of you, your nipples rubbing roughly against his shirt. He sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, to ready you, but you shake your head, the lack of oxygen in your brain making you slightly light-headed as if you’ve been tumbling down the side of a hill.

“It’s fine, Javi, I just need – I want –,”

He nods because he understands you – he fucking sees you, he always, always had – and he lifts your thighs. His breath shortens in anticipation as he works your hips, your damp folds rubbing against his length.

“I’m gonna – I’m gonna do it right, I s-swear –,”

Your nails dig into the back of his neck and he groans.

“Javi, just do it now.”

He settles you down and lets the weight of you take him in, inch by agonizing inch, up into your warm, dripping center. After almost two months of aching emptiness, the sudden burst of pleasure nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“Oh, fuck,” the stretch is magnificent, ecstacy rippling through you, and you claw yourself closer to him. He grunts in your ear and his other hand latches onto the headboard.

“Ngh– fuck, I know.”

He grip on your waist tightens, either fighting the urge to come or fuck up into you, as you sink down onto him. Your eyes flutter and you feel sweat spark out down your spine. Your hand lifts the back of his shirt and you press your palm into the small of his back.

“Take-take this off.” He complies, shifting you both and you open-mouth gasp at the change in pressure. He sags forward, his head on your shoulder, and his forearm binding you to him. His teeth nip at your skin.

Nothing has ever felt this good. Nothing in your entire life.

God, he is going to ruin you.

“Javier, please move—,”

He nods, and sits back. “Yeah – yeah, okay –,”

He rolls his hips once and fuck, you are never going to do this to yourself again. It’s not just that you haven’t had sex in almost two months but you had been teasing yourself around him, some primal part of your brain throwing a fit that you didn’t give into your baser instinct for him. It was him specifically that wound you tighter than a wet knot and now you are in danger of coming so hard and so fast from just a single thrust.

He shifts you more so your weight is more on top of him, pressing your low back closer, and finally he starts rolling his hips, dragging the length of him just enough out. You swear you can follow the line of your orgasm on the lines of his hips.

“I just – I need to take the edge off–,” He confesses to your throat, in a low, wrecked voice. “Just a bit.”

“I don’t care, Javi,” you squeeze your thighs and you can hear the headboard groan behind you. “Just move!”

He bucks up into you, rougher, all in one go, giving himself over to your demands, to his own and starts hammering into your hips. It hurts, but fuck it feels good too. He sets a pace that has your mouth go slack, his hip bones rubbing right up against your clit over and over and over again, overheating every inch of your skin and making your mouth water. You think you feel him up in your cervix.

“Fuck, why did we wait so long to do this?” he murmurs against your jaw. “Huh? Been living with you for a month – nghh – this’s what we could’ve been doing instead?”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull your warm tits against his chest. He groans, and his fingers slip down to the bottom of your spine, one resting against the crack of your ass.

“Month in a half–,” you correct him breathlessly. “‘ve had to watch you walk around topless in the morning . . . for a month and a half.”

He releases something between a growl and a groan from his chest and he drops you a bit, angling his hips down, and you gasp at the angle. You lean back and scrape your nails down his chest.

He drops his mouth open and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, rolls it between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue. When you jolt, he seeks out the other one, nipping just hard enough it makes you gasp.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Javi–,”

“You like that?” he smirks, his sideburns damp, “yeah, you do.”

You barely nod before he turns you both onto the bed, but he grabs your knees from his hips and splits them. Switching from that rough bounce, Javi grinds his cock deeper into you, brushing a place inside of you that flicks the heat like a lighter. You want to hold your legs open for him.

“Can’t wait to see you come like this,” he grunts. His hand leaves your knee and starts to tease your clit again. You’re leaking into the mattress, your cunt fluttering as though electrified. “See you turn off that fucking gorgeous brain of yours. Maybe then you’ll be nice to me.”

“Never.”

He smirks above you and you can’t help but grin back.

“You’re such a tease, you know that?” His grinds are long, deep, allowing for the sound of your cunt sucking him in to punctuate the silence.

“Only for you.” You want to take it back the second it's out of your mouth, but you can’t and he is . . . the expression on your face, it makes him bite down on his back molars.

His eyes flutter and he rewards you with a swift rub on your clit. You shudder, feeling so full, you can barely form sentences, much less words.

“Yeah? Only me?” His damp hand leaves your clit and slides up your ribs, taking his time as he fucks you so deep, you’re going to feel it tomorrow in your guts. He cups the heavy flesh of your breast, and circles your nipple with his thumb. You arch into his touch and his mouth drops. “All this – just for me, baby?”

You squeeze him once, your fingers wrapped around his forearms, and his rhythm slips. “You fucking heard me the first time. Don’t stop.”

He slows, his irises jet black and wide, lust-blown. His sweaty chest heaving, droplets running down the back of his neck, he pins you to the mattress with just his gaze. His hips draw little figure eights and you fight to keep your eyes from rolling back, to force that oncoming orgasm at bay.

“Still with that mouth. That goddamn attitude.”

You swallow, because oh god, you’ve really done it now. “Yeah. I remember something about fucking that attitude out of me.”

His head cocks to the side. His hands leave your knees, hovering as they tease the microscopic hairs on your skin, until he’s braced over you. You wrap your legs around his hips, bringing them down to you.

“Do you want that?” He husks, nose trailing over yours, then your mouth, your chin, as drops of sweat patter onto your neck, your chest. The Bogota heat is really unforgivable. You know you’re staining your sheets with multiple fluids. “You want me to fuck the attitude out of you?”

“A lady never repeats herself,” you mutter, your hands combing through his damp curls. “Javi, I’m so close, please. . .” One of those disbelieving eyebrows arch up. He doesn’t seem to hear you.

“A lady, huh? Well, I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I came first, so why don’t you just . . .” He unwinds one of your legs from his hips, balances it over his shoulder, and grinds down. Your snarky retort is lost to the recess of your brain and the tension flares within you, forcing a breathy moan out of your mouth. His gaze follows your nose as you arch back and come down. “There we go, just needed it right, huh?”

“Just–,” thrust, “a little–,” thrust, “attention–,”

“God, Javi–,” you cry out.

His new pace is even more staggering than the last. At this angle, you feel like you’re being split up, carved out, taking him in until there’s more of him than you. His thrusts are just as deep as the last but harder, rougher, faster–

Oh, god, so fast, so, so, so fast–

He’s fucking you down into the mattress and you deliriously consider the sturdiness of this fucking twin bed. It squeaks and rocks.

“So fucking tight,” Javi mutters to himself more than you, his jaw locked. “So fucking good.”

You’re right at the peak in a fraction of the time, your walls no longer fighting him. He groans deep as you start to flutter, start to come– when he stops – again.

“Javi,” the halting of your orgasm is officially painful, your stomach tight and your cunt clenching. And fuck, you’re crying. “Javi, please, please don’t stop. I’ll do anything. Anything you ask, but please, please let me come.”

He half-chuckles, half-pants as he lifts your hips up and sets a pillow down under them.

“When I said I was going to fuck you and make it good, I meant it. Besides,” he swings your other leg over his shoulder again, rocking over you and nearly splitting you in half. He fills you in a single, rough stroke and at the new angle, where he’s deeper than ever, and now the tears stream out the corner of your eyes as you gasp at the sensation. “I thought you said you didn’t want to come.” You whine, high-pitched and needy, as he drags all the way back out and plummets down again, making you feel every inch of him. You’re a sobbing mess when he does it again.

“Fuck, Javi, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please keep doing that–,”

With little half-thrusts, he kisses your left temple, right over where the tears flowed into the sheets.

“You did everything right tonight.” You split open your watery lashes to see him watching you. He looks about as wrecked as you feel, brow furrowed, cheeks pink. How does he fucking maintain control like this? “You’re doing everything right. You did so good. But let me do this. I want to – I’ve wanted, for s’long –,”

Your breathing stutters between the tears and his words. You can only nod, your bottom lip trembling, as Javi picks up his speed again, steady at first, then harder. He grunts with every stroke, like he’s trying to prove something. The slap of hips against yours is outrageous. Every thrust threatens to shatter the very center of you. Detonate something precious and vulnerable inside of you.

“You’re close, aren’t you? God, I can feel it. I can fucking feel it.”

He thrusts down more, faster, like he’s chasing you, chasing your orgasm. He grits his teeth, neck muscles corded. He hitches your leg higher.

“C’mon, ba-by, that’s- it, that’s it– lemme fe-el it–,”

But you are seconds away and he’s still not there, still sprinting after you. So you do the only thing you can think of.

You lean up, your knee falling off his shoulder, and you kiss him. Hand clutching his neck, you kiss him with every last ounce of your awareness, of self-preservation, of fucking adoration because this man is the only creature on the planet with a willpower to match your own. And you fucking love it.

He grunts and thrusts one more time and that’s it.

Your vision whites out, your thighs trembling, tension snapping, and sends you hurling over the edge. Both of you over the edge. You whine against his mouth, as he cock drives deep, deep within you one last time. You feel his warm ropey cum paint the inside of you, cock twitching, your walls rippling, sucking him dry, and his entire body sags down into you. You have to turn your head to breath, to gasp in air, oxygen flooding your brain, and he pants into your neck. His bicep trembles where he’s trying and failing to keep his weight off you.

“Jesus, fuck–,” he mutters against your skin, the sweat on his forehead mixing with your own wet salt. He’s shaking above you, his pulse pounding so hard in his neck, you feel it on your skin. You wonder vaguely where he can feel your pulse. He takes a few more steadying breaths before lifting his head slightly.

“This isn’t how I usually do things after,” he pants between words, “but, uh, there is literally no room for me to roll off you.”

You laugh, the motion stealing precious air from you, you can feel your stomach expand against his, and he finally meets your gaze. You eye the embarrassing lack of space in this ridiculously tiny bed.

“And here I thought you just wanted to cuddle.” This close, you feel the flush of his breath as he chuckles. “Here, lean up a second.”

He groans, “mi jodida espalda. Creo que me desgarré un músculo,” but manages to get high enough for you to scoot to the edge of the bed and he dips his shoulder into the open space between you and the wall. Your bodies are so tightly pressed together, he manages to stay inside of you the whole time.

With anyone else, you would have just gotten out of the bed. Moved away. You’ve never been one to linger after sex – either your partner was already asleep or you had better things to do – but Javi seemed intent on studying your face as his breathing slows and your heart rate eases. His softening cock slips out of you and you fight a groan at the sensation. He tucks his bicep under his head like a pillow. Sweat rolls over his tight muscle.

“What? No post-cigarette sex?” You smirk to cover the rising blush on your cheeks, the longer he stares. “No slap on the ass, ‘wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am’?”

His face is expressionless when he asks, “is that what that was to you?”

You swallow, feeling a bit like you’re being scolded. “No, of course not, I just–,”

“Good. It wasn’t like that for me either.”

He cups the back of your head and brings you closer, closer than you possibly could be, and kisses your mouth, soft, easy, with a hint of tongue.

Something sickening like adoration claws through your chest because fuck, what if he doesn’t ever kiss you like that again? What are you going to do when he walks through the office doors coated in another woman’s perfume, his scent all over her and –

You break apart, hands on his chest. His brow furrows.

“What? What did you think about just now?”

Like he wants to know what’s going on inside your brain.

“So we tied. What a great story that’ll be. I’m sure the office will laugh themselves silly on how we both won and lost at the same time–,”

He says your name firmly, once, with his fingers wrapped tightly around your bicep. He cuts off your ramblings instantly.

“Stop,” he begs quietly. “Why are you talking like that, querida? What are you thinking about?”

His dark brown eyes are sad, hurt even. Why do you keep pulling away from me?

It’s been such a long night. It’s been such a long month. Year. You’ve been fighting for so, so long and all it takes is for him to knock at your door, and everything comes crashing down. You feel exposed, a live wire, a nerve rubbed raw – too much, Javi, too much – and tears rim your lashes before you can stop them. You shrug, the vice grip around your throat painful and choking. You shrug weakly, unable to meet his eyes.

“I’m just preparing myself for something funny to tell the bullpen when you walk in after you’ve fucked the secretary on the second floor. She’s been eying you for months and it wouldn’t be fair to deny her!” Your voice swings, high-pitched and pathetic on that last word, and you clamp your mouth shut, tears rushing down your cheeks. You expect him to sit up, snarling, grab his clothes and storm out the door. It would be fair. It is what you would do if he tried to pull the same bullshit you are right now. It’s too late to act like an adult right now, but at least you can try and salvage something. “You don’t owe me anything, Javi. Not after this. Not after this insane crap I put you through. I didn’t have any expectations then and I don’t now. You don’t owe me anything.”

Your gaze focused on the crux of his elbow.

“Can you please look at me?” Soft. Gentle. Patient. But firm. Brimming with shame, you lift your eyes up to him.

Brown eyes. Sad. Hurt. He wipes your tears with his thumb, before cradling your neck. He runs one finger up and down the skin in a motion that is instantly soothing. He watches you, cautiously, and then he brings his face forward, his lips catching yours as his finger strokes your chin. He kisses you until you’re flat on your back and the tension eases from your shoulders, from your fingers, your mouth. When your lips freely receive him, he pulls back, hovering over you, hand gently settling on the cup of your jaw.

“Since I’ve clearly not been able to convince you with anything else I’ve done, I’m just going to come out and say it.” His nose flares and he nips at his bottom lip before opening his mouth and saying, “I like you. I really like you. I really, really like you and more importantly, I want to date you. Only you. No one else. Do you understand that?”

Your mouth hangs open and a brush of his thumb makes you shiver and shut it.

“Nod so I know you understand.”

Slowly, you nod.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Let me prove that.” He shifts closer and you nod frantically. “I’m going to take you out and we’re going to drink, you’re going to try and dance very badly . . . I’m not going to let anything bad ever happen to you.”

And, fuck, you believe him. You do. You really do.

His lips press a promise into yours and you swallow the swelling emotion. He��s making you feel small but that’s suddenly not so bad. He pulls back and you can feel a grin spread across his lips.

“So, now that I’ve seen you naked,” he whispers against your skin. “Does this mean I can finally be in the shower with you?”

“Sure, but lemme take out that camera I put in there first.” He smirks as he pinches your nipple and you giggle as you slip off the edge of the bed. “What? I was very committed to winning the bet.”

“Oh, yeah? Had no idea.”

He lets you pull him to his feet and he stumbles into you. He kisses you again, crowding you to get moving.

If someone had told you that this is where all of it, everything, would end up . . .

You wouldn’t have believed them

The END

#javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena smut #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x y/n #javier pena fic #javier pena one shot #javier pena x ofc #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos netflix

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therobotmonster · 8 months ago

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"Doctor Martin, why are you an atheist?"

Director Maria Kleinheart wasn't the sort of person who asked indirect or idle questions. She was in every way a Kleinheart, the spitting image of her grandmother. Only she wasn't staring out from a yellowed ad in a back issue of Popular Science or Woman's Day, she was staring from across desk made of polished slate.

Emil Martin didn't respond immediately. That sort of question usually came with an invitation to services or a badgering about Pascal's wager. That didn't fit what he knew about the director, though that wasn't much. An intense religious conversion would explain the rumors around her distance from the rest of her family.

"Director, is this a personal or work related question?" Emil finally asked.

"Work." She replied.

"Is that appropriate?"

"Yes. This is about security clearances."

That made even less sense. Emil decided to risk a lecture on his eternal soul and answered truthfully. "Pretty standard, insufficient evidence."

"Would you rather it be true?" She asked. "Would it be comforting to know you existed for a purpose, that someone was in charge of your existence, caring for you?"

"Not really." Emil replied. "I'm rather Hitchenisan in that regard."

"Good enough. Follow me."

"BE NOT AFRAID."

The words seemed to come out of the air itself. The thing was at the center of the large, expansive lab that had once been a missile silo. It was a sphere, surrounded by two rings of brass-like metal. The rings were lined with hemispherical semi-translucent white glass or crystal protrusions. The inner ring spun slowly, as did the central core, though only the faintest irregularities in its glowing blue-white corona revealed that motion.

The outer ring was held in place with steel chains, each link six inches in diameter. Two chains locked the ring to the floor, while a third latched the top to the ceiling. The cuffs the chains connected to seemed to have been welded shut around it.

"BE NOT AFRAID." It 'spoke' again. Its voice was clear and musical, but wrong and artificial at the same time. It sounded like familiar voices; his mother and father, his cousins, his old school pals, his boyfriends, even Director Kleinheart, each synthesized poorly via an AI speech simulator, all speaking in perfect time.

Every time it spoke, Emil smelled his grandfather's sweet cornbread fresh from the oven.

"That looks like an angel." He finally gasped.

"Looks like." Director Kleinheart smiled. He wasn't sure she could do that. "I knew we picked the right man."

"This is why you were asking about my beliefs?"

"Yes Doctor Martin. You see, freedom of religion is an extension of the principle of innocence until proven guilty. Once one faith is shown to be correct, all others are revealed as wrong."

"And you wanted to make sure I, what, wasn't guilty of being wrong?"

"No, the mistaken are innocent of everything except the actions they directly take." Kleinheart continued. "It's the ones who would take this to mean they were right that are fifth columnists to an unaccountable alien power."

"Oh." Emil replied. He didn't know quite what else to say.

"I want you on our team that's studying it. We need to know how it works, what it's made of, what those things its made of can be used for, you know the drill."

"BE NOT AFRAID." Again came the smell of cornbread.

"Are the restraints necessary?" Emil asked. "It is telling us we don't need to be afraid of it."

"Oh, we thought that too at first." The director said. "But we've already learned quite a bit about our little intruder here, even a bit of its 'source code' for lack of a better analogue. That message isn't meant for us."

"What is it then?"

"Can't you guess, Doctor?"

Dr. Emil Martin shrugged. "I have no idea."

"It isn't giving us a warning."

Director Kleinheart smiled for the second time in Emil's memory and spoke again.

"It's repeating its orders."

#be not afraid #ophanim #short story #flash fiction #kleinheart robotics #do you think god stays in heaven #etc #melinoe labs #melinoe laboratories #the rare non unreality melinoe thing #not unreality in the sense that its prose and not an in-universe artifact

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blood-orange-juice · 6 months ago

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Ok, we now have Emilie drip marketing and either Hoyo authors have never talked to a perfumer in their life or we are in for a surprise.

All the classic perfumes became classic because of masterful usage of "dated, decayed, and decrepit".

Two legendary Guerlain scents, Shalimar and Mitsouko had profoundly unpleasant notes in their original compositions. Shalimar used civet musk which smells of honey and manure. Mitsouko is nicer but it's an overdose of bitter: moss, tarragon, cloves, they balance the overly sweet and "feminine" jasmine and peach. I think civet too. Hidden nastiness was what made those shine.

Flowers are weird by themselves as well. Gardenias have a mushroom note, lilies smell of salami, jasmine and neroli turn into ghost flowers without a molecule called indole which pretty much smells of cat shit. Tuberoses smell of skin and metal and raw meat.

And then there's ambergris. Ambergris is more or less whale vomit and it smells appropriately. In small doses it makes flowers "fluorescent", so in the age of natural perfumery it was used as a modifier.

(a fact you didn't want to know: a good perfumer usually has a collection of tinctures of whale vomit of different colour)

A common pastime of a group of perfumers who gathered together is to gush over a vial of something that smells like rotting mussels with a bit of sugar.

So, uhm, I hope Emilie is a little freak who goes on tangents about how the scent of dried blood combines perfectly with incense, or how the brass scents of Meropide and damp mustiness call for moss and daffodil absolute and yellow roses.

#emilie #genshin impact #the thing is you can't allow a scent to be squeaky clean #or it would feel wrong on a human #perfumes need warmth or imperfections or something animalic

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somanyratsinthewalls · 9 months ago

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Burning Hearts Chapter 10

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC

Summary: *WE ARE STILL SLOWLY BURNING* You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

WC: 2600

Taglist: @cottoncandyloverrrr @zoros-fourth-sword @nothing-but-brass

Burning Hearts Chapter 10: She’s a Lady

— —

After a night of fitful sleep, you woke up to your alarm mildly hungover with a dull headache. You groan as you slam the alarm off and sit up in bed. You sit there with the blankets bunched around your legs and your mind returns to last night. That fervent kiss in the hallway outside your room. Law had apologized and ran away, leaving you confused and alone.

You had to say something. There was no way you’d let another year and change go by ignoring what had happened between the two of you… the tension would absolutely eat you alive.

You’d have to see him today, regardless of how awkward the encounter may be. He promised he would let you accompany him on the supply run, and you’d be damned if he went back on his word because of some drunken slip up. You needed to get off this damn island if it killed you, you were totally going stir crazy. You were already talking to polar bears, it’s only a matter of time before you start talking to the walls.

You hop out of bed and throw on one of your red jumpsuits. You sit on the floor in front of the mirror in your bedroom and plait your hair into two long French braids, accessorizing them with a few yellow summer flowers. Once you were finished, you throw on your boots and head out the door.

You maneuvered your way through the base and exited the front door, eyeing the Polar Tang docked in the distance. You approached the big yellow submarine and admired its impressive craftsmanship. You had never been on the Heart Pirate’s ship before, Law never allowed you to come with him when he headed out until now.

Upon reaching the ship, you see the gangplank is already up. You must be the last to arrive, so with a quick flutter of your wings you dropped onto the deck and entered the steel door. The ship was much like the base, cool metal from floor to ceiling. The hallway was lined with doors, assumedly bunk rooms or storage. There was a wide door at the end of the hall, different from the others. This must be the main cabin. You stride towards the door and push it open.

The room inside was lined with monitors and odd machines with knobs and buttons, nothing you’d have any idea what to do with. The main wall of the ship was a large window so that who ever was navigating could see forward. Law was facing away from you and manning the helm of the ship and Bepo was fussing with some of the ship’s instruments.

“Oh hi Miss Daisy! Now that you’re here we can head out. Are you ready?” Bepo smiles and waves a large paw at you.

“Yes, I’m ready.” You smile a bit. “Bepo, could you excuse us for a few minutes? I need to talk to your captain.”

Bepo hesitates and looks at the back of Law’s head.

“W-well we really should…” Bepo stutters, unsure of what to do.

“It’s fine, Bepo. Give us the room.” Law speaks without turning around.

“Yes, Captain. As you wish.”

Bepo exits the control room and shuts the door behind him.

Law still doesn’t turn to face you, hands on the wheel of the ship, gripping it tightly. There was a long silence.

“So we just aren’t going to talk about last-“ You start.

“No.”

Another pause. Law continues.

“I apologized. I don’t know what else you want to hear.” He states coldly.

You scoff.

“So that’s it? You kiss me and want me to pretend it never happened-?” You start to raise your voice.

“That’s EXACTLY what is going to happen!” Law yells and whips his body around to face you finally. “It was unprofessional. It was an accident. I was not myself in that moment. I’d very much like to move on.”

“You’re lying! I know you’re lying!” You step towards him.

“Yeah? Lying about what?” Law was getting incredibly frustrated and red faced.

“The kiss! I don’t think that was an accident, Law.” You point at him accusingly while you spit venom at him.

“And how would you know?” He seethes.

You ball your fists.

“I’ve been kissed by a lot of assholes who didn’t mean it, who didn’t care at all, and that’s not what that was. That was something and you’re hiding from me. You’re my mentor and we’re supposed to be honest with each other.”

There was another silence and Law stared at the floor before speaking.

“You’re mistaken. I’m done talking about this.” Law turns back towards the helm of the ship and away from your glare.

“You know what? Fine. Be like that, then. Keep everything all bottled up, all packed away so that no one can ever see who you really are. You think closing yourself off will keep anyone from ever getting hurt again but you’re wrong. You’re hurting yourself by being like this. You can’t protect your friends if you can’t even be honest with yourself.”

You see Law grip the wheel even tighter. He doesn’t respond.

“If you come to your senses, Trafalgar Law, I’ll have you know that although I may be a pirate, I am first and foremost a lady.”

“What are you talking about?” Law turns his head and furrows his brow.

“I am a lady and I should be properly courted like one. I will accept nothing less.” You square your shoulders and take a deep breath. “I’ll see you when we arrive at the island, then.” You turn and leave a stunned Law alone in the main cabin. You run into Bepo waiting patiently in the hallway.

“You guys finished in there? Is everything okay, I heard yelling-“ Bepo asked.

“All set. Let’s shove off.” You brush past the bear and find someplace to sit and relax for the trip.

— —

It was a quick voyage under the sea before Law docks the ship at a port on some sleepy little inhabited island. You and the rest of the crew clamber out of the sub and walk down the wooden docks with Law at the head of your party. Once clearing the docks, bustling with fishermen and ship repairmen trying to make a sale, you all follow Law towards the village.

The appearance of the Heart Pirates only garnered a few whispers from the locals as you all made your way into town. It seemed as though this was a town that was accustomed to the presence of the powerful pirate (now warlord) and his crew.

“You guys come here often?” You say softly to Penguin as you stroll through the cobblestone streets.

“Yeah kinda, it’s busy enough to have what we need but quiet enough to not make a fuss. Not like we have to worry anymore anyway… well everyone except you, haha!” Penguin laughs.

“Sooooo funny… real funny guy you are… I’ll take my 60 million berries and shove them right up your ass.” You quip as you dig your thumb between his shoulders.

“Owww! Captain!”

“Will you guys stop making a scene? I said low profile.”

You stick your tongue out at Penguin.

You pass by a toy store with children and their parents running in and out of the door. The shop had baskets of plushies outside to draw in prospective buyers. You smile at a group of kids and look down into one of the baskets.

“Oh my goodness!” You reach down and grab one of the stuffed animals from the bin. It was a fluffy, chubby little reindeer plush. You hold it up in front of your face and smile.

“It looks like my friend!” You grin and shout towards the group who was already passing you up.

“You should get it, it’s very cute!” Bepo smiles at you.

Your grin fades.

“No… I shouldn’t spend my money on silly things like that anymore…” You gingerly set the plush down and pat it on the head before jogging to catch up to the party.

You walk a little further up the road.

“Oooh can we stop at that one place and get the beef noodles? Those are my favorite!” Shachi chimes in.

“We’re here to get supplies, not take a vacation.” The Captain replies.

Law was met with groans from all 3 of his crew members as they followed him to the shopping district.

A few more silent moments go by before a savory, rich scent filled your nose. It wrapped around you like a warm hug and stopped you in your tracks. You turn to your right and peer into the restaurants windows. You press your face and hands up to the glass and look at the tables full of happy patrons, tables littered with delicious looking food.

“Woah those noodles do look good…” You say more to yourself than anyone else.

“See, Cap! Pleeeease! We’re starving, we didn’t have breakfast because Daisy was hungover!”

“What, if I don’t feed you, you’ll starve?” You snap your head in Shachi’s direction.

“I’m not allowed to use the stove anymore, you know that!” Shachi shoots back.

“FINE. Go sit down. I’ll get most of the supplies now and run them back to the ship. You guys can pick up the food from the market on your way back. I’ll be waiting.”

“Yay!” Shachi cries out as he rushes you, Bepo, and Penguin into the restaurant to get a table.

— —

The four of you slurp down your bowls of noodles greedily and order more drinks to wash them down with.

“Soooooo how was last night?” You ask with beef stuffed into your cheeks as you nod to Penguin.

*cough cough* “What do you mean?” Penguin chokes on a noodle briefly.

“Last night… like when you walked our friend back to her room? Ringing any bells?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing happened, I went to bed like 30 minutes later and he was already in bed passed out! Clothes on! Alone!” Shachi chimes in.

“You don’t know that!”

“Unless there was an OTPHJ situation, I’m pretty sure you struck out again bud.” Shachi shoves another pile of noodles into his maw.

“OTPHJ?” Bepo raises an eyebrow.

“Over-the-pants-hand-job.” You wipe your mouth with a napkin and clarify.

“Oh… gross…” Bepo hangs his head.

“Yeah, it is gross.” You grimace. “Don’t listen to him, Peng. Slow and steady wins the race, and I think you’re winning her over. Don’t rush it. You can steal flowers from my garden any time.” You wink as you take a huge gulp of beer. You look at your watch. “Shit we gotta go or Captain Buzzkill is going to hang us all.” Bepo nods and places a stack of cash from his orange jumpsuit pocket on the table.

— —

“Of course he sticks us with the heaviest shit… knowing damn well he could probably room-shambles-whatever all of this back to the ship anyway…” You huff out as you readjust the massive bag of food supplies you had slung over your back.

“Here, let me help, tiny human.” Bepo swings the bag from your back over his shoulder easily.

“Thanks, Bepo.” You smile and rub your neck.

“Please forgive me if I’m intruding, Miss Daisy… but what exactly happened between you and my captain earlier? He seemed distressed during the entire journey…” The large bear looks down at you as you walk. You turn your head and see that Penguin and Shachi were falling far behind, bickering about something.

“I um… I tried to talk to him about something and it… it didn’t really go that well… as I’m sure you heard?” You phrase the last part as a question, trying to feel out exactly how much of the argument Bepo had heard from the other side of the door.

“I assure you I wasn’t eavesdropping, Miss Daisy… I just heard you both yelling and he was just so… distraught… afterwards, I couldn’t help but worry.”

“I’m sorry I caused you to worry.” You look down and continue walking towards the ship.

“I worry about him a lot, you know.” Bepo continues. “He can be… prickly… but he’s a good man. He can act brash when he’s feeling conflicted, and I can certainly tell you bring out that feeling in him.”

“You’re the second person to tell me that. Am I supposed to be getting a hint here? Everyone keeps talking to me in circles.” You furrow your brow in annoyance.

“He’s my best friend, Miss Daisy. Give him time. Slow and steady wins the race, remember?” Bepo smiles.

“Okay but it’s not like that… you know that right?” You cock your head.

“Right.”

— —

It was late in the evening when your party returned to the safe house. The 5 of you hauled the bags filled to the brim with supplies into the galley and started unloading the perishables into the fridge and freezers.

“I have work to do. I’ll see you in the morning.” Law slinks out of the kitchen and down the hall to his office.

“Does he ever sleep?” You roll your eyes.

“Nope.” The three boys said in unison.

“Well, he might not, but I’m sure as hell going to. I’m wiped.” You finish putting bags of rice into the pantry.

“Need to get your sea legs back, huh D?” Shachi chides.

“Whatever, goodnight nerds.” You playfully flip them off and head to your room. With each step your legs felt heavier and heavier… the pure exhaustion settling into your bones. You push into your door with your whole body and flop your bag down onto the floor.

You begin to unzip your jumpsuit when you notice something on your bed that wasn’t there when you left.

Laid neatly up against the pillows and tucked cutely under the blankets of your now made bed was that fuzzy reindeer plushie you had seen earlier in town.

“Now what the hell…” You rush over to your bed and scoop the stuffed animal up in your arms. It was a little smaller than your friend, Chopper, but it reminded you of his cuteness nonetheless. How did this get here? You clearly remember setting it back down in the bin and going to eat at the restaurant. Bepo was the one who encouraged you to buy it, but you had been with him the entire time while you were on the island…

Someone must have gone back, bought it, and placed it in your bed before you could reach your bedroom…

You look into the plush’s black glossy eyes and smile. You strip off your jumpsuit and crawl into bed, cuddling the stuffed reindeer in your arms as you fall asleep.

——

*Author's Note* Tumblr got rid of yellow as a text color? Or am I dumb? Did I ever have yellow? Am I losing my mind?

Also thanks for waiting a week :) I've been mad busy. Should have Chapter 11 out this weekend! Love yall.

#one piece #one piece anime #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #law x reader #trafalgar d law #trafalgar op #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #law x y/n #law one piece #trafalgar d water law

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