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gutsby · 1 year ago

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Easy Street

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Warnings: NSFW. Attempted vehicular manslaughter. Enemies to lovers to enemies again. Hatefucking, facefucking, and a fair share of overstimulation. Age gap. Loss of virginity. Dirty talk so foul it may set feminism back several centuries. 7.5k words + this fucking song.

“You are one sick son of a bitch.”

Gripping the steering wheel in one hand and the Collapsable Hearts Club cassette case in the other, you shook your head, disturbed. Even in the sunlight, the miniature music cartridge looked sinister. You flung it to the side.

How Negan could force-feed this shit to his prisoners was beyond you.

You were barely two verses into the song and ready to swerve your Crown Vic into a ditch—it was that bad. In spite of the fiercely upbeat tempo and catchy melody, each spoken word was like nails on a chalkboard. The lyrics almost taunting in how unfit they were for the cacophony of this tune:

We’re on easy street. And it feels so sweet. ‘Cause the world is but a treat—

“—when you’re on easy street,” you finished, reflexively.

Shit. You had to turn this off. You’d drive yourself insane if you listened another minute, you were sure. Your eyes darted to the dashboard and searched for the radio dial in a frantic look. Spotting it almost immediately, you clenched your hand in a fist and struck the button. Hard. Just wanting—needing—the music to stop.

But, to your horror, your careless right hook did just the opposite: instead of shutting off the song, it simply knocked the age-old button off the stereo system. You watched with eyes the size of dinner plates as the metal knob glanced off the gearshift and disappeared into the carpet below, taking with it all your hopes and dreams of escaping this musical torment.

You let loose a string of expletives and scrambled across the seat, almost forgetting you were driving. The tires of the police cruiser you’d hijacked just hours before went veering to the left. You managed to right the car mere seconds before it went flying off the road, but not before you tried retrieving the missing dial.

And we’re breakin’ out the good champagne…

The car swung wide to the side.

We’re sittin’ pretty on the gravy train…

“Where the fuck did it go?!”

And when we sing, every sweet refrain repeats…

“SHUT UP!”

Right here on easy street.

Before you could throw another punch at the dashboard, your whole body lurched forward and your face bashed the center of the steering wheel. Your cop car, freshly dented with the impact of a body you’d just struck, went spinning for a moment before coming to a screeching halt some yards down the road. Fickle bastards that happened to be your airbags didn’t bother to deploy.

You lifted your head from the shattered Ford logo in front of you and groaned.

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror to see the bruised and bloodied mayhem that had taken the place of your face, you barely flinched. You weren’t sure why, or how, it had happened, but from start to finish you remained fully conscious. And fucking infuriated.

With a strength you hardly thought yourself capable of, you hoisted your body out of the car. Blinked hard against the rays of sunlight now searing your eyes, and made a circuit—half-limped, half-staggered in a zigzag sort of fashion—around the back of the car. You wavered on numb, unsteady feet before reaching clumsily into your back pocket.

A smile that resembled something more of a grimace made its way to your face as your fingers closed around the base of your Browning Hi-Power. Whatever dipshit walker that had crossed paths with your vehicle and caused you to wreck was about to get its head pumped full of lead, if it wasn’t dead already.

But just as you started to turn the corner and raise your gun, a strangled voice broke out:

“Hey, hey, stop! STOP!”

You stalled in your tracks and almost dropped your weapon. Either your vision had gone to shit or your mind was playing tricks, but you could’ve sworn you saw a man waving his arms in a panic. Then he stopped.

You readjusted your grip on your pistol and kept it aimed at his head.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man paused a beat to eye you up and down, incredulous.

“You kiddin’?” he retorted.

When it looked as though he was moving closer to you, you fired a shot over his shoulder. The man jumped like a cat on hot bricks and slapped a hand over his ear, yelling,

“’Fuck was that for?!”

“I said, ‘Who are you?’” Your voice steadied with the recognition of your clear advantage.

The man, on the other hand, looked redder than ever. Though he didn’t budge an inch from his place and kept his hands held up in surrender, you could sense from the look on his face he was seething.

“Daryl,” he spat.

“Daryl who?”

“Daryl the-guy-you-just-hit-with-your-car, asshole.”

This time, you were the one to give him a skeptical once-over. Scanning his body for any signs of harm, only to make out a scrape on his cheek the size of your pinky. You wiped the back of your hand over a nose that was presently spurting blood like the Trevi Fountain and frowned.

“Y’don’t exactly look like roadkill to me,” you said flatly.

For the first time, Daryl’s mouth betrayed a hint of a smirk, and he tipped his chin in the direction behind you.

You turned, following his gaze, and eventually lowered your eyes to a lump in the road down yonder. You squinted.

“Is that a—” you started.

“Deer? Yeah.” Daryl finished.

When you angled back to face him, you saw the sour look had returned.

“Was s’posed’a be my dinner ‘til yer goddamn cop car chewed it up,” he said with a scowl.

So it was the deer he’d been carrying that you’d hit and sent your car to shit, and this man was bitching over a lost meal and a busted cheek? You almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing, your jaw starting to clench at the sight of him.

The man carried on, oblivious, “If ye hadn’t been blastin’ yer music so loud maybe you’d’a seen me standin’ in the road with a fuckin’ carcass on my back.”

“Well I wasn’t—”

“Payin’ attention? I figured,” Daryl bit back before you could finish.

Then, after a beat, “Who are ye anyway?”

This part was bound to be fun. The stranger looking you up and down like you were nuts didn’t have a clue who you were, but you had a feeling he knew a thing or two about your people. The Saviors had a way of making their presence known among neighboring communities. You figured by the looks of this guy, he was just another boneheaded denizen of The Kingdom—or worse yet, Alexandria.

You flashed a smile and supplied, “I’m Negan.”

You’d been a Savior all of three weeks and hadn’t yet made the proclamation to anyone outside your camp before, so this felt like a particularly momentous occasion. You were eager to see how Daryl would respond. If it instilled even a fraction of the fear in him as it did in others—you know, when Negan Negan was swinging his beloved, barbed wire bat and saying those things—you’d be happy. If he showed so much as a morsel of deference to you, this would have all been worth it.

Instead, Daryl laughed.

Not a polite laugh, either. A sidesplitting, wide grinning sort of laugh that sent shockwaves through his body and had him doubling over in hysterics. Your cheeks flushed.

“No shit?” he wheezed, “Negan’s got a—a goddamn Barbie doll doing his bidding now?”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, G.I. Jane.”

You’d heard enough of this. Had enough of him. You rubbed your blood-streaked face for the last time and turned on your heels. Stalking off in the other direction, the sounds of his laughter hardly seemed to subside, but it was apparent he wasn’t quite finished.

“I’m sorry,” he called after you, likely biting back a smile, “’m bein’ a prick, I know.”

You kept walking and pretended not to hear when footsteps bounded after you. You weren’t sure where you were going, or how you’d be getting there without a car, but you had a hunch that anywhere without Daryl was a place you’d like to be. When you felt a hand on your shoulder, you shrugged it off and told him to shove it.

“Hey— I’m tryin’ to be nice here,” he protested.

When you turned to tell him it generally wasn’t a nice person’s prerogative to remind others they were nice, you stopped. Glanced down at Daryl’s outstretched arm and saw black fabric in his hand. And, just above it, his bare chest.

He’d torn off his sleeveless shirt and was holding it out to you.

“Here,” he grumbled, “For yer nose.”

You eyed the top with mild distrust and hesitated to take it. Daryl rolled his eyes.

You felt your whole body tense when a hand reached out to grab you. Gruff and graceless as ever, Daryl tugged you closer to him.

“Don’t move.”

You couldn’t help but wince when he dragged the material over your face. Certainly wasn’t gentle with it but seemed to make quick work of the dried blood nonetheless. You watched him closely as he continued to dab the makeshift medicinal rag over your lips and nose, and for a moment, he almost looked serene.

“So you’re part of Negan’s harem, huh?”

And the moment was gone. You glared at Daryl.

“I don’t fuck old guys,” you snorted.

As soon as your words hit the air, you cringed inwardly. Why did you say it like that?

It was true, Negan called you his wife—though you hardly considered him your husband—and the two of you had yet to consummate your marriage. You imagined that day would come eventually, but if you were honest with yourself, you really didn’t want to think what that night might entail. You’d barely made it to second base with your last boyfriend.

Presently, Daryl placed a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“Ouch.”

No doubt the man before you had you beat in years, too. By a landslide. He might’ve been a couple years younger than Negan, but he certainly didn’t look it. Had a hint of a youthful aura, if there was such a thing. An eternally cool fifty-something with the attitude of a man more than two decades his junior. You wondered for one brief, fleeting second if he might have the stamina of one too. You quickly regained your senses and felt the urge to barf in your mouth.

This man could be my father, you thought.

This man could be my “father,” your dirtier subconscious suggested.

“Ew,” you said aloud.

Daryl looked up from his current occupation and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, I just—” You scrambled for a semi-plausible explanation for your outburst, “—just really hate the sight of blood.”

Daryl chuckled.

“Bullshit. I bet you’ve got some freaky kink for it,” he returned teasingly.

You were just then starting to suspect you might have a fetish for something else. You swallowed.

The taut, toned muscles in Daryl’s arms looked impossibly larger now that they were coated in sweat. With every forceful wipe of his hand, you saw some new bead of moisture fall from his skin or else dribble down his front, forming clusters of tiny rivulets that went trickling off his body. Like a tanned, trim stream of water you just wanted to lick—

“Clean!” Daryl announced, taking a step back to admire his work.

You suspected you still looked like shit, but you didn’t really care. You were too busy ogling Daryl’s body with a look of wanton lust to know, or care, or see much else, including the smirk that had begun to creep onto Daryl’s face.

��Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he sneered, chucking his shirt at you.

You barely managed to catch it as you felt a blush rise to your cheeks.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, a little too defensively for your liking.

You swallowed your embarrassment with a scowl and started off in the other direction.

“Where ya headed?” Daryl shouted after you.

“Sanctuary.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Can I please come?”

“Not unless you’re looking to have your head on a pike outside of it.”

Daryl grinned, “The thought might’ve crossed my mind.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Just when you came across a man with all the appearances of a perfectly aged fine wine and a killer body to boot, you find out he’s just as juvenile and dense as the rest of them. He continued to trot alongside you.

“You scared your husband’s gonna give you a whoopin’ or sumn’?” Daryl quipped.

“He’s not my husband,” you lied.

“Oh yeah?” he pressed.

“Yeah.”

“Then prove it.”

You slowed your pace to shoot him a look. He slowed a little too.

“I don’t have to prove anything,” you snapped.

Daryl raised his hands in defense, smiling just slightly.

“Never said you had to.”

You started to resume your trek again, only to halt a moment later when Daryl cut in:

“Yer a virgin, aren’t ya?”

This time the two of you came to a complete stop in the middle of the road. You saw the smug look on his face and wanted nothing more than to knock him on his ass.

“What did you just say?” Giving him a chance to fix his mistake.

Daryl did no such thing, only smiling even wider and crossing his arms.

“Just seems like you’ve never been fucked before,” he shrugged.

That was it. Without thinking twice, you shoved him hard in the chest and pushed him back a couple paces. Balled your hands into fists and nearly started pummeling his front, were it not for Daryl’s quick reflexes and frustrating ability to snag your two hands into one of his. He easily held your wrists captive above your head and squeezed them together—barely making an effort to restrain them and somehow doing it softly.

“You done?” he asked, unbothered.

You kicked him in the shin. This time he yelped, loosening his grip on you and leaving you space enough to break free. You contemplated another kick or shove for good measure, but seeing the enraged look on his face, you sensed it was in your best interest to flee. So you took off down the road.

You tore down the tarmac like a bat out of hell and chanced a quick look over your shoulder, only to see Daryl sprinting after you. Your stomach all but fell out your ass, and you kicked it into high gear as fast as you could.

“COME HERE!” Daryl bellowed behind you.

Your years outrunning walkers might finally have come in handy now. You sucked in a breath and took off like a shot, racing up the street with Daryl hot on your heels. With every second that passed, you sensed he was lagging further back. If you hadn’t been so scared he might beat you to a bloody pulp, you would’ve flipped him the bird or turned around to stick your tongue out.

The distance between you was even greater now. Your lungs were tight but breathing fine, and behind you, Daryl was audibly panting like a dog. You smirked to yourself.

Perhaps pushing your luck, you slowed down just a bit. Tried to stave off the oncoming wave of lactic acid soon to be stinging your muscles and keep the stomach cramps at bay. With your breaths growing more ragged and shallow by the second, you knew you couldn’t keep at this for too much longer. One of you would have to surrender at some point, and you knew it wouldn’t be you.

You were just then starting to regain speed when you felt something snag your waist. Before you could spare a look to the source of it, Daryl’s arm had already looped fully round your midsection and locked firmly in place. From there, his frame did the rest of the work as he took you both to the ground.

Daryl fell first. Got the wind knocked out of him and ate a face full of asphalt just in time for you to hit his body before you struck the concrete below. He let out a groan beneath you.

Together, you made a heaving, shaking mess in the middle of the road. Your body splayed over his, his arm still hooked around your hips, and the pair of you moaning and swearing and trying like hell to untangle yourselves from one another. You struggled to get upright, but your palms slipped on Daryl’s sweat-slick chest and sent you headfirst into his face. Daryl had just started to sit up when you knocked him flat on his back.

Nose-to-nose and practically panting into each other’s mouths, you shared a single, silent look—and simultaneously conjured up one of the worst ideas either of you had had to date.

“Wanna—” Daryl started.

“Yes.”

You and the man you’d just wanted to beat the living shit out of went shedding clothes like leaves off a tree. Daryl tearing the shirt off your body—so fast he damn near took your head off with it—and you fumbling at the buckle of his belt and whining at the feeling of a growing mound beneath you.

You freed belt, button, zipper, and boxers in a matter of seconds. Shocking even yourself, you started tugging his jeans down his legs, but Daryl stopped you.

“Leave it,” he grunted.

Before you knew it, he was hoisting himself off the ground with you still straddling his waist. Arms securing themselves under you and eyes searching wildly for the nearest car to fuck you on, Daryl groaned when your lips attached themselves to his neck. At length he settled on a long-abandoned Honda Civic perched on the edge of the road and dropped you onto the hood of it.

“Yer a shit driver, y’know that?” he said, yanking your shorts down your body.

You kicked them off at your ankles and inched yourself a little higher on the hood.

“Ever thought I meant to hit you?”

Daryl chuckled at that. Then he started lowering himself between your legs.

You’d been playing it unbelievably cool up until that point. Quick, witty, and nonchalant to a fault, as though you’d done this all a million times before. But inside you were panicked, fighting hard to keep your breaths in check and your stomach from twisting itself into knots. What was he planning to do with you? You’d only seen this stuff in movies, maybe once or twice in an incognito browser you’d opened years ago. You never thought you’d be doing any of it yourself—much less with a man twice your age and little more than a stranger to you—and suddenly, stupidly, you started to worry you might disappoint him.

You hadn’t even noticed Daryl had slipped down the length of your torso toward your heat. You tensed.

The next thing you felt was his hot breath fanning across your thighs, and you couldn’t help but try clamping them together, catching his head between the two of them.

“Ain’t even touched you yet,” he teased, glancing up at you.

You sincerely hoped neither your eyes nor your trembling thighs would give you away, but the look on Daryl’s face revealed just as much. Gaze still locked with yours, he offered a lopsided grin and started to bring his head even lower. Then, gently, he pressed a kiss over your panties. Then another. Then another.

You felt shivers the size of seismic waves pass over your body and he hadn’t so much as dipped a finger inside you. Slowly, you lifted your hips at Daryl’s behest and felt the fabric of your underwear disappear somewhere down your legs.

“We ain’t gotta do this if you’re—”

“Shut up,” you said, exasperated.

“Yes ma’am.”

Daryl imparted one last kiss to your aching core—this time unclothed—and groaned when he felt how wet you were before him. Almost immediately, his tongue darted out and licked a stripe up your slit. You moaned, squeezing your thighs even tighter.

Daryl didn’t mind. Just the opposite, in fact, as he delved deeper and flattened his tongue over your heat. Lapped up your juices and smirked when he felt you squirm above him.

“Dar—oh,” you began, only to break off in a semi-shriek when he found your clit with the tip of his tongue.

“Wha’s’at?” Daryl’s voice came out muffled between your legs. Then lifting his head to be heard a little clearer, “You say sumn’, sugar?”

Your hands acted with a mind of their own as they hurriedly shoved his head back down.

“Don’t stop,” you hissed. You hardly knew what had come over you.

You heard one more muted, ‘Yes ma’am,’ and Daryl went dutifully back to his occupation of tongue-fucking you senseless. Coordinating a lethal combination of kissing, licking, sucking, and occasionally curling a finger inside you, he all but had you convulsing on the car with little to no hope of not cumming in his mouth. You threaded your fingers through his hair and yanked hard as the knot in your stomach started to tighten. One or two more suctioned kisses and a single lick between your folds and you’d be gone.

However, not long after that, Daryl did the cruelest thing you could’ve expected. He stopped.

Straightening up and taking a step back to marvel at the mess he’d made, he felt himself getting harder. All while you cussed and whined about how unfair he was being, he was concocting the filthiest thoughts imaginable. He grabbed both your ankles and jerked you closer. Then, crawling over you with pupils blown wide in lust, he seized hold of your throat in one hand and yanked you up hard to greet him.

You gagged, dragged your fingers helplessly over the single hand that was holding you up, and nearly started seeing stars when Daryl brought his face even closer to yours.

“You don’t cum ‘til I tell you to,” he said through gritted teeth, before letting go of your neck as quickly as he’d caught it and watching you fall back on your ass.

Sprawled out on the hood of the Honda, you cursed your deep-rooted daddy issues for finding that act of aggression arousing. You feigned an angry look and pouted up at him.

Before you could mouth off just to make him even angrier, you felt yourself manhandled once more: this time, plucked off the car and into Daryl’s arms. He promptly shifted your weight to one side and freed one of his hands to start fooling with something you couldn’t see beneath you. When you heard the rustle of fabric and felt him start to strain a little, you got the picture.

Daryl returned you to the car—this time, straddling him on the hood of it.

When he’d made himself comfortable and lifted you over his hips, he said, “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

“About what?” you huffed, already antsy with impatience.

“’bout this.” Daryl slipped a hand between your bodies and grazed your cunt with his knuckle. You pursed your lips tight to suppress the moan that followed.

“What about it?” you whined, trying, and failing, to steady your voice.

The corners of Daryl’s mouth twitched at the sight of you growing flustered. Quietly, he extended one finger and dragged it up your slit. Pretended not to hear when you whimpered his name.

“Have y’ever been fucked there?” he asked casually.

You had long since lost the tolerance for games. You shook your head and told him, “No.”

“What about here?”

Daryl beckoned you with the fingers of his free hand, and when you leaned in, brought them up to your lips. He cupped your chin and tapped your mouth, as if to accentuate his question.

“Nuh-uh,” you said, quietly.

If it were possible for Daryl to get any harder, he would have. You weren’t just a virgin, but an absolute, unadulterated novice to the world of depravity that infiltrated his every desire. Something about the artlessness and innocence in an amateur like yourself sent the blood pumping straight to his cock as he imagined all the things he could teach you. He couldn’t keep from staring at your lips, imagining his member pumping back and forth between them, or at your eyes, wondering how they’d lock with his the moment he pushed inside you. All thoughts of a rough and ruthless piledriver fuck escaped his brain as he sat back and simply relished the idea of being your first. It was all he could think about.

You, on the other hand, weren’t quite picking up what he was putting down and found yourself shifting uncertainly above him. Wondering if you had done something to upset him as he continued to watch you with a thousand-yard stare and didn’t say a word.

“Is that...okay?” you asked, your voice now barely above a whisper.

Daryl’s gaze flitted to yours, and he almost groaned at the wide-eyed expression of naïveté on your face.

Instead of answering, he took your hips in his hands and dragged your lower half over his. Letting you feel, for the first time, just how swollen and erect he was beneath you. Your breath hitched a little in your throat, but you couldn’t deny the sensation was incredible. As before, your body just sort of acted of its own accord and started rubbing against him, while you hoped, implacably, that whatever you were doing was normal. Judging by the sound he let out moments later you deduced that it was.

You hardly realized it yourself, but your heat was dripping with arousal. Coating Daryl’s cock with every gyration of your body while the man below you had only to grit his teeth and hiss at the sensation. When he glanced down to watch you, he almost groaned with pleasure.

“I need to fuck you,” he blurted out, half-declaration, half-plea.

That drove the point home well enough.

You watched with some amusement as Daryl continued to clench his jaw and fight with every fiber of his being not to buck his hips up into you. You almost felt tempted to giggle when all of a sudden Daryl took your face in his hands. Then he kissed you, deeply.

You were taken aback by the gesture but kissed him back all the same, surprised neither of you had made an attempt to do it before. With no great difficulty at all, your mouths melded into one another as he gripped the sides of your face and pulled you even closer. He slipped his tongue between your lips, and you tasted a tang of yourself still lingering on it. You opened your mouth a little wider in the hopes Daryl would afford you more of it.

But then, as quickly as he’d started, he stopped. He pulled away, looked you up and down, and swallowed.

“You sure y’want to?” he murmured.

Presently, and impatient as you were, you decided to take a page from Daryl’s book and gratify his question with a wordless answer. You rolled your hips over his and pushed the head of his cock against your wet, aching hole, peering into his eyes with the purest ‘fuck-me’ look you could muster.

Daryl was already gripping the base of his cock and angling it toward your entrance. Hoping you wanted this as badly as he did, pondering with some apprehension how he might fit you and whether it’d feel good for you at first or take some getting used to—all while needing you on him, around him, filled to the brim with every inch and pleading for more. Unlike himself, he found it near impossible to make that first push inside you, still plagued with the thought he might break you in two.

Sensing this, you did something uncharacteristic of yourself too, and made the first move to ease down on his length.

Your body welcomed him with surprising ease, though the inches came slow and the stretch was something you hadn’t expected. Your eyes flickered to Daryl’s as the sting turned to a burn, and you almost couldn’t bring yourself down to the base of him without the sound of a few strangled whimpers escaping your lips. Daryl’s hands quickly worked their way around you and started rubbing up and down your back, as if to distract you from the feeling while his eyes searched yours for any signs of serious discomfort.

“Hey, you’re good,” he assured you quietly, swallowing a moan of his own as your warmth engulfed him completely, “You’re good, honey, you’re good.”

When you looked to him as if to say, ‘Holy shit, are you sure?’ he just smiled and nodded.

“Takin’ me so good,” he murmured, eyes glued on you, “Doin’ so fuckin’ well.”

His soft consolations rang clear in your ears and encouraged you to keep going. You lifted yourself in his lap and brought your body back down again, this time gratified with Daryl’s first moan. He snaked an arm around your waist and helped you gently buck your hips to his and rock them back and forth. Together, you watched your bodies grind against each other in a hot and sweaty mess, making sounds as sticky and obscene as you’d ever heard before, and right then, you swore you could have cum at the sight of that alone. The initial burn gave way with each passing moment to a sweeter sort of feeling deep within your belly. You picked up your speed just a bit and braced yourself hard against Daryl’s chest.

“My baby feelin’ good?” he said, breaths coming out in shallow puffs now as you rode him.

You bit your lip and nodded, practically bouncing in his lap with your hands still anchored on him and your eyes beginning to close.

“That good, huh?” Daryl hummed.

When you nodded again, he dropped a hand to the spot where your bodies connected and rubbed a light, lazy circle between your folds. Your eyes squeezed tighter at the jolt of pleasure, and your body moved even faster.

“Fuck, Daryl,” you whined. “I-I–”

“What?” Daryl smirked.

You ventured a look back down at him, eyes all glossy and soft. You were still writhing, still rolling up and down his shaft with a fucked-out look as his hips started to snap up into you. In a moment, you surprised the both of you as you gripped his shoulder and said:

“I want you to fuck me from behind.”

Daryl was still rutting into you and somehow unable to comprehend how a thing as lithe and naive as you looked could ever say something so coarse. When he didn’t respond for some seconds, you sighed, disgruntled.

“C’mon, Dar,” you whined, “have I gotta bend myself over this car and—”

Daryl didn’t let you finish. Flipped you over beneath him and did exactly as you hoped he would, stomach flat on the hood of the car and ass up in the air.

He didn’t waste another moment waiting for your assent as he had before. He just thrusted himself in one, sloppy drive and made you moan as he bottomed out inside you. Snatched a fistful of hair in one hand and yanked your head back to meet his gaze.

“Anyone ever taught you manners?” he growled, likely displacing dozens of strands of hair from your scalp with the way he was pulling it, “Ever heard of please, and thank you, daddy?”

Your knees buckled at the last. Stretched and stuffed with his cock, you swear you couldn’t have felt any filthier than the instant he’d uttered that final word in your ear. You watched him, mouth hanging open, and hardly knew what to say.

“You know,” Daryl started, breaking your heart when he withdrew himself from your hole, “I don’t think you deserved to be fucked like this at all.”

Heaving breath after desperate breath over the hood of the car, you turned yourself fully to face him. He wasn’t smiling, or watching you with those careful, kind eyes anymore.

“I do,” you cried, “I want you to fuck me like that, Daryl, I do.”

“I bet you do,” he snapped, retreating another step, “I said you don’t deserve it.”

You would’ve fallen to your knees if you had a fraction less sense than you did. Pleading him with wild, frenzied eyes and legs that were liable to collapse with the weight of your desire, you didn’t blink when Daryl’s hand found the back of your head again—yanking it down this time around.

“Something tells me that mouth needs fucking if it wants a lesson in etiquette,” he griped, shoving you to the ground in front of him.

You cowered on your knees as your face hovered inches from his stiff, expecting member. The problem was, you didn’t know what he was expecting, or how he wanted it done. Were you supposed to take him in both hands and rub him up and down, pepper kisses down every throbbing vein and lick him ‘til he came, tease him with your tongue like he had with you, or else swallow him whole? You didn’t know, couldn’t start, would’ve like to wait another minute or two contemplating your latest charge when all of a sudden, Daryl’s hand pushed you straight on his cock.

Not an easy couple inches or a light, gentle thrust to get you used to his size in your mouth. A full-forced thrust to the back of your throat, causing your mouth to convulse, contract, and gag around him in response. Your eyes welled with tears and ventured a look to the man with his fingers still threaded through your hair. The scowl hadn’t ebbed from his features, and the eyes were hardly more sympathetic. He dragged you back up his length so there was just enough space for you to speak, and uttered, almost mockingly:

“What do we say when we want something, sugar?”

Your mind was buzzing, but the answers came quicker than you thought.

“Please,” you spluttered, drool leaking down your chin, “I say please.”

“Wrong,” Daryl declared.

Without another word, he shoved your face down the length of his cock and pulled it back even faster. You were still reeling with the force of your gag reflex and sucking in a breath when he began again.

“Please what?” he pressed, tilting your head up to face him.

“P-Please, daddy. Please, daddy,” you supplied in an instant.

A marginally gentler touch massaged the back of your head with his fingertips, and for a second, you thought you were clear. Then Daryl went pushing your mouth back onto him, albeit slightly less harsh, and you readily closed your lips around him and bobbed on his cock. You sucked happily and with more enthusiasm than you thought yourself able, just wanting to make Daryl happy and keep him guiding you over his length with a more tender grasp.

And he did just that. Seemingly appeased by your obedience and more than pleased to watch you slide up and down him as you were, he ran a more considerate touch over your head and let you do most of the work.

You flattened your tongue on the bottom and curled your lips around your teeth to keep the friction minimal. Almost amazed how natural it felt to be servicing his cock and wanting, more than anything, to know you were making him proud. When a long, protracted moan graced your ears the moment you reached the base of him, you held him there as long as you could and hummed a quiet, muffled whimper of your own.

When Daryl pulled you off a second later, you were disheartened, to say the least. You parted your lips and leaned in to take him in your mouth again, only to feel yourself being gathered back up in Daryl’s arms and brought to your feet.

“Go on,” he murmured, pacing forward and nudging you gently to the point the backs of your knees hit the grill of the car behind you, “Tha’s my good girl.”

You fell back and watched Daryl’s body trail close behind. By the time you were flat on your back, he was wedged between your thighs with a hand planted on either side of your head.

If wanted him any more, you’d probably be blue in the face, unable to breathe, and on the brink of seeing stars. Your chest rose and fell with the shortest, shallow breaths, and it seemed each passing moment brought you nearer to your fear that they might stop altogether if Daryl didn’t touch you soon. You gladly parted your legs further to accommodate his frame, and when you felt him above you, poised inches from your aching heat, you wrapped your legs around him. Tight.

“Tell me how ye want it,” Daryl grunted.

“Want you deep inside me, daddy, please,” you answered, taking care not to neglect your “manners.” Then, more softly, “Want you to fuck me ‘til I can’t walk, daddy, pretty pretty please.”

Daryl moaned at the sounds of your excitement, feeling you dig your heels in his ass and tug him even closer. His cock twitched at your entrance.

“Tha’ what you want?” he hummed, grazing his lips along your cheek, “Tha’s what my baby needs?”

You nodded frantically. Daryl nodded too, as if commiserating with you, but then felt unable to suppress the smirk that was threatening to grow on his face. He reveled in your pleasure and your pleas all the same and wanted to make this good for you. He couldn’t make you wait.

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he sank his cock between your folds and gratified you both with a familiar, filling stretch. You clenched around him and earned another low, guttural moan as Daryl pushed deeper inside you. It didn’t take long for the pace of his thrusts to pick up, impatience and desperation practically tangible in the air between you. You let your head loll back and felt Daryl’s own fall into the crook of your neck, breaths hot on your skin as he continued to pound you into the metal surface below.

“’s a shame ya don’t— fuck older guys,” Daryl whispered, punctuating his words with another thrust. Ridiculing you for your comments earlier and making you squirm as he did.

If you weren’t so close to climax you would’ve told him to fuck off—probably made yourself look a little stupid as a man twice your age was currently balls deep inside you, giving you dick like no other on the front-end of a Honda Civic. Instead, you swallowed your pride and smiled.

“Glad you could get it up when I did, daddy,” you managed quietly, cloyingly. Almost wanting to slip a sly Cialis joke at the end but thinking better of it.

Daryl took one of your legs over his shoulder then, pounding you at a vicious speed.

“Anything for my favorite Savior,” he returned, just as caustic and cruel as he relished the squelching sounds between you.

Your head fell back with the new, nearly unbearable sensation radiating from your core, and Daryl quickly cradled you between his arms. Hunched over you now and fucking you faster than ever, he wanted—no, needed—to see you cum, and he’d stop at nothing to see it happen.

He hauled your other leg to rest flat on his shoulder and thrusted even deeper. With both ankles above your head and your eyes practically rolled back in pleasure, it took him all of ten seconds to find your clit and make you scream. Not a moan or a shriek or a half-hearted whimper, but a scream that went echoing down the road and through the woods and likely in the ears of every walker within a five mile radius. Neither of you cared.

Your eyes locked on Daryl’s and glazed over with desire, all you needed was release.

“I-I’m close,” you managed, breath hitching with every snap of Daryl’s hips.

“Fuckin’ show me then,” Daryl bit back, “Show daddy how good his cock’s makin’ ya feel.”

What little you could show him came in the form of a strangled moan and a sigh, and Daryl didn’t seem satisfied with this in the slightest. Rather than take you at your word, he grasped your face in one hand and jerked your head toward him. Heart racing and chest shaking with every breath, he drove himself a little deeper and felt you clench him around him even tighter when he hit your sensitive spot.

“Wanna cum for daddy, is tha’ what y’want?” he prodded. Pretending not to hear when you squealed his name and writhed with every graze against your g-spot.

“Yes, daddy, please let me cum— a-all over your cock,” you stammered.

Daryl smoothed the hair out of your face and caught a glimpse of the cockdrunk expression painted on it, and almost shot his load on the spot. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t cum ‘til he had your own release spilling down his member, that much he knew. You were being so good for him, taking him so well, and on top of it all, calling him daddy left and right like your life depended on it. Daryl was smitten.

Sensing your orgasm was fast approaching, he dropped a hand between your legs and took care to keep it gentle. Watched your lips form an “o” and a hand reach for his, hurriedly, while an old, familiar feeling just then started to twist in your stomach.

“Daryl,” you shrilled, squeezing his hand as tight as you could.

“Right here, honey,” Daryl murmured, eyes steady on yours, “I’m right here, you can cum for me.”

He clutched your fingers right back and felt them tighten as a new wave of pleasure broke over you. Your moans came quick and took a higher pitch, your legs wrapped around him like a vice, and the best, albeit maddening, part for Daryl came when your muscles started to pulse around him, nearly sending him over the edge himself. You dropped your head back into his hands and simply felt him—in you, and on you, and at your ear with the gentlest words of encouragement. You breathed out a sigh when the pleasure started to subside.

Daryl didn’t stop. His eyes stayed locked on yours, and the soft, earnest grunts stayed constant as he continued to rut into you and circled a thumb over your clit.

You whined with your sharply heightened sensitivity and pressed your hands to his chest, bewildered by this feeling and why the hell Daryl had kept going.

“Dar—”

“One more, darlin’,” Daryl urged, as delicate as he was adamant.

Your eyes widened, every nerve ending in your body on the fritz. Your fingernails carved bright red crescents in his skin with the force of every thrust, and for a time, it seemed you were riding out the longest orgasm of your life. You clung to Daryl and let your pleasure overtake you. You scarcely understood the sensation more than you did Daryl’s intentions, but the longer he fucked you, the more intense the feeling grew, and within a matter of seconds you were coming undone again, the swell of your second climax washing over you with a mind-numbing fury.

Eager as he was to fuck you into your third, Daryl just couldn’t resist the sights and sounds and unbearable sensations beneath him any longer, and he felt his own orgasm tearing through his body moments later. You felt a spurt of warmth within you and a set of lips finding yours in a frantic, clumsy kiss, and you relished the noises Daryl made as he rode out his high.

You were still kissing in between delirious gasps for air and all but shaking on the sweat-soaked hood of the car. Daryl’s hips slowed before coming to rest comfortably between your thighs, still inside you.

Wide-eyed and smiling, Daryl raised a hand to your head and was just then brushing some hair from your face to plant a couple more kisses, when a voice broke out across the way:

“Ho-ly shit!”

You and Daryl jumped at the intrusion and glanced behind you. Your blood ran cold.

You spotted a familiar salt-and-pepper speckled head of hair and a set of eyes glinting with amusement. Standing off to the side with his attention fastened to the two of you and a head shaking back and forth, slowly, as if in disbelief.

“Daryl Dixon, you dirty, dirty dog!” he chided, “How’s it feel to pop my wife’s cherry before me, brother?”

At the last, Negan tightened his grip on Lucille and smiled.

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #smut #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon one shot #twd imagine

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danosrosegarden · 7 months ago

Note

Hiiiiii loveee I wasn’t sure if ur valentines request were open or what- if they aren’t please feel free to ignore this

I’m in need for soft Eddie and just soft NSFW maybe fem reader takes care of him and just smothers him and just WOWBUWHE

BODYWORSHIP PLEASE I WANNA KISS THAR MANS THIGHS AND HIS CUTE TUMMY NEED HIN

ok sorry about that 😞

amour plastique - edward nashton x fem!reader headcanons (NSFW) ₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ ‧₊

{valentine's requests: three ♡}

{contains: anxiety/insecurity on edward's end, oral sex (male receiving), overall fluff and comfort. <3}

♡ Your words of encouragement and affirmation were thick and sweet and bubbled in his heart like drizzling honey, but Edward could not shake the chronic feeling that he was not enough.

♡ What does enough even mean, Eddie? you had asked him one night in the soft, quiet glow of the fairy lights strung around your bedroom walls. What do you mean, not enough? You always make me feel so good. You're so gentle with me. You make me feel special. What else could I want from you?

♡ It sinks its talons into his heart and twists his stomach into impossible knots, the thought that he could lose you. That you'd find someone better. That you could be lying about how he made you feel. He knew you'd never, but that's just what a mind plagued with blackened, grimy worry did to his thoughts. The idea of being naive enough to fall for a fake, plastic love ignited a great, fiery fear within him. You were all he had. He could not afford for it to be a lie.

♡ As soon as you noticed him growing distant, you decided to prune his fears. You could not afford to lose him, either. Edward handled your heart with steady, loving hands, caressing the veins with careful, gentle brushes. Where could you find another guy like that in Gotham?

♡ The lights in the room glowed dimly as your fingers tenderly brushed up and down his bare thighs. He laid before you on your bed, one hand petting your head and the other holding your free hand. Even with his dick out and throbbing, shimmering pearls of precum leaking down onto his skin, he was such a swooning romantic. You laughed at the juxtaposition.

♡ "What's funny?" he asked defensively. You shook your head as you unlinked your hands. "Nothing. You're just cute."

♡ Even in the gloomy, shadowy light of the dim bedroom, you could still see the broiling hot blush dusted across Edward's cheeks as you planted tender kisses on the plush thickness of his thighs. His legs were already shaking from anticipation. As you sewed more slow, mellow kisses onto his skin, your hand trailed up to his dribbling cock. He squeaked out a high whine as you gave his shaft a soft squeeze.

♡ "D-don't tease," he whined. You gave a chuckle as your hand pumped his cock loosely. The sticky, wet sounds lacing the air in the room were already making your cheeks pop with warmth and desire. "You're so pretty when you're being teased, though," you argued, a wide grin slathered across your face. "You buck your hips and grip the sheets and god..." you trailed off. "It makes me want to play around with you for hours."

♡ Edward squirmed and writhed, his body begging for just a little more contact, just a pinch more friction. Though you truly could've watched his chest shudder and his hips swivel for forever, you decided he'd been good. He always was, wasn't he? Always so ready to take whatever you'd give him, bleating out the sweetest little thank yous and more, pleases all the while.

♡ A high, crackling moan slithered out from his throat as you reached forward and your tongue found his drooling head. His hands flew to the back of your head. He was careful not to thrust his hips forward or push down too hard on your head. He was always so soft with you.

♡ The warbling whimpers that flossed themselves through the air went straight to your core. A familiar tingling warmth crackled through your body. It was hard to control yourself when the sounds he made were just so beautiful, beyond difficult to stop yourself from reaching down and giving your clit gentle, circular rubs. You instead focused your energy on your Eddie.

♡ It took a bit of strength not to chuckle when you looked up at him while continuing to bob your head. He was in heaven, his eyes squeezed shut and his round cheeks burnt a blistering pink as more blissed-out groans dripped from his mouth.

♡ "S-so good," he said. "You're so good to me."

♡ Not to say that sex put a band aid over every insecurity and problem, but you at least hoped that giving him this token of your appreciation made him feel a bit more loved. You adored everything that Edward was. The way he stuck his tongue out in concentration when solving a crossword puzzle, the way he'd slowly melt into your hugs, the sound of his high giggles when he was stumbling through telling you a joke, the smell of his body wash and shampoo trailing against his skin as your bodies pressed against each other in bed. Everything about Edward was bewitching to you. You hoped he'd recognize it completely one day.

#eli's writing #danonation #paul dano #edward nashton #the riddler #the batman #edward nashton x reader #the riddler x reader #edward nashton x you #the riddler x you #edward nashton x y/n #the riddler x y/n #valentine's requests 24

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 18 days ago

Text

Whumptober 2024 No. 16, No. 19, No. 22

Prompt 16: Swamp

Prompt 19: Abandoned cabin

Prompt 22: Tourniquet

Warnings: Animal death; severe injuries

A/N: Sorry for the abrupt ending. This one has been a work in progress since the beginning of the month and I just can’t get it to go any further. Maybe I’ll continue with a second part later.

gif is not mine - google

Neither human nor beast had moved since you had spotted the predator—a dragon by its own right. The alligator’s eyes reflected both the water’s surface and a sinister promise. Daryl, the water easily reaching his shoulders with his feet touching the swamp floor, was breathing quickly through his nose but remained otherwise motionless. The only thing you could see in his eyes was naked, implacable fear.

“Daryl.” You whimpered.

“Get outta the water.” You knew better than to argue and moved the slightest inch to turn before he spoke again. “Slow. Don’t splash.” He added.

“Okay.” You tried to keep your movements fluid, deliberate. Each step beneath the murky surface felt heavy and so slow that you thought you would never feel the water receding around your upper body. You momentarily considered shedding your backpack but decided against it. There was a strange noise behind you but you kept your eyes on the overgrown shoreline. “Daryl?”

“Doin’ great. Keep goin’.”

You nodded and maintained your glacial pace, bending at the waist as you began to leave the water in order to minimize the droplets that would unsettle the surface. The foreboding sense of being followed gnarled and twisted in your gut, and you allowed yourself to believe it was Daryl inching along behind you.

“Almost there.” The tremble in his tone was easy to detect. You could also pick up that he was nowhere near behind you.

“Daryl, how will you—” You didn’t see the debris. Of course you couldn’t through the dingy water. You had barely tripped and hit your knees when all hell broke loose around you.

“Run, run, GO!” Came Daryl’s roar, a half a second before you heard and felt the chaos erupting. You were moving within milliseconds of his command, making the mistake of looking over your shoulder.

“Shit!” A second gator had—at some point—surfaced, its tail whipping side-to-side to carry it toward you at a speed you would have never been able to outswim. Clambering onto the shore, the weeds soggy and giving beneath your feet, you ran a few meters ahead, trying hard to ignore the sounds that echoed beyond what could be your approaching death.

The smaller alligator met land with a speed you hadn’t known the creatures capable of outside the water, its four legs carrying that open maw toward you faster than you were prepared to counter. With your only choices being abandon Daryl or fight, you made the only one with which your heart could live.

Waiting until the last second, just as the animal lunged for you, you leapt to the side, twisting your body to throw your hunting knife. Those lessons with Daryl had paid off. The alligator slid forward until the momentum waned before going still, your knife protruding from its left eye.

There was no time to catch your breath. “Daryl!” Between the heavy splashing, you would catch sight of a tail or an arm, the glint of sunlight off a blade. He was fighting for his life and you had no idea how to help him. Did you go back in the water? It’s what you wanted to do. There were likely other gators being attracted by the frenzy. Maybe you could keep them—

“Y’alright?!”

“Oh, Daryl, thank god.” He was already wading toward you, shaking out his left hand while his right still held his knife. There was a decent amount of blood hitting the water with each flick. “Where did—is it dead?”

The archer shrugged a shoulder. “Dunno. Ain’t waitin’ ‘round to find out neither.”

You were already reaching for him before he stepped out onto the mud, your hands latching onto his vest to pull him forward into a kiss that had him gasping against your mouth before just as quickly settling to return the gesture. After a few breathless heartbeats, his forehead rested against yours.

“Fancy knife work there.”

You opened your eyes to find his still closed but you knew what he spoke of without separating from him. “Learned from the best.” You peppered his lips with several more chaste kisses before finally straightening to go retrieve your weapon. “We should probably take a look at—” The words died on your tongue, dissolved by horror and fear.

Why hadn’t you urged him away from the water? Why hadn’t he moved further on his own? As the strong jaws clamped down around Daryl’s lower leg, the answers you sought no longer mattered. The archer smacked the ground with a shout, attempting to roll over while reaching for his knife. A sharp pull on his leg foiled his attempt.

“Daryl!” You leapt forward, grabbing for his hand. Your fingers brushed his just as he was yanked into the water, the gator letting go just long enough to seek a better hold, teeth sinking into the flesh of Daryl’s right thigh. He let out a pained yell that followed him beneath the tenebrous marsh. “Daryl, no!”

The surface bubbled and rippled before going still, your heart twisting before it sank. The swamps were silent as you stepped into the shallows, scanning, watching, praying.

“Daryl.” You whispered frantically, taking another step into the water. If you could do something for Daryl then you’d gladly let death come for you. If you could do nothing, then it could come all the same. Your feet slid forward again, your eyes darting, desperate for just a glimpse of your archer.

When the surface broke, it was a tail first, then the gator’s belly. Its jaws still held Daryl’s leg as it rolled, his body twisting to turn with the beast. He was alive, and he was trying to remain that way while keeping his limb intact. The gator rolled a second time with Daryl gasping in a frenzied breath before he was plunged once again.

Gripping the hilt of your knife, you dove under, throwing any consideration of your own safety to the wayside. It was impossible to see below resulting in you reaching for either Daryl or the gator. When you felt something crash into your hand, you made a grab for it and rolled to the surface, quickly opening your eyes to find yourself holding Daryl’s belt. Bending at the waist, you wrapped your legs around him as the movement continued, the gator relentlessly seeking to tear the archer’s leg from his body.

Above water again, you sucked in a breath and found your target, stabbing at the animal’s head with your knife. You felt it drive home and pulled it free as the rolls continued, repeating the action over and over with nothing but a prayer that you managed the kill and doing so without hitting Daryl.

The momentum slowed before stopping completely, the water tinted red as you clawed your way to the surface, reaching down to grab Daryl before releasing the hold you had maintained with your legs.

“Daryl.”

He broke the surface with an agonized groan, groping for you while you held on urgently.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Backstroking while pulling him along, you managed to get him to the shoreline and struggled to your feet with your hands beneath his arms. You pulled and pulled, dragging him as far from the water as you could manage. He helped as much as he could with his uninjured leg, digging the heel of his boot into the ground and kicking back. “Let me see.”

The flesh of his thigh was torn, flayed at the edges of two wounds that were at least six inches long. They were deep but showed no bone. His lower leg was not unaffected but lacked the severity of the other injury.

“Fuck.” You covered your mouth for a moment, watching him collapse onto his back, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Shedding your bag, you first grabbed a bottle of water, setting to work at cleaning the wound. When he shot upward with a shout, you began to mutter a mantra of I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

“Goddamnit!” Daryl exclaimed and fell back again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The wound continued to bleed heavily, gaping open in such a way that seized you with panic, grasping for any remembrance of your medical training.

“Stop the bleeding. Clean the wound.” You could attempt to stitch it later, once the blood clotted—if you could even manage to pull the skin together. Gauze would never cover it but you had little choice but to try, your clothing too wet with the filthy water to aid in staunching the flow. You prayed as you dug through your bag that the harder exterior of the medical kit had protected the contents.

Your prayers were answered, the supplies were dry. With quick movements, you unbuckled your belt and pulled it free of the loops. Sliding it beneath his leg resulted in a groan and grimace of pain but you couldn’t stop, not until it was pulled tight and fastened above the wound.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You repeated as you released your makeshift tourniquet, satisfied with the visible decrease of blood flow. “You’ll bleed out if I don’t.” Grabbing another bottle of water, you removed the cap and quickly emptied it over the torn flesh, wincing in sympathy. Alcohol would have been preferred but much more painful. Still, you worked with what was available.

“Do—do whatcha gotta do.” Daryl panted. He pressed his palms into the soggy ground and tried to push himself up, making it only to his elbows before he was out of breath. His left hand was still steadily weeping but at least he had managed to keep all of his fingers. “Christ.” He whispered, his wide eyes obtaining their first look at the wound.

“I know.” You felt sick. What could you do beyond what had been done already? “We have to get out of here. Find the others and get back to Alexandria.” Square after square of gauze was applied before you wrapped the grizzly wound with the only roll you had to secure and press things into place.

“S’gettin’ dark.” He commented, head tipped back. He was staring upward toward the canopy as his breathing slowed but failed to return to normal. “Can’t be walkin’ through this shit at night.”

“We can’t stay here, Daryl.” You argued. “There’s more, you know there are.” The swamps of Macon, Georgia were abundant with wildlife, including a healthy affluence of alligators. You were going to absolutely murder Rick for this mission when you and Daryl made it back.

When. Not if.

“S’try an’ find a place ain’t around the water.” He was still staring upward, dazed. “Ain’t got long to search ‘fore it gets dark.” When he didn’t make an attempt to move, you gathered all you could into your backpack, save for the knife you secured in the holster on your thigh. You even managed to put Daryl’s knife in its place on this good leg without any acknowledgment from the hunter.

“Daryl.” You tried, watching the quick but shallow pants of his breath. His skin was still wet with swamp water, but was looking pale. “Daryl.” You attempted more forcefully.

“Hmm?” He finally rolled his head toward you, the personification of calm. “Oh.” He seemed to finally catch on and started pushing himself upward, making it to a seated position only after you had grabbed beneath his arms and helped. Once it was clear he would not fold over onto his lap, you let go.

“Gotta get you on your feet.”

“Ain’t gonna get far.” The way he was behaving was beginning to worry you, his lack of panic—even pain.

“Daryl.” You crouched in front of him, taking another look at his leg. Red was already seeping through the bandage, a dark circle soaked into the soil below his thigh. “I need you with me.” You said sternly, cupping his face with both hands. His gaze was cloudy, unfocused, and only seemed to clear the slightest fraction when you gave him a gentle shake. “Are you with me?”

He blinked, his brow furrowing. “Yeah.” He rasped. “Yeah, m’with ya.” Then he was actually trying to lever to his feet without your help, your hands frantically scrambling for purchase anywhere they could to provide support. To his credit, he made little noise beyond grunts and one sobbing rush of air once he was upright.

“Okay, okay. Here we go.” He staggered into you while you assisted in draping his arm across your shoulders. “That wasn’t so hard.” You quipped, grinning up at him when those pretty blues glared at you. You had to keep things light.

“Think—think you’re funny?” He grunted with the first supported step, his hand grasping for a firm grip on your shoulder.

“I know I am.”

“Gonna hafta—file a—a complaint.”

The steps the two of you managed were small and hindered by the struggle of pulling along his right leg. Between blood loss and the tight tourniquet, it was amazing he could feel anything at all. Still, you trucked onward, boots sinking into the mushy ground. There was just too much water all around, too many threats. You kept your eyes peeled for danger, Daryl’s head now resting against the top of your own. He was getting weaker, slowing down, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep him going.

When he began to shiver, it wasn’t a gradual transition. One minute he was simply a weight against your side and the next, he was vibrating and his teeth chattering. It was anything but cold. It could only mean one thing.

“You’re losing too much blood.” You commented, not really with the intent of him hearing. If he did, he didn’t respond.

The pale light that had been guiding your path had since receded before disappearing completely, leaving the two of you shrouded in darkness. Each step had to be calculated, a gentle touch of the toe of your boot to test the integrity of the ground before you would drag him forward. If you fell into the swamp water now, it would be impossible to pull him out.

Glowing eyes surrounded you, the reminder that more of the apex predators awaited a single lapse in judgment, one mistake.

“Talk to me, Daryl.” He was growing heavier and heavier, harder and harder to pull along even if the ground had been sturdy.

“Called a—a death roll.”

“What?” You queried, truly curious about the topic even if you couldn’t pay him your undivided attention. You stepped across a downed limb, your hands never leaving him before you had to nearly drag him across after you.

“What that—gator—what it did. S’a death roll.” He stopped talking for a moment, gaining his balance, or at least enough strength to keep him from toppling over. “S’how they—how they rip off chunks,” he sucked in a shaky breath, “to eat.”

The information sat like a stone in your gut. It really had been trying to sever his leg, less interested in killing him and more concerned with tearing off a hunk of him to swallow down.

“Well.” It was the only thing you could think of to say. The silence ensued and dragged on, your hope being sapped out and left in the trail of disturbed mud his boot was carving with each pull of his useless leg. He was less walking and more limping along beside you in graceless movements that did little more than keep him moving.

By the time the old cabin—more of a shack, really—came into view, you were barely holding Daryl up. Your strength was waning, your body exhausted. You could hear the moans and gnashing teeth of walkers stuck in the marsh, your consciousness just too lagged to give thanks for their inability to reach you and the archer. The very thought of defending the two of you in your current state made your body ache.

“Daryl. Daryl, it’s a cabin.” You jostled him with your shoulder, relief flooding your senses when he raised his head, albeit slowly. His only reply was a drawn out hum. “We can make it. Come on.” Drawing upon your reserves, you pulled him along. “Hello?” You called, maneuvering Daryl up the dilapidated steps to the door. There was no response, no candlelight. Abandoned. Or so you had hoped before you heard a thump against the door that was followed by a snarling growl. “Of course!”

The walker—an old man—had a bullet wound through his cheek and you would have bet the entry wound was below his chin. He had missed. Maybe he had died quickly. You wished that for him. Without dwelling, you lured him out, keeping his focus away from the man you had placed on the floor of the porch, behind an old rocker. Your knife met the dead man’s temple at the top of the steps, the body toppling onto the ground and out of your way.

“Done and done.” You nodded and sheathed your weapon, trudging tiredly toward where Daryl lay prone. “Hey, you still with me?” You patted the side of his boot on his good leg, chuckling when he gave you a weak thumbs up. “Let’s get inside.”

Easier said than done, but once the two of you were safe behind the closed door, you allowed your body the moment of rest it needed, sprawling out next to Daryl on the floor. He was still shivering, breaths shallow, and eyes barely open. Nope, nevermind. You were up immediately, searching for anything you could use.

A dusty blanket, some dried meat, and a useless med kit were all you managed to scavenge but it was enough. At least for the moment. You wrapped Daryl up tightly inside the blanket after beating the dust from it outside. It would be enough to keep him warm. Your bag was situated beneath his feet, keeping the blood flow closer to his heart. And once you had his head on your lap, you set to work trying to get food and water into him.

“You need to drink. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” You argued, brushing the sweaty strands of hair away from his face. “You’re already in shock.”

“M’fine. You have it.”

“If you’re not drinking any, then I’m—”

He groaned. “Fine.” He accepted a few sips before turning away his head. Satisfied, you drank a few of your own and placed the bottle next to your hip. You only had that bottle and one other. That was a worry for another time.

“Do you think you can navigate us outta here when the sun comes up?” You asked. You tore off a small piece of meat and tapped his chin. He didn’t argue and accepted the offering, allowing you to lift his head slightly so he could swallow.

“Damn sure gonna try.” His voice was raspy and tired, his eyes remaining closed. The incident and injury had left him drained. You wouldn’t be sleeping that night, that much was certain.

“Alright. Then you need to rest.” With the meat wrapped and inside your bag, you settled against the wall, humming and running your fingers through his damp hair.

The cabin was small, everything in one room. A stove on one side, a broken bed on the other. You distantly wondered why anyone would want to live such an isolated life with nothing but beavers and gators for company.

Daryl groaned from your lap, your expression falling when you saw the pain etched into his sleeping face. There was no way the man would be fit to lead the two of you anywhere. You’d be lucky if he was even still alive when the sun rose. Your best bet was to stay put, keep him warm and hydrated until the others found you. Maybe you could go out and—no. You couldn’t leave him behind.

How would the two of you get out of this one?

#whumptober2024 #no.16 #swamp #no.19 #abandoned cabin #no.22 #tourniquet #animal death #severe injury #the walking dead #fic #murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead

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thefreakandthehair · 9 months ago

Text

a collapsing star with tunnel vision.

@steddielovemonth prompt, day one: love is stealing an RV together (@shares-a-vest)

rating: t | wc: 650 | cw: smoking weed | tags: getting together, love confessions, idiots in love, come hell or high water I will make them stargaze, title from a fob song

Smoke curls out of the joint they share as Steve and Eddie lay in the grass just beyond Steve's pool. It's chilly, the cool breeze that takes the smoke into its wispy fingers and pulls it up towards the sky a harbinger of pending autumn. Summer has been fun, but Steve's grateful for the change of seasons.

A new season means more time between them and Vecna, between them and angry mobs, and hospital visits, and physical therapy.

Just a few months ago, he'd thought that his time was up so while summer used to be Steve's favorite season, he's thankful now to watch time pass. Especially when it crawls like this, slow and syrupy as the night blankets he and Eddie.

His friendship with Eddie had been a surprise, but all the more surprising is how it's easily its evolved from friendship to something more. Or, it has at least on Steve's end. Eddie is naturally touchy, always bouncing into Steve's personal space, poking him, calling him things like big boy or sweetheart. It's hard to tell with him if it's just how Eddie is, or if it means something.

Steve wants it to mean something. Probably has since the first time Eddie leaned in, close enough for Steve to feel his breath against his skin, and called him big boy back in the RV.

The RV that they stole. That Steve watched as Eddie deftly hot-wired, berating himself for knowing how to all the while. But for Steve, stealing that RV together told him a lot about Eddie, things that he still hasn't forgotten. Like how Eddie has hopes of being something more, how Eddie's known how to steal cars for years and only pulled it out of his arsenal when it was for good, how Eddie could've been picking locks and torturing those who've tortured him but he decides not to. Well before actual evil, Eddie had looked some of the worst the world has to offer directly in the eyes and didn't let it make a monster of him.

Stealing the RV together, oddly enough, lands Steve knee-deep in love with the man laying beside him, one hand on his stomach and the other point towards the sky, tracing imaginary constellations.

"... kinda like an evil mouse, right? You see that?"

Steve grins and stubs out the joint, saving the rest for later as he turns slightly to gaze at Eddie, not whatever weird evil mouse he thinks he sees among the stars.

"Yeah, definitely. Totally an evil mouse."

Eddie's head rolls to the side, cheek pressed against the grass, and furrows his brows. "You're not even looking."

"Eh, there's more important stuff to look at down here."

"Shut up." He watches as a pink hue colors Eddie's neck and cheeks, a blush creeping up from his collarbones. It's rare that Steve stuns Eddie these days, but when he does, it's his favorite thing in the whole world.

Maybe it's the joint, maybe it's the promise of a new season, or maybe it's just the safety he feels under the cover of night, but Steve scoots closer.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Steve asks, voice barely above a whisper. It doesn't need to be any louder, not with his mouth now so close to Eddie's.

Eddie nods, rolling over to his side to quick to be smooth.

Bravery is a term used loosely these days, but Steve feels brave in this moment. Feels untouchable.

"I think I kinda love you."

Silence rests loudly on the grass between them for one, two, three seconds before Eddie closes the distance, responding without words. Every nerve ending in Steve's broken but healing body lights up, electrical as the concept of new beginnings shivers down his spine.

The wind blows again as they kiss, reminding Steve of the seasons changing in his life, this time, in more ways than one.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #steddielovemonth #st fic #myblurbs

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ahqkas · 2 months ago

Text

♯ CIGARETTES OUT THE WINDOW ; tate langdon

PAIRING! tate langdon x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! a brown eyed boy with messy hair and pretty smile from the neighborhood offers to light up a cigarette for you

WORD COUNT! 2.7k

WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, heavy mention of cigarettes and smoking, mentions of reader struggling mentally, + lmk of more if found

NOTES! i need a pretty brown eyed boy with messy hair to light my cigarette for me . all the credits to the devider below belong to @/v6que !!

IF CIGARETTES WERE SO BAD FOR YOU, WHY WERE YOU CRAVING THEM LIKE YOUR MOTHER'S TOUCH OR YOUR FATHER'S ATTENTION? How something so small, so seemingly insignificant, could wield such power over you? That finely cut paper filled with cured tobacco leaves caused serious damage to your physical health yet it improved the state of your mind.

When you held it against your lips and took the first drag, it felt like the first breath you take after being underwater for too long. A rush of adrenaline along with relief, if only for a moment. The nicotine coursed through your veins, wrapping around your brain like the softest of dreams and you ached to reach for it again and again like a child for a hand that was never there. You knew it was killing you slowly, each inhale wrapping around your lungs as if shadow marred its very own presence and each exhale a reminder of the damage you were doing.

The warnings were there, on every pack.

It wasn't the act alone that hooked you so hard. The feeling of what the cigarette provided was the real deal. You lit up to quiet the voices in your mind, to numb the ache of loneliness, to dull the reminders of your repeating days. The bitterness of the tobacco, the way it scorched your throat and left a lingering taste on your tongue, was a small price to pay for the way it soothed your soul, however briefly.

And it was brief — each cigarette only lasted a few minutes. But those minutes were precious. They were yours, and in a life where so much felt out of control, that small sense of ownership was everything. You were the one who decided when to light up, when to take that first drag, when to exhale and watch the smoke curl into the air, disappearing like the worries you wished would do the same.

The night was cool, the air heavy with the damp scent of earth and the faint aroma of wood smoke coming from your neighbor's chimney. It was one of those nights when you felt like your shoulders were loaded with such a burden that there was no way out. At least the night sky didn't disappoint with its beauty — millions, billions of stars were flickering upon the darkness, shining brighter with each passing minute. You sat on the porch steps of your new house, your knees drawn up to your chest and a cigarette dangling loosely between your fingers.

You felt the coolness of the unlit cigarette against your fingertips, the promise it held lingering in the back of your mind. It was as if time had paused, the night holding its breath alongside you. You toyed with the idea, rolling the cigarette gently between your fingers, feeling the slight bumps of the packed tobacco inside. There was a certain comfort in just holding it — a familiarity, a sense of control over something so small.

The porch light cast a soft, golden glow around your form, but beyond that, the yard was swallowed by shadows.

Should you light it? The thought lingered, heavy and persistent, as you stared at the fragile cylinder in your hand. Your parents disapproved of their children smoking and the thoughts of disappointing them felt too heavy for you. You brought the unlit cigarette to your lips, mind spinning with thoughts you couldn't quite grasp. Everything felt too much — too heavy, too overwhelming. You were suffocating under the weight of it all, and this cigarette, this tiny thing, felt like the only tether to the world you could control. The cool paper pressed against your teeth, offering a strange comfort.

For a moment, you just held it there, as if the act of lighting it would be too final, too irreversible. The familiar scent of tobacco teased your senses, but something held you back. The night's stillness, the way the shadows seemed to reach out toward you, and the deep sense of unease that had settled in your chest all seemed to whisper, not yet.

Then, the creak of the porch door behind you shattered the fragile silence. Your heart skipped a beat, fear spiking through you as you imagined your parents standing there, their disapproving eyes catching you in this vulnerable moment. Panic washed over you, the cigarette trembling slightly between your fingers as you fumbled with it, trying to keep the drug out of sight. You couldn't bear the thought of facing them, of explaining what you couldn't even fully understand yourself.

But when you finally found the courage to turn around, it wasn't your parents. Relief flooded your system immediately as you saw Tate standing there, his figure half-illuminated by the porch light, half-swallowed by the darkness behind him. He always had a way of appearing just when you needed him, like a ghost materializing out of thin air. Without a word, Tate slid down beside you, the movement smooth and quiet. The space between the two of you shrank until your shoulders brushed and his knee knocked into yours softly in greeting.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that made you yearn for the person's presence because you liked how they made you feel.

And Tate made you feel good in a way that was hard to put into words. It wasn't just his presence, though that alone was enough to soothe the twisted edges of your thoughts. It was the way he understood you without the need for explanations, the way he could step into your personal space and fill it with a quiet strength that seemed to steady everything around you. Tate made you feel good because with him, you felt whole, like all the broken parts of you could finally be mended.

You kept your gaze ahead on the darkness of the yard, occasionally glancing at your hands, all while feeling the weight of the boy's eyes on you. He was watching you, or perhaps analyzing your actions, but the weight wasn't heavy. With him, everything seemed easy.

He was the one to break the silence with his voice low, sounding like gravel sliding over stone. "You shouldn't smoke, you know. It's bad for you."

Huffing a soft, bitter laugh, the sound escaped your lips as a faint, misty cloud in the cool night air as your eyes flicked toward him, catching his gaze through the veil of your dark eyelashes. There was a hint of pure amusement in your expression. "It's pretty ironic coming from you," you murmured, voice laced with a touch of mockery. You looked down at the unlit cigarette, rolling it once more between your fingers.

"But it's not like it matters, right?" you continued, your tone shifting to something softer, almost wistful. "It's just . . . something to do."

You shrugged, the gesture small and almost unnoticable, as if trying to dismiss the meaning of what you had just said. But the words you wanted to say lingered in the air between you. It wasn't just about the cigarette — it was about the need to fill the void, to occupy the empty spaces that stretched out endlessly in your life. It was about finding something, anything, to hold onto when everything else felt so fragile.

Tate's brown irises flickered with something you couldn't quite place — a glimmer of understanding, maybe. It was as if he saw through your casual words, past the nonchalance you tried to project, and into the deeper, more vulnerable parts of you that you kept hidden from the entire world.

He understood you as if you were two sides of the same coin.

The boy didn't say anything at first, just watched you with that steady, unreadable gaze that seemed to pull at the edges of your carefully constructed facade. Then, with a slow movement, Tate reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, the faint rustle of fabric the only sound breaking the quietness surrounding you. He withdrew a lighter, its polished metal surface catching the porch light for a split second, casting a brief flash of brightness that contrasted sharply with the darkness around you. The lighter was simple, a worn silver Zippo with a few scratches along its surface — evidence of years of use, of countless times it had been flicked open to ignite a flame.

Tate's movements were smooth and practiced as he flicked the lighter open, the familiar click of the metal lid snapping back echoing softly in the still night air. The sound was almost comforting in its predictability, a stark difference to the unpredictability of your thoughts and emotions. A small flame grew to life, its warm, golden light flickering gently as it cast a soft glow on Tate's face, illuminating the chiseled lines of his jawline and nose, and the softer curve of his lips. His skin, usually pale, seemed to take on a warm hue in the firelight, adding a touch of color to the otherwise cool tones that seemed to follow him wherever he went. And his hair, a tousled mess of blond curls that framed his face, caught the light as well, the strands turning golden where the flame touched them, adding a softness to his otherwise sharp features. The way his hair fell, slightly over his forehead and around his ears, gave him a boyish look that contrasted with the haunted expression in his eyes, which made him seem both young and impossibly old at the same time.

You hesitated, eyes locked on the flame, mesmerized by its hypnotic dance. It was such a small thing, yet it held so much power — the power to transform, to ignite, to bring both comfort and destruction. You could feel the warmth radiating from it. Tate waited, patient and unwavering, for you to make a move. He wasn't pushing you to make a decision, wasn't trying to influence your choice. He was simply there, offering you the possibility.

You brought the cigarette to rest between your lips, your hand steady despite the slight tremor in your stomach. Leaning in closer to the flame, you could feel the heat brushing against your cheeks, a whisper of warmth that contrasted sharply with the cool night air. The flame licked at your face, casting fleeting shadows across your features as you drew in a slow, deliberate breath, all while your eyes remained locked with the boy who seemed like he fell straight out of your dreams.

The tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange, and for that brief moment, it felt as if the entire world had narrowed down to just that one glowing point. The burn of the tobacco was immediate, the familiar taste bitter and grounding, pulling you back from the despair. As you exhaled, a plume of smoke curled from your lips, twisting and swirling into the night air, hitting Tate's face.

"Thanks," you murmured, with your voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

In response, Tate's lips curled into a charming grin, the kind that was disarmingly boyish and just a little crooked at the corners. The smile lit up his features just like the flame did, softening the intensity of his gaze and adding a glint of warmth to his doe eyes. It was the kind of smile that made you feel like, despite the darkness and everything else that loomed over your life, there was still something good in the world — something worth holding onto.

The boy next to you leaned back, resting his elbows on the step behind him, his gaze lifting to the sky where the stars were hidden by a thick layer of dark clouds. "What's on your mind?" he asked the kind of question that didn't need an immediate answer.

He probably already knew what was swirling around in your head — Tate always seemed to know, like he had a sixth sense for the things you tried to keep buried. But still, he asked, giving you the space to say it out loud or let it hang there between the two of you, unspoken.

You sighed, nimble fingers absently rolling the cigarette between them. You tilted your head slightly, catching his profile against the dim light. You never really noticed before but, God, was he pretty. "You ever feel like you're just . . . stuck?" you began, voice soft, as if you were testing the waters. "Like no matter what you do, you're just going through the motions, waiting for something to change but not really believing it ever will?"

Tate's heart skipped a beat. You couldn't possibly know, and yet your question struck so close to the truth of his existence that it took him a moment to respond. He was stuck — stuck in this place, in this time, in this state of being. And you didn't know. You couldn't know. How could you?

For a second, he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he only felt in your presence. He kept his gaze on the clouds, forcing himself to stay calm, to not let the surprise show in his expression. But his mind was racing, grappling with the irony of your words. You were searching for a way out of your own feeling of being stuck, while he was trapped in a far more literal sense, bound to this house with no escape.

"Yeah," the boy finally said, his voice softer, almost hesitant, as if weighing the truth he couldn't fully share. "More often than I'd like to admit."

You didn't seem to notice the tension in his voice, the subtle shift in his demeanor. You just nodded, your own thoughts wrapped up in your struggles. "It's like the world's moving on without me, and I'm just . . . here. Stuck in the same place, doing the same things, feeling the same way."

Tate's heart ached with the weight of what he couldn't tell you, the truth that he was stuck in ways you couldn't imagine. But he kept his voice steady, warm. "You're not alone in that," he said, choosing his words carefully. "We're all trying to find our way, even when it feels impossible." He glanced at you, the weight of your words still hanging in the air, and before he could think twice, he reached out and took your hand in his. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and reassuring, and he began to slowly rub his thumb over your knuckles in small, soothing circles. The roughness of his thumb contrasted with the softness of your skin.

His steady voice broke the silence with softness. "You know," he began, his tone imbued with sincerity, "I'd never let anybody or anything hurt you. Not while I'm here."

Your gaze remained fixed on your joined hands for a moment, absorbing the seriousness and sincerity of Tate's words. The promise in his voice, the gentle assurance of his touch, created a sense of warmth that made the rest of the world seem a little less scary.

Feeling a surge of gratitude and comfort, you shifted closer to him, leaning your head against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt felt warm against your cheek, and the subtle scent of him — something earthy and faintly comforting — surrounded you with a feeling of home. Tate was your safe place in this filthy and helpless world.

His body tensed slightly at the unexpected touch, but he quickly relaxed, his arm instinctively moving to drape over your shoulders in a protective gesture. He could feel the gentle weight of your head resting there, and it brought a sense of closeness he hadn't fully realized he needed. The feeling of having you this close was unreal.

Tate turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing against the top of your head. "You okay?"

You gave him a nod while your warm breath washed against his neck. "Yeah. I just needed this."

The two of you stayed like that for a while as the world outside seemed to fade away. The night wrapped around you like a blanket, and for a brief, perfect moment, the worries and fears that had clouded your mind disappeared, replaced by the simple, profound comfort of being close to someone who wasn't afraid to show you just how deeply he cared.

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tokiwarcube · 5 months ago

Note

how defensive do you think the guys are of their s/o?

whos immediately jumping in when someones saying some shit about their partner? LMAO

Oh, I LOVED this one -- very fun prompt <3 Below the cut!

1.) William Murderface

An attack unto you feels like an attack unto him, so you best believe that he doesn’t even think before lashing back at the aggressor. Might be with words, or it might be with fists — the exact mode of recompense isn’t important to him. What is important is that they’re not going to say that shit ever again.

2.) Nathan Explosion

Listen: Nathan doesn’t take kindly to anyone — and I mean anyone — talking poorly about you. On the rare occasion that someone dares tobadmouth you in his presence, he’s sure to shut that shit down immediately. Flat, firm, and no nonsense. And if they keep going? Well, I can’t say it’s the wisest decision, but hey, if they want to learn the hard way, he’s not gonna pay for the medical bill when he puts them in the hospital. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

3.) Toki Wartooth

Much like Murderface, Toki also takes an insult unto you pretty damn personally. He’s not going to start a fight right off the bat, mind you — he gives pretty ample warning in his opinion (“that amnst a nice things to say” quickly turns to “yous better shut the fucks up,” with not much in between) before he decides its easier to just solve things through force. It’s easy to forget how much of a penchant for violence he has until he’s curb stomping a man in a gala, with his suit undone and hair bouncing wildly.

4.) Pickles the Drummer

Pickles is a pretty laid back guy, so honestly, his reaction really depends on the situation. He has full confidence in you and your ability to handle yourself — you don’t necessarily need him to step in every time some douchebag tries to get their five minutes of fame. That’s not to say he doesn’t get a bit pissed on your behalf, but he’s not gonna start swinging and yelling for just any little thing. Fame gives you a thick skin, for the most part. But if he sees their words cutting deep? He might not be Dethklok’s lyricist, but he can string together some shit that’ll cut far, far deeper than they ever could. He too is liable to start swinging, should the occasion call for it.

5.) Skwisgaar Skwigelf

When people see greatness, sometimes they get jealous. And because they can’t have that success, they lash out so that they’re not alone in their failure. Skwisgaar might not put it so eloquently, but he certainly gets the point across. You can’t let regular jackoffs bring you down — what is a man to a pair of Gods? He might let loose a scathing remark or two, but beyond that, he’s more than content to just wrap his arm around your shoulder, give the offending party a trademark sneer, and leave.

#metalocalypse x reader #nathan explosion x reader #pickles the drummer x reader #skwisgaar skwigelf x reader #toki wartooth x reader #william murderface x reader #metalocalypse nathan x reader #metalocalypse pickles x reader #metalocalypse toki x reader #metalocalypse skwisgaar x reader #metalocalypse murderface x reader #dethklok x reader

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yourlocaltreesimp · 8 months ago

Note

Could you maybe write the chain + koridai and courage (and maybe mask) reacting to a guide with self harm scars.

I know it's a tall order and a bit of a controversial ask but it would make this former self harmer quite happy. And if not thanks for taking the time to read.

^⁠_⁠^. ^⁠_⁠^. ^⁠_⁠^ ^⁠_⁠^

Only wrote Courage, Koridai and Mask, but i would definitely expand this to the rest of the chain if that’s what y’all would like! Please please let me know if any part of this is insensitive or tone deaf.

@triplecatattack come get your boys.

tw: self harm/self harm scars, familial abuse mentioned, sexual abuse loosely implied, physical abuse mentioned

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

The scars never truly stopped hurting. The blood would stop, a scab would form, the scar wouldn’t be as tender, but it still hurt to look at. It didn’t matter whether it was from the perspective of a picture or the reflection in the mirror— it didn’t change the mournful cry in your chest that always threatened to bubble out.

Still, you sat with your tunic looped through your forearms while your eyes remained caught on the old wounds. There were days they were easier to ignore. Days it didn’t matter who you were at your worst. But in the days you find yourself reminded that the you of the past lives living within the you of the present, they’re a little harder to leave be. It’s a just little harder to not wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to console that aching bit of yourself.

At some point, each memory finds its way swimming to the surface all at once. It’s uncanny, how accurately the mind can recreate the sensations of memories and pain it once tried so hard to surpress. All at once you’re reminded how it feels to hold your life in your hands, your nerves suddenly back to raw and frightened. To be left with only your sorrows and the hope to carry through. That primal part of your mind, in its panic, telling you to hide as the door to your inn room opened. It urges you to cover your wounds— lest someone see the most fragile parts of you and decides they are simply too much.

Courage’s hands ached with the heavy bags of equipment and boxes the inn keeper had requested he help with. A day's worth of walking up and down stairs and monotonous lifting meant that he’d gotten quite… grimey. But despite the hard work, even he could admit, the nicer room and sauna were perks worth his work.

Sure, he was no smart man. There weren’t any schools for miles around, and even then he doubted his family would have the money to spend his and his brothers’ education.

But for what he lacked in scholarship, he made up for in strength. Not in the simple manner of labouring like his father— no. He was proven to be far, far beyond that. He could finally fight back.

To the world and its cruelty.

To his father and his drunken swings.

To his brothers and their torment.

To evil as it was.

He counted it as odd— the glassy look of your eyes as you stared at the mirror. But as soon as your trance was disturbed, it was broken. You offered a small, gentle smile to him in your reflection as you fiddled with the towel around your shoulders. You seemed ok, not perfectly content, but nothing that raised alarm bells. Your worries tugged at his nerves, but the last thing he’d ever choose to be towards you is overbearing.

He loved that small upturn of your lips, something so soft that it couldn’t be fabricated (such a detail he learned during his time as a knight, smiling is the mask of any good wealthy person). He had been so out of touch with genuine endearment during his time as a decorated knight, flirting with whichever noblewoman draped herself over his shoulder, that he wouldn’t be all too surprised if he’d fallen head over heels for you right then and there. He’d lived his life in a daze up until the, playing to his strengths within the court. He’d almost forgotten such a sense of genuine attraction.

He’d made it a point after you to not flirt with you— or not in the same manner he did with the noble folk of the court. You deserved far more grace and honour than lewd innuendos and wandering hands. Someone who stirred such a pure sense of hopeless romance in a heart as beaten as his deserved only his best treatment.

He gathered his swimwear and led you down the halls to their hot springs, keeping close watch for any prying eyes or wandering hands that may find you as their target. His most beloved deserved his protection. It didn’t matter if his blade had shattered and his bones had splintered, he’d fight to his dying breath if it meant keeping you safe.

Which is why the sobs from the adjacent row changing rooms were so concerning.

“My love?” He knocked softly on the door, not wishing to escalate the situation if it didn't call for it.

“Are you alright?” The weak hiccups and strained breaths only increased. His brow furrowed as he felt his heart squirm beneath his ribs.

“Dearest, what’s wrong?” There were only a few small shuffles before the lock clicked open. You looked at him through the crack with a level of concern that mirrored ashamed. He feels the way his face softens and he has to try and stop his hand from reaching towards you. Your hands cover your arms as your shoulders curl inward to appear small and shrunken.

“I-“ You choke on the syllable as you force words out, “I look horrible” You shuddered as you exhaled, the sound morphing back into your cries.

He can, at first, only manage to hold you as you cry. If he cannot rid the pain from you immediately, he can at least kiss each tear so they’re welcome. He would not let you believe your emotions are anything but beautiful. Because they are an extension of you and your life. How could anything of you not be beautiful?

When he gives you space he can see the irritation around the scars, scratch marks overlaying the fragile skin. Blood pokes through in a few of the less healed areas, and all at once he gets it. He nods wordlessly, embracing you with his own scarred arms.

“You’re so beautiful” His voice is filled with such awe and splendour you can’t even consider if they’re anything aside from pure candor.

“All of you.” His lips press against the inside of your wrists, right where your veins are visible.

“And you’re so sweet” He speaks into your skin as he works his way toward your elbow. Through his lashes you can see him looking up at you as he snickers at his own joke.

“And My, how I'm so lucky to love you.” He kisses where your scars end before diving back up to capture your lips.

You two aren’t so different, he thinks. You suffer similar demons. But if there’s anything that he can do to ward them off, it’s tell you all the things you make him feel. That life is worth living. That people care about you. That it’s ok to cry. That you’re worthy of love— in all its facets and forms.

۵♡۵

If there was any way to describe the way Koridai would present his affections to you, it would be through finery.

Many say that most people choose to interact with the world in a similar manner to the way they wished the world would treat them. He was no such exception.

Sure, while he certainly was held to a standard of respect and dignity, he wasn’t as much a fool as he pretended. He could tell that he was, no matter how much heroics he did, an outsider. Where we saw his livelihood spent protecting them, they saw a jester of sorts.

His service to them was expected.

There were days he wished that he were born into that life. That he could understand their intricacies when interacting and that perhaps, with prestige he could prove himself more than just a performer.

He wished he had such finery as a good and simple life. But, he could not so simply provide that to himself. He had not the money nor the means. The wealthy wanted their entertainment and it wasn’t easy to leave them unsated.

Where he could not provide for himself, however, he provided to you. Full meals, fine jewellery and clothing… his pockets were lined, but he’d empty them for you. The shine in your eyes as you opened a gift from him was far better than any rupee.

It had taken an only slightly embarrassing amount of time to get your ring size discretely and find a jeweller he thought fit for the job.

Even then, there came the incredibly precise matter of picking out a style for both yours and his own engagement ring. The styles had to complement one another without forgoing the practicality of something that would be worn on one’s hands. Not too fragile nor bulky, not overly simplistic nor egregiously bold- You get the deal.

Then, obviously, came the matter of finding a wizard to enchant the ring (because of course it needed enchantments) for which was a task he found to be needlessly difficult. But with careful management and months spent stealing books from the castle’s library, a wizard was found and an inn booked and the travel started.

He didn’t want to leave you in the room while he added the final touches to the rings, but he’d be damned if he didn’t propose to the culmination of his joy at the perfect place. So he left you to ‘get ready’ as he hiked up a comically large mountain towards a tower surrounded by swirling clouds and crackling lightning.

Some six or seven odd hours later, he was back down said mountain and incredibly fortunate to see both the sun and his sun again. He was light on his feet, gliding through the flow of people with an unfamiliar grace. He’d gotten a few odd stares regarding his soaked clothes and dopey grin, but it didn’t matter to him. It didn’t matter so long as it was the same smile you kiss before bed.

Now, it’s not that he was expecting any sense of divine perfection when he opened the door. You already embodied that to him, no matter if you walked the span of the world or fell down a cliff.

But it was concerning to see you crying.

It was more so to see how you tried so hard to cover it up.

His smile was wiped off his face as he moved with the same speed as before to your side. His hands cradled both of your shoulders in an attempt to block out whatever harmed you. But of course, he cannot easily block out what’s already inside.

“Hey hey hey- what’s wrong, pretty?” His voice must’ve been around as fragile as you felt, your head shaking no as you tried to pull back. He retreated slightly, granting you space if that’s what you wanted.

“D- I- Don’t. I’m not-“ You could hardly cough up the words. He reminded himself to breathe, forcing shaky lungs to draw breath.

“Not ok? Tell me what’s wrong lovely, I want to help” There was some crazed fear in the way you looked at him, like you’d been caught in some trap. Foxes and the like in similar situations would knaw their legs off if it meant escaping.

He hopes you know there’s alternative options.

He can save you too, if you’d let him.

“How could you say I'm beautiful when I look like this?” Your voice is hoarse. Instinctively, he goes to grab a glass of water, but he freezes in the motion. He swivelled to look back at you as you shrank away, your hands haphazardly moving to cover patches of cut skin.

“My love-“ He doesn’t quite intend for the way his own voice sounds strangled, but he never intended for you to be in pain. Even if it were from before he could’ve helped you, he could only wish that in the fire you’d know you wouldn’t be condemned to suffer alone. Not so long as he’d be there to hold you as you cried and begged for forgiveness from a sin you didn’t commit. Not if he were there to kiss every inch of skin if it helped with your discomfort.

Not so long as he loved you.

Not so long as he breathed.

۵♡۵

Bonus!

The door opened too quickly for you to tug your tunic back on. Much to your relief, you were only met with the eyes of the youngest hero. You flinched slightly in shock before settling back down where you sat.

He haphazardly climbed up onto the bed to sit by your side as you continued to get ready for another long day fighting. Your shoulders only ached familiarly as you tugged on your pack.

“Ready Kiddo?” He replied only with a nod and a grin lacking a few teeth.

It wasn’t until well past noon that you could find a moment to sit down and eat. You savoured the cold breeze as it ruffled the grasses and trees. You did, admittedly, savour it less when it covered the sound of Mask creeping up. Smaller hands seized your tired shoulders in an attempt to tackle you. His ambush was ultimately unsuccessful, warranting him air jail. He crossed his arms in unamusement before turning his attention to the handful of yellow blooms in his right hand.

“And what exactly are those for, mister? Poisoning?” You asked, bemused at his little smirk. He shook his head, extending them out to you.

“For me?” He nodded enthusiastically. “Why thank you, my knight”

“For your injuries.” His tiny voice corrected.

“Injuries?” You looked down to double check that you weren’t, in fact, bleeding.

“Your arms. They’re scarring.” He stared at you blankly. Your arms? Oh. That makes a little more sense now.

“That’s right, I forgot” You treasured the bright smile on his face, a sight that didn’t often greet you.

#linked universe #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #link x reader #linked universe x reader #link x you #x reader #lu couragexreader #lu courage #lu koridaixreader #lu koridai #lu mask

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miscfandomwrites · 4 months ago

Text

A/N: This is from about two years ago, from my old account. I know this was requested by someone yet I don't have anything saved for a name besides 'anon' so. There's not much to this but figured I'd post it anyways.

Pairing: Avengers x Widow! Reader

Warnings: Flashbacks, food based and major trust issues, reader self-isolates from everyone, everyone is kinda mean, natasha and yelena nearly kill half the avengers, language, angst, fluff(ish) ending

Words: 1.4k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

Summary: Reader escaped the red room with more than just physical scars. At Fury’s request she joined the Avengers for ‘Rehabilitation’ back into society, which led to an awful prank played on her that caused her to lose all trust with them. She hasn’t met Natasha or Yelena yet as they’ve been away on a deep undercover mission..but once they return and learn what has been going on with the reader and the team, and what it’s making the reader relive through, all hell breaks loose.

~~ “It’s a cinnamon poptart, not the blueberry one, I swear by it.” Thor told me as I held the shiny silver package in my hands, debating on whether or not to open it. I was reminded back to last week, when Clint tried the same thing on me. I glanced back up at the god-and he was giving me the puppy dog eyes.

There was a history of the avengers giving me the wrong food. It started out as a joke that made me physically sick enough to the point where I couldn’t eat for almost a week because of it and turned into a joke for them. Well, it wasn’t a joke for me.

I sighed, glancing at the generic wrapper which didn’t tell me shit about what flavour it was. Looked back at Thor and his puppy dog eyes and decided that maybe it was worth a try.

Of course, when I tear open the package it’s the blueberry one. I stared at it for a good minute or so as Sam and Bucky started losing it at my deadpan facial expression, and I just dropped the poptart on the table and turned on my heel and walked away, trying not to remember what happened and blocking out my brain from trying to kill me again.

Steady walking turned into a fast-paced stride, which turned into a jog, then into a full on sprint. I had no idea where the hell I was going, I was too far into my head to tell beyond me descending the back staircase down several flights of stairs. I kept going down,

Down,

Until I hit a wall, and realized I was at the very bottom of the tower. I didn’t even know that there even was a bottom to the tower until now…and knowing already that it had almost two dozen floors, and the kitchen was almost at the direct top…

I must’ve ran down at least ten or maybe even fifteen flights…

My head was still spinning as I leaned against the wall, the sweat from my body making my clothes stick to me and my legs started to shake slightly. Being a supersoldier had its benefits when it came to fights and physical activity, but even then it had its limits.

My breathing came hard and fast, and I closed my eyes tightly as I turned around, pressing my back against the cold, solidness of the concrete wall and slid down until I could rest my arms on my knees and sucked in one breath, held it for seven seconds, then slowly breathed out through my mouth for ten. I kept repeating the pattern, six, seven, ten, until everything stopped spinning and I felt less light headed.

I don’t know how long I was down there, and only took my head off my arms to answer my phone’s consistent buzzing, alerting me to a call. I slid it from my pocking, wincing at the slight protest of my muscles and the phone screen that was still slightly slick from my sweat. I wiped it off on my pant leg and answered it, not bothering to check the contact info.

“Agent (L/N), please do inform me why you are not present at the meeting right now.” a deep voice which I recognized as Fury’s sounded through the speaker. Shit. Meeting. That must mean…

It was six in the evening-I’d left the kitchen around two-

I have been down here for four hours.

I quickly scrambled up, heading to the elevators and pushed the up button as I told Fury I’d be there in less then ten minutes and ended the call. The elevator shot up to my floor as I sniffed my shirt, smelling the sweat and slight mustyness of the basement on it. My body smelled physically fine, but my clothes reeked. Still need deodorant however.

Once on my floor I quickly threw off my clothes as I rushed into my room, grabbing some of the first clothes I saw and changing into them then heading to the bathroom to look semi-presentable. While sure, it probably wasn’t necessary for me to ‘freshen up’ I didn’t want any comments about my appearance or smell, better yet I didn’t want any mention of me and didn’t know why Fury was bothering me to join the avengers since I wasn’t a ‘main’ member.

I finished getting presentable and glanced at what I was wearing, a pair of grey faded jeans that I tucked a black tshirt into and had pulled on my olive green converse, and right before I left my bedroom I grabbed my green button up jacket and slid it on, hoping it’d pair better with the shoes. Thankfully I left my bow gloves on the small bookcase next to the elevator and decided to get those on a whim as I rushed into the elevator and told FRIDAY to take me to the meeting floor.

I pulled my hair up into a slightly messy bun and called it good, soothing any wrinkles and tucking in my shirt more and just fidgeting with my clothes in general.

The avengers, or at least the ones who I’ve seen since I started living in the tower-Thor, Sam, Bucky, Tony, Steve, Bruce, Peter, and a few others whose names I didn’t bother to remember, I did not trust at all. And that was putting it lightly. Ever since the incident when I first started living here-which was not my choice mind you, Fury told me to live here so here I am-I tried my best in avoiding them at all costs. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck one on one with any one of them…especially the males.

Natasha and her sister, Yelena, have been on a almost eight month mission and I haven’t met them yet, but there was one thing the three of us had in common: The red room.

Memories I’d rather not remember were thankfully interrupted by FRIDAY chiming at me and opening the door of the elevator, and I walked out into the conference / meeting room.

“Look what the cat dragged in, finally.” Tony stated as I walked to the meeting table, taking a seat at the end of it. I glanced around noticing two new faces-females, and from the red and yellow hair I guess Natasha and Yelena.

“Took you long enough.” Steve glared at me as I tried to remain indifferent.

I did notice both Yelena and Natasha stiffen when they saw me, and even more so when they saw my slight reaction to their comments. I didn’t bother introducing myself, figuring they probably damn remember who I was.

Of course, I had a different nickname in the room, but those days were long gone.

Fury nodded at me and explained what the two had dug up from their reconnaissance mission, explaining how there was a series of various drug cartels that had access to a substance that not only was highly illegal, but magical in nature.

I turned out during the last half of it, upon hearing Sam and Bucky having their heads together and snickering, occasionally glancing my way. At some point I heard whispers of what would happen if they caught me alone, and at that point I was done-black creeped on the edge of my vision as I rolled the chair back and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten in awhile. Suddenly a loud slam echoed through the room, caused by Natasha slamming her hand on the table, standing up.

“Will you two shut the fuck up before I decide to kill you?”

I stared in shock as she glared at Sam and Bucky, Yelena also standing with her, glaring and had a knife palmed in her hand already.

“You have no fucking idea what it was like for her, for us going through that room and all you’ve been doing is making her fucking miserable. I’ve been getting reports on what you two’ She turned and glanced around the entire team at this ‘on what everyone has been doing to her. You’re lucky I was too deep into the mission or I would’ve come here sooner.” She turned to Fury and he nodded at her, and then spoke up.

“Natasha and Yelena will be taking care of the black listed missions from now on, and they will be taking care of miss (L/N) as well. Upon their wishes, they are no longer a part of this team.”

Both the girls turned to me, Yelena sliding her knife away and Natasha holding out a hand to me.

“Come on, Серебряная Лиса, we’ve got you.”

We’ve got you.

(Silver fox)

#miscfandomwrites #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #marvel #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #Yelena x reader #yelena belova

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salstray · 2 years ago

Text

An Arrangement ((Ghost x Reader))

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Warnings: 18+ Content, NSFW, Smut, p in v, AFAB reader, established situationship, very little plot, also my first time writing x reader smut so let me know if its ass k thanks

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Summary: Ghost and Reader are co workers, of sorts. You work under Laswell, helping with intel and information while the boys are in the field. During the months you work with Ghost, you and him figure out an... arrangment that helps you both relax a little in the midst of all the chaos of war. When the job comes to an end, you give Ghost a letter and a choice. End it here or extend the stress relief beyond work. You get your answer when he shows up at your door in the middle of the night.

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Note: As I said before, first time writing x reader smut.... or really any smut at all! Usually I get to blushy and ashamed when I get to this point in a work, but this one wormed its way out into the pages anyway! Tell me if it sucks, K? Rad. Thank you!

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The letter is so professional, so clinical, it almost makes him laugh.

Your slanted handwriting against perfectly lined paper, calling this whole thing an 'arrangement' between the two of you. Like it was a trade deal or a transaction and not like he'd been fucking you stupid every time he got you alone. It was all for secrecy, he understood that, but it was still funny.

At the bottom of it all, the clipped and emotionless words and flowing business speak, was your address and your phone number.

In case you'd be interested in a continuation, it said. Ending in your name. Just the first one. The only hint anyone would have that this was anything other than work, should any unwanted eyes find their way onto this page. They wouldn't, Ghost was far too careful to let that happen, but still. The only slip you’d made.

It takes a surprising amount of courage to end up at your door. More, he feels, then it takes to stare down the barrel of a gun.

The apartment building is smaller than what he would have expected from someone with your salary, but he wasn't one to judge. His own flat was barely more than a shoebox. Just enough space to keep the walls from closing in when he stared at them too hard and enough to hold what few possessions he had to his name.

He's not sure if you'll be awake when he finally knocks. One glance at his phone tells him that much. Ghost had decided not to text you before he showed up, either. Somehow that felt more intimate than anything else. A trapdoor in his walls that he wasn't willing to address just yet. Or open.

When you appear through the doorway, he nearly collapses on the spot.

Your in a fucking skirt.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been such a shock but in all the months you'd worked together you'd always dressed practically, more or less. The leggings you favored would probably be considered less, but it was always trousers of some sort. Dress pants, a button down shirt, hair pulled back. Ready at a moment's notice, as you needed to be to survive in this life. A perfect mirror of Laswell. The person you worked under and the reason you two had met in the first place.

But here? Now? In your own home with the only danger being bad TV and loud neighbors you looked so much different.

You favored black in your style, something that drew Ghost in, something Johnny would relentlessly tease him about, and it showed even outside of work. The skirt was that color. Solid black, flowing gently around your thighs, topped with a simple forest green tank top with thin straps and no bra. Your hair was loose and your glasses were nowhere to be seen, leaving your eyes wide and shining.

The way you gasped snapped his gaze from your body, your thighs and your hips, up to your face.

"Simon?" You ask softly, like you weren't sure it was really him. Like you expected anyone else to show up in the dead of night with a skull print balaclava covering their face.

"Evenin', love."

You curl in on yourself. Bashful. Shy. Looking up at him through fluttering lashes, hands tucked up by your breasts. The way you always looked when he approached you with sinful intentions.

Heat pooled low in Ghost’s stomach as he leaned forward, his hands tucked away in his pockets, his eyes dark and heavy.

"Gonna invite me in?" He breathes, knowing damn well what his voice does to you when he speaks like that. The reaction in you was instant. The rapid blinks, the shaking breath. The little nod as you took a few steps back, opening the door wider to let his massive form through the frame. He steps inside slowly. Letting his eyes roam the walls and furniture. Cataloging every little knickknack and art piece and surface he'll be able to bend you over once he finally puts his hands on you.

Your voice draws his gaze back to you.

"I… I didn't think you'd show up," you say, trying to sound casual. Trying to sound like this was planned and not simply offered a few weeks ago with no reply given.

He doesn't give you one now, either. Instead he takes a step closer to you. Closing the distance in one swift motion, causing you to press your spine into the half wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. You're blinking again, trying to gather your thoughts as his hands settle on your waist, palms warm and fingers strong. Ghost’s digits press into your flesh as he hums and leans back, clearly enraptured by the outfit you chose for your quiet night in.

"Look good in this," he mutters. His right hand shifts, sliding lower over your thigh, just enough to slip under the skirt and start a slow, teasing trail back up to your leg.

"Y-you think?" You ask, biting your bottom lip when his hooded eyes meet yours.

"Yeah." His fingers slip up and behind you, pulling you forward, chest flush against his with his hand now cupping your ass. "I do. Think you should wear it more often."

He feels the shiver that rolls up your spine as he speaks. Smirks when your hands reach up to grab at his jacket. Pulls the hand still on your waist away just long enough to push back his hood and tug up the end of his mask. He settles it on your shoulder instead of your hip, however, and slides it up along your neck and into your hair, taking a fistfull and using it to tug your head back.

Your breathless gasp makes him rumble low in his chest. Something between a growl, a hum, and a grunt. Ghost leans forward, his tongue slipping through his lips and marking a wet trail up your pulse.

The little whine you let out makes him shudder and he sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth as his mouth reaches your jaw.

He'd never tell you, never admit it, but he missed this. Missed you. Your reactions, your sounds, the taste and feel of your skin. He'd been in this apartment for less than five minutes and already felt like he was gonna split apart at the seams if he didn't have his cock buried in you in the next two.

The next breath he takes is punctuated by a groan and he uses the hand on your ass to lift you off your feet. He lets the other take hold of your thigh to keep you steady as you make a noise of surprise and wrap your legs around his hips.

"Bed. Where?" Is all he says, his lips parted and panting against your cheek as he speaks.

Moments later your back is hitting the mattress. Ghost is already reaching under the skirt by the time you push yourself up onto your elbows, yanking away your panties and tossing them somewhere into the room. He crawls over you, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, lifting them into the air so your skirt flops up against your stomach, revealing your newly naked sex to him.

He groans again, low and slow, head tilting as his right hand slips away from your leg and down towards the slick heat that had been torturing you for hours.

"So wet already?" He teases. Ghost chuckles when his touch makes you jerk, his fingers just barely grazing your clit and making you whimper.

"I…," your gaze slips away from him, your flushed cheeks only getting hotter as you confess, "I've been… thinking about you… all day." A startled cry leaves you when he plunges two fingers in without warning. There was no resistance at all. Just a loud, wet noise as he slowly drags them back out and presses in again.

"Aww… thinkin' bout me? How sweet," he purrs, leaning in close to watch your face twist with pleasure. "To think that's all it takes to get you so worked up." Your eyes, which had twisted shut at the pleasurable stretch of his fingers, peel open just a bit to look at him. Plead with him. Beg him silently for more.

Luckily he's always been able to read you like a book. That's what led to this arraignment in the first place.

"Want more, love?" You whimper, nodding weakly. "Want my cock?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes what, sweetheart?"

"Yes, sir."

You didn't take orders from him. He wasn't your superior in the field and, in all honesty, he was totally fine with that. There was no way he'd be able to keep focus with that sweet voice calling out to him. All it would take was one little 'sir' over the comms and he'd be done for. That's why he made you use it here. Where only he could hear it.

Both of his hands leave your body and you'd have protested if you didn't push yourself up farther to watch him work at his belt. In one fluid motion it joins your panties across the room and you sink your teeth into your lip to hide the moan that draws out of you. The sight of his dick, fully hard and already leaking, pulls another free. One you don't hide from him.

Ghost crawls over you again, tucking his thumbs into the straps of your tank top and pulling them down your shoulders. He tugs just far enough for your breasts to be freed. Another shiver rolls through you when he licks his lips.

"Simon," you whimper, reaching up to dig your fingers into his biceps. "Please." His newly shining mouth twitches into a smirk and he tilts his head for a moment, brows raising with the motion.

"Since you asked so nicely."

You'd hate how cocky he acted if he wasn't so fucking attractive and if his actual cock wasn't pushing into you.

Your eyes flutter shut again as you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as the solid heat of him fills you. Ghost takes the opportunity to slide his arms under you and pull you close, his face hidden in your shoulder, his breathing short and shallow as you stretch around him. It takes a few careful thrusts to get him all the way inside. Slow drags a few inches back, then a steady roll of his hips until his pelvis is pressed against yours.

"Ffffffuck, sweetheart… fuckin' hell-"

He only gives you a few short seconds before he's thrusting. Filling the room with the harsh slap of his skin on yours, the wet squish of your slick, and the echoing moans you can no longer contain.

"Si-Simon! Fu-ahhh! Fuck!"

He's not quiet either, to your surprise. In the past, you'd both been at risk of being caught. On base, hidden between paper thin walls, surrounded by other soldiers. Ghost's self control was honestly impressive, but he had to silence you in anyway he could. Either with his mouth on yours, his fingers down your throat, or just his palm slapped over your lips.

Yet here, in your own home, he's just as bad as you. Moaning freely, cursing and whining along with you, groaning deeply as he sucks at the soft skin of your throat. His teeth sink into your flesh and you clench around him, making him pull away with a gasp.

"Ffuuu… fuck… like that, do you?" He leans forward again, lower than before, leaving a harsh red mark over your collarbone.

One of his arms wiggles free from under you and his fingers appear at your clit, making you nearly sob at the sudden friction. Before you know it your panting and moaning, nearly falling to pieces as heat coils in your abdomen, threatening to toss you over the cliff and straight into oblivion.

You grunt, gasp, curl your legs up around Ghost's waist, then throw your head back with a hoarse cry, eyes shut tight as you cum.

Ghost only stops for a handful of seconds. Long enough to lean himself back on his knees with a grunt, his hands taking hold of your hips. Then, before you've even come back down to earth, he's fucking you again. Deep, hard strokes that have your already muddy thoughts washing away in bliss.

Your orgasm drags on and on as he chases his own high, leaving you a weak, whimpering mess as he manhandles you back into his thrusts. Not much later, he's curling over you again, his eyes clenched shut and lips parted. He rolls his his again, two, three more times. Then his shoulders shake and he moans lowly, his face suddenly slack with relief. You finally fall limp a few trembling seconds later. Utterly boneless beneath him.

The pair of you stay there for a while.

Ghost lets himself lean into you, laying mostly on his side, still buried to the hilt in the mess you both made. One of his arms found its way under you again, holding you close to his chest as he breathes slowly and evenly. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was asleep. But you did know better and you grunted softly as you tried to shift your legs.

"Alright, love?" He calls softly, his head raising just enough to look at you through the darkness. He hadn't turned the light on when he'd carried you in here. It would have wasted time.

"Y-yeah… feel like jelly…" you say, still sounding and feeling breathless. You swallow, throat dry, and twist in his grasp, making him groan quietly as his soft cock finally slips free of you.

He twists as well, moving you until you're curling against his chest, sweaty and sticky and satisfied.

"Gonna be able to make it to round two?" He asks teasingly.

You groan. "There's gonna be more?" It's playful. You know perfectly well how much it takes to satiate him. Ghost chuckles and you can't fight back the grin that bunches your cheeks in response.

"I just got here, sweetheart. Maybe if you hadn't worn a skirt…"

"Maybe if you'd given me a warning I could have changed." You wouldn't have, both of you know that. "My number was on that page too, Riley. Use it next time."

You couldn't see the way his jaw clenched when you said that. The way his eyes shifted through the shadows, wondering… thinking… considering the consequences.

Luckily, your hand trailing down his chest, over his jacket, pushes thoughts ever present fears away.

"You should take this off."

"You just wanna see my tits." He speaks before he thinks and it makes you laugh. A full, bright laugh that he's never heard from you before. Not that there's much place for laughter when he's got a gun in his hands and you've got lives on the line.

It makes him smile. Just a little. Not where you can see. The sultry smirks and teasing grins were easy, this kind of smile was different. Softer. It's gone as you tilt your head back to beam at him, not a single worry behind your eyes.

"Well, you saw mine. It's only fair."

#Simon Ghost Riley #Ghost MW2 #Ghost MW #Ghost x Reader #Simon Ghost Riley x Reader #Modern Warfare 2 #Call of Duty #CoD #Cod MW 2 #god tags are exhausting aren't they-#Smut #Ghost x Fem!Reader #okay throwing it into the void and running K BYE

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goodboyaudios · 10 months ago

Note

So I was rewatching the "betraying your friends" ep from MOTH, and was wondering something...when Cataclysm offered power to Zed, what if he DID accept it? What would happen then?

I actually made a while AU about this on Discord so I'm happy to share it here!

I'm now calling it: BIRTH OF THE SECOND SUN In this timeline, Mirrin is killed by Mahann and Zed is humiliated by Mahann and Gienne. He does manage to snatch away the Demonomicon, but he is truly alone with no one to warn him or comfort him in any way. Without hesitation, he accepts Cataclysm's offer…

After accepting Cataclysm's gift for power, Zed becomes a sorcerer of Untempic and Faenic elements. He is now just as powerful as the guardian, but while the guardian has a balance on such energies, Zed does not. On top of that, the quick influx of power overwhelms him, forcing him to go crazy, but he doesn't become the next Anarchanist, he transcends it. He sees things beyond normal perception, witnesses events that may never happen, but always had, he decides to continue where his long deceased mother left off.

He teleports straight to Makkaro's house in a display of divine fury. Makkaro, realizing the power Zed has received, panics and flees to his castle, narrowly avoiding his death. He knows its only a matter of time before Zed finds him again. He summons forth the Snake Titan and prepares for battle. Both of them are connected in some way to Cataclysm and they both have similar goals, but while Makkaro wants to do it in the name of justice and revenge, Zed wants to do it to unify and prepare the Manasians for something that could spell the end of everything. Just as Makkaro has set up a few rudimentary defenses, Zed appears.

The battle is hard fought and the effects are felt across the world. The undead and vampires pose no threat to Zed and are instantaneously dealt with. The snake titan is the only edge Makkaro has over Zed as its body cannot be destroyed, nor can it even be penetrated by anything from Manas. Even the Guardian couldn't defeat it. So instead, Zed, being the little smarty-pants he is, uses his incredible power to create time magic out of thin air, and using it to reset Shee Khan into it's original form. It is now alive, containing its soul that was once trapped in the desert of Shee, and it is pissed off at Makkaro.

But Makkaro isn't a fool either. He wasn't sure if Shee Khan would be always willing to serve him, so he implanted magical runes within the body of Shee Khan to send it back to the desert if something were to go awry. The downside of this teleport is that it causes massive seismic and ecological damage to the ocean, creating chasms and sending tsunamis to the east and west. Now, its just Zed and Makkaro. Makkaro attempts to reason with Zed. He asks him what he wants, to which Zed responds, "To crush any opposition". Makkaro realizes that he has no choice now, but to fully submit himself to the demonic magic. In order to prevent this tyrant from rising, he must become what he was doomed to be. A Lich Anarchanist. After submitting to his dark power, the fight truly begins…

Raze, the Guardian, hasn't been able to be touched, because the magic that gets near her cell fizzles away to nothing. However, that doesn't stop the shockwaves from knocking the walls loose and allowing Raze to rescue Taurus. Upon reuniting and seeing Zed and Makkaro go at it like Dragonball characters, Raze intervenes. She realizes she can't kill either of them as Makkaro's lich form seems to be un-killable and Zed is using BS time magic. As she looks at the two fighting, she remembers the time she entered through the Lightmaster engines. She recognizes that these two, through their conflict have become a source of infinite power. They have become the sentient light.

While I'm still thinking about this, I'd like to say Raze also made Makkaro and Zed dream in the Second sun. In this dream, Zed and the guardian went on an adventure and ran into Detective Aetherward and Gienne on another case. While working together, Zed realizes that he just wanted a family and Makkaro and Gienne have talked about children. In this timeline, Makkaro and Gienne are safely together without threat from the family. And Zed's family isn't murdered, but just travels a lot and doesn't have as much time for him. Zed becomes adopted by Makkaro and Gienne and even becomes a big brother to their birth child. The Guardian watches over them as a close friend and even helps Zed reunite with his long lost family on occasion. But in the end, it's just a dream shared by two dying consciousnesses.

#good boy audios #goodboyaudios #youtube #asmr roleplay #asmr boyfriend

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sweetsweetjellybean · 1 year ago

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dear god please finish torn i am frothing at the mouth

I'm sorry my fingers are starting to smoke with their click clacking. I'm trying to get it out to you by tomorrow. Please accept this sneak peek as an offering. <slides it under the door and back away>

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood. The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump even though the sound is expected.

"Hi," Eddie greets you from the other side of the threshold, the softness of his tone mirroring the gentleness in his eyes.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years, still expecting the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over the same way he did last time like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he look beyond the scars to the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze away, down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as a flush of warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider to welcome you inside. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the dimly lit hall, now familiar with the layout.

The lobby is in utter chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips as he watches you take in the sight before you.

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling. The colors brighten the deep tones of the space, capturing the essence of the city and the spirit of CursedSound.

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room.

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you. "I thought it was a dump."

His breath, a warm whisper against your ear, spins you around. "Well, what can I say? It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens.

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans.

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain tee with Lollapalooza written across the front. None of the trendy fashions you usually wore to interviews seemed to fit right today. Causing you to tug at necklines and fidget with the hems of three different outfits before settling on something casual. There’s nothing to hide behind – the armor is off. It’s time to hear him out.

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m feeling nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy. The shield of anger you’ve held between you is battered and worn thin, leaving uncertainty behind.

"It’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me."

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right," he takes a step forward, his gaze locking with yours, "After all these years, it's you.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #jelly's asks #torn #torn series

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angelsworks · 2 years ago

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Little Witch The last kingdom x reader

Chapter 5

Next chapter -> H E R E

Series Masterlist -> Here

Type: Series

Summary: Your journey leads you to a town, where you plan to meet Astrid.

Warnings: 18 +, mature themes, abuse, injury, underwear shopping.

Sun breaks across the previously grey sky. It gives some indication to what time it is. You’ve been travelling since the morning. According to Finan it should only be half a days ride to the next town. You would estimate that the group had been travelling for two hours already.

For two hours you’d been in front of Uhtred. Pinned to the front of the saddle due to his size. Caged in by his thick thighs and strong forearms. It would almost be enjoyable if your back would cease its torment.

During your time spent with Steffen he had tried everything to make you break. His ideas weren’t often repeated. Giving you a glimpse into how sick and twisted he could really be. On one of your last days with him, he’d taken a whip to your back. Creating lacerations both long and deep all over.

Even now you were sure they were still open. You had no time from then till now to treat your wounds. Despite Uhtred being your master, you weren’t completely comfortable with him. Not comfortable enough to tell him about said injuries. It was hard to picture Uhtred being a healer of any kind. His talents lay elsewhere.

As far as country roads go, you are convinced this is the most boring. The trees all look the same, the grass is green, the road is a worn yellow colour. Every clop of the horses kicks up dust and continues to fill the air with sound of their hooves. It’s become background noise at this point. You wonder if silence would be better in some cases.

Your eyes glance to beyond the trees that line the sides of the road. Seeing more green grass, ferns bushes and finally flowers.

You see a bunch of pink and white tulips. Growing in a dominantly brown area. They stand out and attract your attention immediately. You know white tulips are Astrids favourite. Pink tulips being your own. The colour is one of your favourites. Reminding you of the sky before night, turning various shades of pink. It takes you back to your family’s farm.

Although the thoughts fill you with sorrow, a strange part of you wants the flowers. A reminder maybe? Of a happier time. Or maybe just because they are beautiful.

You look beside you, seeing all riders preoccupied with thinking. Even Uhtred, as you turn to look behind you, is busy with his own thoughts. Eyes glossy and attention elsewhere.

You decide that now is the time. You put your hands under Uhtred’s arms, holding loosely to the reins. With a tug up his hands have come off, giving you change to move your legs. You swing your right leg over the saddle and slide off the horse. Without stopping you dart into the woods, hearing Uhtred dismount behind you.

Your heart pounds as your feet beat against the floor. Dodging trees in your path as you make your way through the woods. Finally you see your tulips and drop to the floor. You’ve picked three pink and four white by the time Uhtred puts his arms around you. Putting you over his shoulder in one swing.

You grip tightly on to your flowers as he carries you back to his horse.

“You are quite the runner little witch.” He acknowledged, while you stay silent. Happy to have your flowers.

When you reach his horse you can see the rest of the group on guard. Expecting some threat to jump from behind Uhtred.

Instead of saying anything he turns around. Showing you over his shoulder, flowers in hand.

“Flowers?” Finan asks incredulous, “All that for flowers?”

You nod, “They’re pink.”

Your response elicits a huff from the Irishman. It brings a small smile to Uhtred’s lips. Though he hides it from you.

You feel Uhtred’s arms tighter around you this time. Making sure you won’t get the slip on him again. Silence falls over the group once more.

Aftwr a few more hours the town starts to appear. First you see more frequent houses, some farmers of both crops and animals. Then you see small groups of buildings, small villages. Then finally the town. It had a wooden fence surrounding it. Guard manning the gate and walking the fence in rotations.

Uhtred and his group pass without problem. The Lord being well enough known in this town that they show him respect. He’s welcomed in and told where to find lodging.

Uhtred halts his horse near a stable. The stable hand coming out to greet him quickly. The men remove their bags of valuables and hand the horses over to the boy.

You see Uhtred take rope out of his bag, holding out a hand expectantly. You’ve seen this in your vision, so you’ve got some idea to wear it’s going.

He ties the rope around your wrist, acting as a sort of bracelet. Then wraps it around a few times before tying the rope around his own wrist. The short length of rope means you can’t get far away without him knowing.

“I won’t have you running away now Witch.” Uhtred tells you. The last word attracts the attention of the stablehand. The boy looking around curiously at you. Quickly turning when he sees Finan and Sihtric’s glare towards him.

Uhtred leads you around the town beside him. The five of you trek through alleyways and streets alike. Passing many people as you go. None wearing the dark blue cloak you are hoping for.

Uhtred stops you when the group reaches a market square.

He turns to Finan, “I have business with the witch. I’ll meet you at the ale house soon.”

Finan is more than happy to oblige. Leading the way for Osferth and Sihtric.

With tulips still in hand you walk beside Uhtred through the streets. You notice how they seem to have gotten busier. More carriages, more carts, more people. At some point Uhtred had reached down for your hand. Finding it easier to manoeuvre the two of you around. The feeling makes you smile.

You pass through a maze of Stalls. Each covered in a different banner. They sell all sorts of trinkets on the table. From gold and silver to seeds and bread. You see all kinds of gemstone captured in metal on tables filled with jewellery.

You’re lead through the maze. The man attached to you seems to have an exact location in mind. He’s found that location when he stops in front of a stall that’s more hidden to the crowds. A woman stands at the front of the stall, looking over a variety of fabric samples.

“Elenor, it is good to see you.” He greets the woman. She looks at the two of you. A new spark lighting in her eyes. Her face has aged, her hair beginning to grey. But her smile could belong to a young woman. It lights her face and the world around her.

“Uhtred!” She cried, moving around the table to hug him.

“My lord, I did not expect to see you again.” She admits.

He pats her gently on the shoulder. Moving back to reveal you to her.

“I came in needs of your skills.” He tells her. While motioning to you.

She looks you over with appraising eyes. Looking over your rubber ‘shoes’ and black ‘dress’. Her face turns sour as she looks at your tattered clothes.

“My, my,” she repeats again. “Uhtred, you think too highly of my skills.”

He laughs, “Nonsense lady. You are the best seamstress in England. You could surely do something.”

She turns again. This time looking over your body, not your clothes.

Without your knowledge she is estimating your sizes. Mentally working out measurements for dresses and cloaks and shoes and robes.

“I will try Uhtred. What do you need?” She asks. Moving back to her table to look at the various fabrics she has.

You watch with surprised wonder as Uhtred’s words flow into an order. He points to fabrics and names a gown he wants made from that. You hear him mention a cloak and shoes and finally nightwear. A part that makes you blush, as he points to the more lacy of the fabrics for those choices. You had no idea Uhtred was so knowledgeable in womens clothes. You would tease him if you didn’t feel so grateful for it.

“Hmm, a large order like this will surely cost Uhtred.” She mutters, looking over her ribbons and fabrics.

“It will be no issue. Here,” he pulls money out of a coin bag attached to his belt. “Take this as a part of what is to come.”

She smiles, retreating to her tent. The large black tent is set up behind her stall. Blending into the background. As the flap opens you see a whole work room of dresses and gowns galore. The sight makes your eyes widen.

A tug on your wrist has you moving back through the market maze. Back to the square where you started. You take a new path to the Alehouse. The roads less crowded on this part of town.

“Thank you Uhtred.” You tell him, trying to meet his gaze.

“I can’t have my witch looking like a beggar.” He brushed you off. Trying to dirty the kind gesture.

You see through his act and can’t help but feel a little happier. The tulips in your hands are still surprisingly intact. It reminds you that you need to be looking for Astrid.

Among the carts of traders you see her. Her cloak is down and her hair is flowing around her. While she stands out from the crowd, the market is much too busy to keep an eye on her.

The constant pull from Uhtred makes it no easier to see her. Even with your frantically moving head, moving from side to side. When you leave that particular street you realise it’s hopeless. Not while you’re attached to Uhtred.

So you sigh and decide to wait for another opportunity.

The air inside the alehouse is hot from the crowd inside. The walls trap in the shouts and laughs and belches. The sounds bouncing of the stone walls.

Uhtred leads you to a table in the corner. Sihtric and Osferth are already sat. You see Finan at the bar, seeming to be flirting with the barmaid from the way he leans against the bar and speaks in low tones.

“Sit witch.” Uhtred commands when he sees you stood there staring.

When your sat he pulls at the rope on his wrist. Loosening it in his end, then uniting the knot around yours. It brings small relief to have your wrist unbound. You place your bunch of flowers on the oak table. Taking a moment to rub your now free wrist.

When Finan returns he looks very proud of himself. He carries two metal tankards, you assume for himself and Uhtred. Sihtric and Osferth already nursing their own.

The group talks amongst themselves. Talking of plans for when they reach Coccham. Some plans of new buildings for town, or their next adventure. You tune most of it out. Still trying to find an opportunity to go and search for Astrid.

When they men have moved on to their second tankards and are well on their way to getting drunk, you decide to make your move.

“I need to piss.” You say, hard in your resolve and leave little room for embarrassment or a smile. You hope the crude nature of your request makes them believe your lie.

It brings a choke from Osferth and a laugh from Finan.

“You will piss later.” Uhtred tells you. Brushing you off.

You frown. You need him to let you leave, now.

“Either I leave and find somewhere to go,” You pause. Making sure he sees the seriousness in your eyes. “Or I piss here.”

Finan stops his laughter with his hand as he watches Uhtred for a reaction.

His brows furrow, feeling as though you hide something more.

“Fine, you can have your piss. If you go anywhere else other than to piss, I’ll tie you to my bed post for the night.” Your eyes widen at his hushed words.

Trying to give little away as you nod. No matter where you end up tonight, you need to see Astrid. So you grab your flowers then stand and leave. making your way to the main town square again.

When you leave the men pull their heads closer, ready to question Uhtred. It’s clear from taking the flowers, you lie about where you plan to go.

“I think she plans to leave Uhtred.” Sihtric suggests. Keeping his voice low as he leans in towards the Lord. He knows his friend plans to keep you in their company. For obvious reasons he sees that you have the potential to be useful.

Uhtred nods, “That’s why I plan for you to follow her.”

Sihtric huffs, shaking his head. The last thing he wants to do is follow you anywhere.

“A monk would be spotted too easily from the crowd,” Uhtred tries to reason. “And Finan has no knowledge on being quiet.”

The comment causes the Irishman to jab him playfully. Sihtric relents, finishing his tankard in a few swallows and following you out the door.

He follows you as you wander down the street of the alehouse. Missing plenty of communal latrines on your way. Clearly you are not going to piss like you say. The sight makes his eyes narrow, feeling more suspicious of you.

He watches as you reach the town square. Looking around almost desperately, pink and white tulips in hand. You stop looking and almost run down towards an alleyway.

He follows at a distance. Positioning himself at the mouth of the alley so he can both see and hear what you do and say. But stays close enough to the marchants that he doesn’t look like he’s spying on you.

You almost tackle Astrid as you embrace her. Your eyes start to leak when you realise you can hold her again. From your time at the covenant, she had become a sort of second mother to you.

She wraps her strong arms around you. The action making you feel young again. Before things took such a turn.

“Hello (Y/N).” It’s the first time in a long time someone has used your name. Not witch, not lady, not anything other than your name. It fills your body with warmth.

“Oh Astrid, so much has happened. There’s so much to tell you and little time.” You practically sob. Burying your head into her leather chest plate.

Under her dark blue cloak she’s adorned in armour. The sight not unusual for the Dane. She often wore clothes similar to those seen on the battle field. You felt the hilt of her sword against your hip.

“I know little star,” you earned the name from all your stargazing. “The Elders have seen your struggle. They know of your parents death, of your killing of Steffens men, they know of Steffen. Child I am sorry for the pain he has coursed. But I have come to give you a message from the Elders.”

“They have told me of what they see. They say you travel now with your true master, Uhtred of Bebbaburgh. Is this true?”

You nod pulling away from the woman. Holding your flowers tightly in your fist.

“I am glad you have found protection. The Elders tell me to warn you of Steffen. He continues to hunt for you. He plans to take you to his bed and break your bond to Uhtred.”

You think you should be unable to feel shock at this point. You knew that was his plan for you. You just don’t expect him to still be hunting.

“They want you to know about your bond to a master, specifically Uhtred,” she paused looking around. “They have seen a future union between the two of you. One of marriage.”

You face heats and you feel dizzy. Between you and Uhtred? The man that practically hates you? He is your master and nothing more.

“If a seer and their master bind,” she raises an eyebrow so you can see the meaning behind her words. “Their bond cannot be broken. He will stay your master even if Steffen tries to break your bond. You will stay forever attached to Uhtred.”

It’s hard to process the new information. You would do anything to make sure you don’t lose your bond to Uhtred. But sex?

You’d never done anything with anyone before. You’d never had the chance. But now you find out that having sex with anyone but Uhtred will break the bond between you two. Leaving you masterless. Your sight would be uncontrolled. Who knows where it might lead you.

How would Uhtred feel about this. He seems to care very little about learning anything about you. He calls you witch, not your name. Yet he still keeps you with him.

“I also come bringing gifts. This dagger is for you. It’s small and light and easy to conceal. You can do so in this leg scabbard.” She pulls the dagger from her bag, handing it to you.

She also pulls out a pot of what looks like a herby paste. “This is for your wounds. You must apply it once daily for the next few week. Or else they will become yellow and poisoned . May Steffen rot in Niflheim the puny bastard.”

Her insult makes you laugh, as pitiful as it is. You dry your tears, handing her your flowers.

“Thank you little star. You are too kind. I must leave now. The seers have sent me elsewhere.” She tells you. Putting the flowers in a pocket of her bag.

“When will I see you again?” You ask, voice weak, afraid of her answer.

She wipes your face, “Do not cry baby seer, fate will have us meet soon. I am certain.” She hugs you a final times before leaving the alley.

When she is out of sight you steady yourself against the wall. Then begin to sob, loudly. You slide down the wall, collapsing to your knees. You wish for the life of your mother, your father, to return to you. You wish Steffen would leave you gone. You wish your new Master and his friends cared for you more. All while feeling the horrid cuts along your back against the cold stone wall.

You take many deep breaths to calm yourself. Feeling the tears drain out of you, along with the last of your energy. You wish to be in bed, sleeping. Back on your families farm. You wish for your only worries to return to feeding the horses and collecting the harvest.

But that was not the case. Now you needed to get up and deal with your situation. It would not be solved sitting on the floor of a dirty alley.

So you get up, brush your tatty dress off, and begin your walk back to the Tavern.

#angelsworks post #uhtred the last kingdom #osferth the last kingdom #the last kingdom osferth #the last kingdom x reader #sihtric the last kingdom #the last kingdom #the last kingdom series #finan the last kingdom #dark

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aclowntiny · 1 year ago

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hi!! I know you said soul exchanges weren't necessary for requests, but I'm more than willing to give mine up for this one because it's a universe I adore

superhero!ateez meeting reader. who or what the reader is? entirely up to you 👀👀👀 (the possibilities are endless omg)

((also plz I've been binging all of your writing because it's just so amazing. the cute stuff just gives me lil butterflies and the fuzzies))

yELLS you’re the sweetest actually 🫶🏻 trying to balance all of my stuff & writing, but hopefully what I have out isn’t the last of the butterflies 🦋 & fuzzies I’ll be giving you 🥰 also this is such a good AU idea??? OMG not me spending forever thinking about their powers 🫣 tried not to just drop them directly into famous heroes’ roles… but Yunho HAD to be spiderman & I will not apologize 😤😝 also, I’d be down to do a part 2 for sure hehe

Warnings: some gun/minor violence/death references, some blood, suggestive comment(s), some pain/peril for Reader, long post lol

Meeting Superhero!Ateez

Hongjoong

Magic was not something to be tarried with. It was not a substance one could bend to their will, it was an art and a fickle one at that.

No one understood that better than a person who wasn’t meant to have it in the first place. He hadn’t been tricked into selling his soul, lost himself in some foolish, evil deal, no. Oh, no.

He’d gone and died.

It had felt just like blacking out when he’d been hit, coming to like the collision was barely beyond a concussion. But the world wasn’t the world when Hongjoong awoke.

There was no sun, no plants, only twisted, dead roots, and the people passing by him little more than glowing wraiths, some looking more human than others. His first reaction was to hold his hands before his eyes, exhaling in relief at the sight of their flesh. Except it felt like his ribcage had shrunk; he was unable to get as much air in or out as usual, every fight for air shallowed.

“What’s happening? Where am I?”

“This is the Underworld,” a low voice replied from behind him, sending him shooting up to his feet and turning to face its owner.

A woman perhaps twice his age, one draped in loose black veils falling around the tight shadowy raiment she wore. Her hair like emerald flame wreathing an expression of dark curiosity, like Hongjoong were a bug she hadn’t decided if she was annoyed by.

He was confused, but not afraid. “Well, I want out. There was so much I was in the middle of out there. I can’t lose it all in some accident. I can barely breathe down here!”

The woman chuckled deeply. “Getting sent back is no simple task. We do not idly accept mistakes.”

“Isn’t there something I can do?” Hongjoong urged, stepping forward and gazing into the woman’s blazing green eyes.

“You will never be fully living again. To return is to become a conduit of the Underworld.”

“Will I be a ghost?”

“No, but your humanity will never fully be restored. Death’s connection is inescapable. A part of you will forever be tied to us. Is this what you wish?”

Hongjoong had a career up there. Friends who weren’t ghosts. A hard drive full of projects. A distinct lack of green flame littering the ground. Music. Fashion. Whatever life he could have. Breath in his lungs. The words escaped his shallow chest so quickly he barely realized he’d spoken them. “Yes, it is.”

The deal was sealed willingly and the Underworld faded away, the final sight in Hongjoong’s eyes those points of green burning into his soul.

Nothing seemed different when breath rushed fully back into his heaving lungs or when he crawled from the wreckage of his car. His feet still hit solid ground as he walked back to his apartment under the night sky.

And the next day when he was yanked into an alley by two dark figures, his heart sure beat. And when they, speaking of him being the one they were sent for, raised knives, surely it was a one-way ticket out of his second life. Maybe he’d be like a cat, get nine…

All of the stress, every endorphin pumped through Hongjoong’s newly-reanimated body, dropped from him like sweat and arced out as green flame.

The cloaked assailants recoiled at the flame, cursed as glowing forms rose from it. Two of them little more than skeletons, one of them much more humanoid. More like the wraiths Hongjoong saw. More like the Emerald Lady herself. He couldn't help recoiling himself, glancing down again at his hands in disbelief. That was of his making?

The duo of skeletons lashed out first, parrying dagger with sword. You sealed the deal, slamming the butt of your polearm down upon the concrete and sending cracks erupting across the charcoal grey. Beneath their staggered feet, a fissure opened up, sending the men plummeting to some unknown doom.

And with that, you turned to Hongjoong, head cocked with interest. "You're going to be hunted from now on."

He took a deep breath, balled his hands into fists. "What did she do to me?"

"Why do you think she let you go so easily? You're the next Crane."

Tempting was it to look away from the burning glow of your eyes, so similar to the ones who bore him half-escape. Hongjoong wasn't the sort to give in, though. "What does that mean?"

"You were never meant to come to the Underworld, even witness it. Whatever your memories tell you, that was no ordinary accident you were in."

Seonghwa

When you first saw him, sparks flew. Literally.

You’d been focused on the mission at hand, hovering above what you hoped was the main jet for infiltration when a burst of the most beautiful glittering energy sparked before you, wavering like the Aurora Borealis at the edges as it struck open the adjacent craft. It was enough to shake you from the crosshairs haze of disabling anything, stealing your gaze over to the sweeping flight of a black-haired man in a dashing caped suit of violet and silver.

Stories of such a man had reached your ears. “You’re the one they call Cosmos, aren’t you?” You called, mirroring the smile that rose to his lips.

He nodded. “And you must be Depth Charge.”

“I will have you know that that was not my first choice,” you replied as you sent a pulse echoing through the jet’s steel, “or my choice at all. It barely makes sense. I go up, not down.”

Cosmos chuckled at that. His eyes sparkled like the stars in his little energy burst trick, giving him an air of innocence despite his trim figure, the way he sailed through the sky in that l roguish suit. Maybe this was going to be a fun fight after all.

He swerved narrowly past a barrage of jet-fire. “Maybe we should talk when we’re not, you know, attempting to prevent the theft of confidential technology?”

"You're no fun," you mock-scoffed, smirking and boosting yourself to the next jet with a pulse of energy.

"And you're not the one getting shot at!" He fired back, blasting more crackling, star-studded energy at the next barrage before ducking below the shrapnel.

"Yeah, yeah, just come back me up, I see our guy," you urged him, crawling to the top of the jet and focusing the waves you felt into a bladelike space.

The hole had just been cut open when Cosmos swooped in next to you. He was somehow taller than you'd pictured once you saw him up close, serious expression completely changing his bearing. You studied his profile for a few seconds before sliding in through your entry hole legs first. Boots hitting hard floor with a wince-inducing jolt up your ankles, you readied another sonic blade and crept closer to the cockpit. Some shuffling at your back told you Cosmos followed close behind.

Two goons rose from their seats at the sight of you, landing a couple of punches to both of you and even managing to knock you over before you sent their inertia right back at them, slamming them against the wall as you held your surely-bruised jaw. For all his spark, Cosmos held his own in hand-to-hand combat. Well, relatively speaking. He ended up knocking his opponent out with a surprising roundhouse kick. You smiled again, giving a shake of your head.

"What?"

"Extra," you chuckled.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he replied, extending an arm to the cockpit door, "would you like to do the honors?"

"Thank you, my good man," you humored him, peeling open the door to meet with a faceful of gun barrels.

"I would stay back if I were you," the head thief remarked. Geez, was the guy reading an old movie script?

"I would stand down, actually, unless you'd like to sail through a hole torn in space," Cosmos told him, standing firm.

Your jaw dropped as you turned to face him. "You can do that?"

He gave you an urgent look.

"Sorry."

"You wouldn't risk letting this device go any more than I would," your enemy sneered, tugging his tie into place.

"I wouldn't have to. That's kind of the thing with being able to manipulate gravity. And yes, I can do that."

With that, he raised a hand and the jet flipped upside down. No, wait, you flipped upside down, drifting into the air against your own volition and flailing fecklessly for a few flaps before firing off a balancing pulse. The case drifted loosely in the air, into the hands of one of the gunners, and then right back out as Cosmos summoned it forth. The men opened fire instantly, bullets drifting slowly into air filling with faint whisps of smoke. Both of you banked hard left to dodge the fire, grunting as you hit the wall hard, but Cosmos stood firm again, offering you his hand. Taking it, you felt yourself hurtling through the air, a familiar sensation as speed returned, then the harsh blasts of wind upon leaving the hull.

"Sorry I stole your target," he told you as he drifted and you blasted away, gazes turning from the final jet's descent.

"Stole it?" You snorted, giving him a smile. "I believe that's called helping me. I'm not exactly in this for the brownie button."

"Oh, yeah, what was it again? For fun, right?"

"Something like that," you agreed.

"By the way, if we're going to be working together, we better know each other's names. Real names. My name is Seonghwa." And there were those stars again, lighting up his dark eyes in a manner far too on the nose for his hero name.

Heart fluttering, you gave him your name.

Yunho

Fortunate. That’s how many people described living in a city with a guardian. Hopeful, like if they were to get into trouble, that very man could, in the most literal sense, swoop in and rescue them. It was like magic how he appeared at the scene of wrongdoings- it only added to the feeling that he could see all that occurred through the hustle and bustle of the proverbial concrete jungle.

For Yunho, it was a lot of pressure. Phrases like the man, the myth, the legend hit a little too close to home. What if he were to let someone down? What if one day the mask got yanked off and all everyone saw was a fresh college graduate semi-desperately searching for a job to apply his major to? He didn’t always feel like a hero, just like a man doing his best to help out.

A man with wishes and dreams like any other. Oftentimes that wish was simply for life to be normal again. Like, he had been granted this amazing opportunity and yet it still fell like a burden across his heart sometimes. Especially when he looked at you.

You were his next door neighbor, the occupant of the apartment adjacent to his. Some days you both would be out on your balconies at the same time just staring out at city lights with your favorite drink in hand and you’d glance across the way and smile at each other. Start a little conversation. What do you think those people across the way are doing? Man, you wouldn’t believe this customer at work today. Whatcha got there, the usual?

It dawned on Yunho sometimes in some poetic delusion that you two took and occupied identical spaces, yet they would be wholly unknown to the other. Made reflections of someone still learned. It made him want to clean his apartment, frankly.

It put things into perspective about his powers, too. One time his spidey sense went off and he told you to step back, only for a bird poo to land exactly where your head would have been. As a jest you’d called him your hero, but the jolt that sent through his heart was anything but funny. Fuel, that’s what it was. Motivation to be the man, the myth, the legend, even in the smallest way.

The sense rang through his body, slid down his spine, mere seconds before the cry for help. Yunho would have recognized that voice anywhere.

As he launched a web out and swung closer to the sound, his heart pounded. It had never been anyone he knew before. It wasn’t supposed to be someone he knew. But it was you. Sailing between buildings, he stuck to the top of the nearest one, gazing down at the man before you and narrowing his eyes at his wild gestures. Without warning, though, he was grabbing you, pinning you to the wall and reaching a hand-

Thwip! A hand that was pinned to his side before it could even reach a weapon, touch you again. Swinging out from his viewpoint corner, Yunho slammed into the creep with his feet, kicking him off of you. In retaliation, he landed a punch with his good hand.

“What is this,” Yunho lowered his voice lest you recognize it as your neighbor’s, “‘I can take you with one hand tied behind my back’?”

Before the man could reply Yunho tied him down again, not wanting to stoop any closer to his level of brutality.

“I think I’ll have a word with the police on you. Heard they were investigating a bunch of abductions. It’s about time they got some practice in.”

Footsteps rang out as you ran to his side. “Spiderman! Thank you! I had no idea if anyone would hear me, but I should have known!”

“Hear you? I could feel you,” he replied, “well, er, that is, I… I have this, you know, danger sense and I-”

“Hey, it’s ok. I get it,” you said, wrapping your arms around him in a quick side hug, “I know you’re nothing like that guy. Your partner’s lucky to have a guy like you.”

“Well,” Yunho’s voice lowered even more as your eyes peered into his masked ones, as if you could see him, “I don’t actually have one. No one’s really into, uh, yeah.”

“Well, then, can I do this?” With two fingers, you motioned near the edge of his mask, sliding up its corner.

Yunho inhaled, eyes widening beneath their white affects. “Sure.”

Your fingers felt cool when they brushed the edges of his skin, staying true to their word as they peeled up the tiniest section of his mask. Leaning in, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. It took everything in Yunho not to giggle then and there.

“Thank you again,” you breathed as you leaned back.

“No problem,” Yunho replied, “need a walk back home?”

You put a hand on your hip. “Since when does Spiderman walk?”

Chuckling, he shrugged. “Thought offering a swing might scare you.”

You smiled. “I’d be down.”

“Alright, then, hold on tight and name the address.”

Yeosang

It was just another day on the streets of Seoul. The day's bustle had taken its toll on the sidewalk, crowding the strip with bodies and voices. All Yeosang wanted was to get out of there. No sooner had that thought occurred, though, was he reflexively granted that wish: one of the multitudinous passersby careened sideways into him, and in his startlement he’d disappeared entirely.

Cursing internally, he searched for witnesses, sighing with relief at the simple alley he’d unthinkingly sent himself to. Premature relief, for as he turned to leave said alley, there you were standing as if frozen in a bend over a trash can, eyes wide as saucers. He felt his own eyes reflexively widen, resisting every impulse to disappear again and leave you just wondering if you’d gone crazy, never to see him again in a city that large.

A smile spread across your face. “That was awesome! Dude, you just teleported!”

“No, I didn’t,” he deadpanned, taking a few steps toward the alley opening.

“Ok, gaslighter.”

Yeosang stopped dead in his tracks, turned to fix an eye upon you again, sighed. “You understand what a big secret you just witnessed?”

Straightening, you shot him a finger gun. “So you did teleport?”

“Yes, I did. I know how this works,” Yeosang answered, “what will it take for you to keep quiet?”

“Are you a superhero?” You asked, skipping over a scattering of alley trash to move to his side.

“I-” Yeosang sighed. Most days he felt more cursed than heroic. Burdened with secrecy and threats to all who stood for differences, deviations of any kind. But a mutation like his? Inherently greater safety than most challengers to Seoul folk. Dodging the proverbial bullet. He’d managed to teleport a woman who jumped off a building and have a conversation with her. Weeks later. She saw him again, said she considered him her hero. Humbling to say the least. After the long pause, he swallowed. “I try.”

“That’s so cool! What you need is a sidekick.”

“I’m not exactly spiderman,” he replied sheepishly.

Your eyes darted briefly away, then back to his. “Home base?”

“I mean, I live somewhere already, but-”

“No, no,” you cut him off, waving a hand, “I mean like a secret hideout where you can conduct your operations and keep your research with your…administrative assistant.”

“Ok,” Yeosang chuckled, “that’s a pretty clever workaround for ‘sidekick’. But you have to realize people like me aren’t exactly caped crusaders. It’s not an organized thing, I don’t have a danger sense, I just…help where I can.”

At that, you nodded, eager expression finally sobering a bit. “I know. I had a friend whose family attacked him over his powers. He barely made it out of there. I don’t even know where he is now. I guess I just want a better face for you guys. Maybe I just want to make a hero.”

Oh. Yeosang was not expecting that. His eyes widened, softened, blinked. “It’s a nice thought, but maybe let’s start small.” A part of him couldn’t believe he was even implying an agreement, but he’d been alone for so long. Alone wanting to believe someday the world would change.

“Like some cameras? A red-string sort of situation on local crime? Bullet dodge training?”

“I, uh, I think I’ve got the last one covered,” Yeosang replied, putting his hands in his pockets and finally shuffling toward the alley horizon, squinting as he crossed the sun’s threshold.

“You’ve been in a shootout?” You gasped, following him with a hand out over your wide eyes.

“Shh,” he hushed you, glancing back and forth at the thankfully empty street, “I told you! I try to help where I can. Even if it means making myself a target. I’m much harder to hit than the usual robbery victim.”

“This is so cool. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Yeosang.”

You gave him your name, glanced back at him from the peripheries of his vision. “They ever give you a nickname?”

“They usually just say I’m like trying to hit a ghost.”

“Ghost,” you murmured, “that could work.”

“Maybe it could,” Yeosang murmured back, smiling faintly into your wide grin, “maybe.”

San

Most of the other workers thought you were too young. You looked more the age of the test subjects, they said, despite you denying any presence of the mutagens. All you wanted was to understand them, just like anybody else. After all, harnessing the genetic component that allowed adaptation that fast had both amazing and terrifying implications for humanity. Implications not lost on the subjects themselves. It was for that reason that you were assigned to the one dubbed safest for beginners.

He was a young man about your age, a man with well-sculpted features and a contagious smile-on the rare occasion you got to see it. It wasn’t a happy life, after all, in a laboratory quarters, even if they did “simulate comfort”. It was a lie and everyone knew it- those were no apartments. They were cells. It was no way to live, and there you were working there and contributing to it.

Well, sort of. “Ok, I know they say no pins in the walls, but I keep hearing how the guy who likes to give himself bear claws has practically scratched the entire things off his room, so seems a bit hypocritical. I got your old Day6 poster,” you told your subject, holding up a few pushpins in one hand and his poster in the other.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble?” San asked, grin emphasizing his charming dimples.

“If they fire me, they lose the latest honors geneticist, so I don’t think they want to risk it over a poster.”

“Good point,” he conceded, accepting your gift and crossing the room to pin it on the wall nearest his bed one corner at a time.

His motions were careful, calculated- far less erratic than many of the other subjects’. Subjects. You kept using that word. Dehumanizing. Was that the end goal?

“Alright, what do you think?”

San’s voice cut through your thoughts, directing your attention to the band now displayed upon his wall. One small addition and the room had that much more personality. That much more San.

You smiled. “I like it.”

He nodded toward all the guys in the picture. “Who’s your favorite?”

“I dunno,” you mused, pointing, “that one’s pretty handsome.”

“Young K? Oh, everyone tells me I look like him,” San grins.

“No, they don’t!” You tease. “You would’ve just said that about anyone I called handsome!”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “gotta have some fun before my daily blood sample, huh?”

Smiling sadly, you just nodded, stepping back to take up your syringe tray from where you’d set it on his bookshelf.

Shrill warnings echoed throughout every corner of the alternately dimming and brightening laboratory, lights flashing their own alarm as your feet struck the smooth, institutional stained concrete. There’d been a containment breach, an immediate interruption to your protein synthesis as battle stations rang.

Restrain. That was the order. As if you could do anything against a guy with bear claws or venomous barbs or someone with the agility of a cheetah. That was why your company wanted the source so badly- super soldiers and all that. Always soldiers. Never curing wounds. Never jellyfish immortality. None of the subjects had thought of that one, either, as far as you knew, but then you’d yet to witness anyone using the mutagen’s power.

What could you do? There was a taser in your pocket, a small standard-issue you’d received in case of this very unlikely scenario. Restrain was about the only chance you had, but the thought of running into the breach barely crossed your mind amidst the chaos of scrambling compatriots and banging doors as the mass escape began.

All you could think of was reaching Quarters 314. San’s room. It was insane, it was stupid, it was the absolute irrevocable death of your career there- but then again, so would all the subjects escaping be.

If a bunch of the most powerful mutants you housed were escaping already, you wanted San to have freedom. Every cent you had, you’d bet that he could walk back out onto the streets and never hurt a single soul. That’s why they gave him to you in the first place- he was complacent. Kind.

304. The moment the door entered the haze of your vision, you slammed your key card on the lock sensor pad and tumbled in.

San was hunched near the doorway. “What’s going on, did someone get hurt?”

“They’re escaping. All the strongest ones,” pausing for a heartbeat, you reconsidered your words, thought about how every man and woman in the building had the same skills, “well, all the fighters. Come on.”

His eyes, shining as ever, widened. “Are we evacuating?”

“No,” you shook your head, grabbing his hand, “you’re leaving.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This might be your one chance to get back out there and live. I’ve been coming in here every day for weeks. You don’t deserve to live in a cell. As badly as I wanna know how you work, this isn’t a life for anyone. Do you want out?” You asked, tone firm despite your frantic heart, searching his eyes.

San nodded. “Ok. Thank you. I can get us out.”

You frowned. “Us?”

“If this is all on the cameras you stick everywhere, they won’t be your biggest fans anymore.”

“Good point. Are you going to…” You trailed off, unsure how to broach the subject.

He hummed in response, those soft eyes you’d seen every day hardening like never before and that sharp jaw setting. He squared…braced himself.

“You don’t like doing it, do you?” The question came out of your mouth before it had fully entered your brain, but to your relief he didn’t look annoyed.

“Depends on what it is. You haven’t seen it, have you?”

You shook your head.

“Well, sorry this is your first time,” San said, and with that, his shoulders squared again, his head falling as if struck down.

Subconsciously, you reached out hands at his pained expression, but what could you do? It was all inside him.

At least at first. Soon, the slick fabric of his moisture-wicking regulation top was splitting, bursts of blood spraying as new bone and tissue arose, tendrils that solidified into sharp flesh-toned blades before bursting into feathers. Tears fell from San’s eyes as he shakily rose back to his feet. He’d just grown wings.

And as if all that blood and tissue and the sheer amount of development occurring over mere seconds was little more than a strenuous workout, he wiped his brow with his left hand and extended his right.

“Alright, let’s get out of here.”

Mingi

Sometimes he wondered why he was chosen.

What it was about him that another race from a different planet would think he had what it took to bear and protect one of their greatest treasures? He’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe the right place. The demand had been simple- keep it safe until others arrive for it.

The crash had happened when he was home, a sound so deafening it was like the world was ending. Shaking as he was, Mingi had run outside into the rush of the night wind, out along the smoke trail in the woods to see if whatever catastrophe had had survivors, if victims. And survivors there were- ones a bit odd-looking. Almost human save for the violet hue of their skin, the pointed tips of their ears, the vertical slits of eyelids revealed when the woman’s visor fell from across her eyes. Their skin felt different, too, as Mingi pulled them from beneath crushed metal and fire, firm and with smoothness gently interrupted by texture he could only describe as like small scales.

They didn’t look happy with him, but still accepted his help stumbling between trees and back into his home. They understood bandages, accepted beds. Swore Mingi to secrecy even as they thanked him days later. Be it technology or some uncanny occasion, they could speak to him. They could understand.

The mission they’d set out on was one of guardianship; the relic, something of myth, needed new housing and a new bearer.

“The one worthy will be selected,” the man told him in his deep, faintly accented hiss of a voice.

It was an imposition, sure. But how often did aliens land near one’s property guarding a weapon of legend? Mingi’s whole week had felt like a dream, and until he woke up the least he could do was deepen its lucidity.

“Can I see it?” He asked, peering up earnestly into their snakelike eyes from above the intricately carven and paneled box of steel with the most incredible iridescent shine he’d ever seen. Its contents had to be even more beautiful, right?

They watched, glanced down at the way his hands hovered reverently, stared back into his eyes.

“You are not of deceitful mind,” the woman replied.

“It is not out of depth that he welcomed strangers into his home,” the man shot back.

“No, it was out of kindness,” the woman insisted, waving a hand over the box, “as a reward, you may look upon the Heart of Steel.”

Gingerly, she traced some of the lines that Mingi had barely noticed with the tips of her long fingers, reaching beneath the bottom and holding her hands there until the top of the box simply floated a foot or two above the remainder, held by some microcosm gravity that drew a breath of awe from Mingi. Reflexively his fingers stretched toward the contents of the box, a smooth metal teardrop shape crafted from that same resplendent material.

Heat radiated from its small surface the moment he moved closer, sending him drawing back, but like a magnet it shot after him and into his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing at both of the beings who still hadn’t offered him names, “I swear I’m not doing this!”

“No,” the woman shook her head, snake-eyes wide, “you are being chosen.”

“And you expect me to believe this why?” You asked him, brow arched.

“Because,” Mingi put up his hands in defense, eyes scanning your form, “I didn’t even want to touch it! Why would I steal this thing I know nothing about?”

“Delskvlln was right. Not a deep thinker,” you commented.

“See? I know him! They ended up telling me their names! His wife was…er…Syssmerlyss? I am so sorry if I’m not pronouncing it correctly.”

“Well, the accent needs work, but I suppose Syssmerlyss was right- you have a certain kindness about you.” You took two steps closer to him, half-tapping, half-pushing him on the shoulder twice in a gesture that probably didn’t fully translate. “Come on, then, we have training to do.”

“Well,” he scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly, “sometimes the suit doesn't cooperate, but I think I’m starting to get pretty good with the gravity swords.”

“It gave you the swords?”

“Heh, uh…yeah?”

Wooyoung

It was hard sometimes, using such abilities for good. Had he so chosen, Jung Wooyoung could have become a world leader, a dictator even. But that thought terrified him. The pressure sounded unbearable. No fun, either, not that former friends hadn’t tried to convince him countless times to use his gifts for that, too. He preferred the traditional methods of seduction, were he to desire employing any at all.

Accessing minds was Wooyoung’s least favorite skill, in fact. Seeing and hearing thoughts was crushing, uncomfortable, an unfair dominance. Bouncing twice as high as a person should be able to with a force field, though? Making things levitate out of people’s hands? Bee’s knees.

He'd been a rogue in the city, just a wanderer who did what he could to help others when he wasn’t working. Flinging the gun out of an armed robber’s hand, blocking bullets with force fields, even fighting back when he had to.

They just didn’t learn. He couldn’t help scoffing a bit and teasing them when they fired at him.

“Now, gentleman, isn’t this a bit insulting?” He’d ask, casually flipping a hand as the bullets ricocheted and buried themselves harmlessly into walls. “And besides, I don’t want to hurt you. I just think this doesn’t belong to you.”

Cue him summoning the stolen money or goods right from their indignant hands and, eventually, back to the rightful owner. After convincing them all to stand still with their hands in the air, of course.

There had just begun whispers of his presence, trepidation at the prospect of an illegal smuggle or a robbery for the first time, a name for him emerging when he faced the first true opposition.

“So, you’re the Vigilante everyone’s talking about, are you?”

“Is that what they call me?” Wooyoung shot back.

“Guess you aren’t in it for the fame,” you snickered, stepping further from the shadows of the doorway, a tube-shaped device Wooyoung didn’t recognize in your hand.

“What do you want with me?” He asked, glancing at it and crossing his arms.

“Ideally, you to get out of the way,” you replied, flicking something on the device and sending it unfolding with large cracks, climbing up your forearm like a mechanical caterpillar and glowing at the tip once your hand was completely enveloped.

“Out of the way of wh-” He didn’t have time to complete his sentence before a bolt of energy arced his way, his instincts barely kicking in in time for him to launch away from it.

Putting up a force field, he stood his ground, staring at you with new interest. “You’re part of the weapons racket, aren’t you?”

“A plus, genius,” you replied, smug satisfaction glinting in your eyes, “the city isn’t going to need you much longer.”

“You’re right,” he said, “because I’m about to kick your ass.”

Another bolt of purple energy came at him, shattering the faint glow of his field. Wooyoung’s jaw dropped, but he quickly righted it as he moved closer. It felt like his whole body clenched as his energy focused on peeling the device off. You winced in pain and jumped back as the gun fired an erratic shot that rained chunks of ceiling down behind Wooyoung’s back, sending a little lightning strike of guilt across his heart, but he kept at it, sending each piece yanked off to your side to fortify the restraints he was making. You struggled, panting and tugging as he worked, kicking aside his work and scrambling toward a panel on the wall. With each button you pressed, Wooyoung slid your feet out from under you, but in the end he heard the dreaded activation beep. The look you turned and shot him was a mix of defiance and resignation that shook him to his core and froze him to the spot. He didn’t even stop you as you ran away, just slid the nearest couple pieces of your contraption towards himself, grabbed them, and made his own flight out before the place blew.

Shielding himself from the heat and sound, he knelt and examined the scraps. Luck was on his side, it seemed; he’d gotten the chunk bearing manufacturer and serial number info. For the first time in his life, Wooyoung wasn’t going to just deflect and run- he was going to chase you down.

Jongho

It was cloudy. It was almost always cloudy. Not exactly ideal conditions for your lot, but what were you going to do? Couldn't exactly bottle sunshine, as they said.

Not that they weren't probably trying. Scientists had gone positively psycho in your city, the hottest trend being harnessing the elements. Success rate? You, at least. It wasn't supposed to be you. Maybe not anyone, for that matter, but the spores ended up in your body regardless. You'd heard that they were supposed to be used or they'd take over, but the call to do so was strong regardless.

Trees planted on the sidewalk suddenly bloomed and flourished. Green sprouted in odd hosts within the concrete jungle. Flowers out of sidewalks and the like. Anything to combat what the rest of humanity was doing, right?

That was all it had been until someone saw you. An older man, betrayingly grandfatherly, began a mild conversation that quickly deepened, progressed to him requesting your help in an investigation on the very place that exposed you to their research.

"Why me? I barely spent any time there. I wasn't the test subject, it was an accident!" Never had you realized you were afraid to return until it was asked of you. The infection was hell until it stuck, pain all over your body like you'd never known, violent reactions as your body writhed and tried again and again to reject the foreign invasion.

Then poof, there you were as the city's chlorophyll ninja.

"Because you have been inside. You've visited once, why not again? They'll never suspect a thing, and if they do, you're armed with something much greater than what I got."

"Oh," you raised a brow, "so this is personal?"

"It's beyond that," the main replied quickly, gaze darting from yours, "but yes. I'm getting older. This sort of mission is getting more difficult. But more than anything they would recognize me in a heartbeat, and I didn't exactly quit on good terms."

"I'm not in this fight. I didn't ask for any of this," you repeated, "and now you want me to go in there blind and alone? Maybe I don't want to be your recon pawn."

The old man waved a hand, the one that wasn't gloved. "You wouldn't be alone, poor dear. You think you're the only escaped lab rat? I used to think I was." Grabbing the hem of his pant leg, he pulled it up to reveal a very elaborate cybernetic prosthesis. "Both are different. But no, I've kept tabs on the place for a long time. Found another much like you."

With that, he motioned to the doorway with his free hand. Guess you could figure out why the other was covered. As your gaze traced the man's one organic limb, your eyes fell to the doorway, where a young man about your age stepped out.

His appearance was pretty innocuous. His hair was short and dark, his expression stony but his features kind. His broad shoulders were draped with a long coat that swayed near the base of his boots, and beneath that he wore a dark turtleneck and jeans.

"How do you do, Neo?" You quipped as your eyes scanned his form.

To your great surprise, that 'mission go' look on his face melted rapidly into a wide grin, a chuckle. Guy had a nice smile.

"It's Jongho. That was good, though." He nodded down toward you. "Was the green intentional?"

You yourself glanced down at your outfit, and you'd be darned. You were wearing green. Apparently this Jongho fellow knew more about you than you did of him. You were surprised he didn't comment on the potted plant necklace you'd gotten from Etsy- the one you'd nicknamed 'ammo'.

"No, but I guess fate has a sense of humor. Do you have beef with FTR Labs too?"

Jongho nodded. "They have my brother."

At that, your heart dropped. Just by the man's tone of voice you could tell he was trying to be brave, but he didn't want to go back to FTR any more than you did. Want, no. Need? Yes. Maybe the old man was right- maybe they were taking their experiments too far. You hadn't even seen what they'd done to Jongho yet. If it had been a fight for his body, too, let alone his brother's.

"Alright," you nodded, shoving your hands in your pockets, "I'll go with you. Do you have a plan?"

"Of course. My main goal is to disrupt their comms first."

"Classic. How do you propose we do that?"

"I figured a little lightning would do the trick."

"Excuse me?"

Wordlessly, Jongho stared at you, his eyes almost glazing over as gusts of wind rolled through the room and clouds drifted over his head, spattering his black-clad shoulders with tiny droplets of rain. Electricity arced between two of the clouds, light flashing like tiny, branched white roots as it traveled down his cheek, through his arm and into his hand as if illuminating his very veins. Harnessing the elements.

Nothing could have stopped your jaw from dropping, but as you righted yourself, you couldn't help smiling with a strange rush of anticipation. "Hey, if you're the one that's been keeping it so cloudy these days, can you at least rain a little on my friends?" And with that, you let ammo grow out, engulfing your upper body with the comforting hug of leafy vines.

"Kids," the old man shook his head, "always showing off."

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billdenbrough · 5 months ago

Text

fem kevaaron, 790w, for @naturecalls111, inspired by this sketch mina and i stayed up way too late bc of reasons that were mostly my fault, so i wrote this for her the morning of our suffering as a virtual coffee substitute. wasn't originally planning to share it anywhere except just to her but we kept talking about it & now the doc has spiralled beyond its original purpose so i figured, ok, i could share the original scene. kevin is down horrendous

There’s a box of Frosted Flakes in the upper corner of the kitchen shelf.

Kevin knows this, because she put them there.

She’d done it with altruistic motives in mind—saving the twins from a life of cavity and sugar-induced stamina failures on the court (extremely embarrassing, mostly for Kevin, but probably them too)—but she’s having a hard time remembering that now.

Aaron got out of the shower about fifteen minutes ago, see. Her hair had been wrapped up in a loose twist of her towel, but her cereal-obtaining endeavours had involved some attempts at jumping—Kevin had paused in drinking her smoothie for a longer moment than she’s proud to think about—and now it’s half-fallen out. Aaron pays no notice. She has her hands on her hips, and she’s scowling up at the shelf.

“Fucking Nicky,” she mutters, which—Kevin can’t decide if she’s pleased to be spared Aaron’s wrath, or if she’s dismayed that Aaron thinks there’s a universe where Kevin and Nicky have interchangeable actions.

Her hair is making the shoulders of her shirt damp. It’s a loose, worn thing, so thin at some parts of the chest that it feels indecent to look. (Kevin still does, of course. She’s not in the habit of denying herself the things she wants.) There’s a discoloured album cover on the front: a bared throat, a naked collarbone, and a band name hidden by the way Aaron has it half-tucked into her shorts, but Kevin knows from prior observation is semi-faded anyway.

Aaron turns around, and for a moment, Kevin thinks she’s going to ask for assistance. She’s still deciding what she’ll say—her rational brain’s firm absolutely not warring with her appalling animal instinct’s drawling what’ll you give me if I do?—when she realises Aaron is planting her palms flat on the counter behind her. She bends her knees, as if to launch herself up. Okay, no.

Kevin moves quickly, slipping off her barstool and making her way around the kitchen island to stand next to Aaron, too close for Aaron to continue her action without knocking into Kevin.

“You could just ask for help,” Kevin says. She’s kind of looming over Aaron like this. It’s not a new sensation, but it kickstarts something in her chest every time.

Aaron glares up at her. “You could have offered,” she points out, which is true. Kevin’s been keeping her gaze fixed on Aaron’s face so she doesn’t get too obviously distracted by the swell of Aaron’s tits through the (genuinely loosest possible, Kevin is just a fucking degenerate, probably) fabric of her shirt, but it’s kind of backfiring now. The way Aaron looks, glaring up at Kevin, is just as hard to look away from. She’s close enough that Kevin can see her eyelashes, even as light as they are.

Kevin clears her throat. “That’s too close to an endorsement of your terrible dietary choices,” she says.

“Oh my god,” Aaron mutters. She’s relaxed her grip on the counter now, just leaning against it. The position has her arm resting lightly against Kevin’s stomach. It’s a searing heat through Kevin’s gym tank. “Then stop complaining and let me get it myself,” Aaron says, shifting a little to re-balance her hands on the counter. Her chest heaves with the movement, and Kevin’s eyes follow the motion, unbidden.

It’s that, more than anything, that makes Kevin swallow a sigh and say, “Fine.” Aaron glances at her before she can get her gaze away completely, but she hopes it’s a blink and you’ll miss it kind of thing, not the pathetically obvious ogling that Neil accused her of last week in the world’s worst whisper after Kevin’s eyes strayed over to the backliners’ section of practice, where Aaron was trash-talking Nicky with a sharp grin while Nicky tried to step on her heels.

Kevin reaches up to the shelf, stretching a little for the box. She’d pushed it towards the back of the shelf, hoping the extra effort required would deter Nicky too, so now she has to twist a little to get her arm far enough in. She huffs as she manages to close her fingers around it, pulling it down.

“Here,” she says, turning to Aaron, who’s suspiciously quiet. She’s not looking at Kevin, exactly; more like she’s looking to the left of her, eyes firmly fixed.

“Thanks,” Aaron says, grabbing the box. She glances up at Kevin. Her cheeks are a little pink. There’s a slight scrunch to her nose, like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t, just steps back.

Kevin nods, then realises her shirt’s ridden up a bit. She absentmindedly adjusts it.

There’s a small noise, like a swallow, but when Kevin looks up, Aaron is nowhere to be found.

#kevaaron #kevin day #aaron minyard #aftg #aftg fic #everyone who i told i was going to sleep. don't @ me i'm going now i promise #jane writes sometimes #i didn't set out for her to be so pussydelirious. i did not expect it! however. it happened #she's a simple gal. her priorities are winning championships and dreams of motorboating aaron #the thing u have to understand is that we believe canon kevin has a bigger chest than fmkv #but fmaaron has Notable Boobs. and fmkv cannot stop thinking abt them #i will answer my messages later i promise but for now it is 6am and i must sleep a bit #i've been in a 1v1 with kevin all day (on and off) bc of how this doc spiralled from this one scene and now. i need rest #fmkvar

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howyouloveyourdragon · 2 years ago

Text

Gold Rush

pronouns: she/her warnings: angst, mentions & depictions of alcoholism, car crash, fluff summary: Aegon didn’t like most people but he liked you until it tore him from the inside out. You’re perfect, his gold and shimmering light. The problem? He’s not perfect. He’s not even a third of what you will one day amount to and everybody knows it…even him. verrryyy loosely based on Gold Rush by Taylor Swift. dividers: firefly-graphic wordcount: 4,039 A/N: i hope my favourite aegon girlie @adelusionalwriter enjoys!

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Aegon’s eyes sparkle as they watch your figure embrace his mother. His suit is uncomfortably tight and he doesn’t understand why the collar is pointy but a sly grin spreads up his face at the sight of his sunshine…at the sight of you. His perfect golden girl, the one who lights the remaining warmth of his heart and strengthens his overworked jaw until he’s turned into a bumbling mess. His mother would argue that that is his natural state but even she can’t ignore the glow you permeate onto him when you are near. Every sunday she slides a porcelain plate, her muscle memory too deep to forget you. It hasn’t even been a year yet, he thinks to himself as his hands hesitate on the flute of champagne beside him. Only seven months by now, he’s sure. Gods, why does it feel like he’s known you all his life? He supposes that’s ridiculous, if he had known you all his life then perhaps he would not have been so miserable in his teen years. His touch lingers on the tall glass then snaps away. The heat of your memory turns into a scalding burn at the temptation. He tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles at you across the room. Your soft features turn up at him like the pour of glitter–smooth and sparkling. You make him feel like summer. As if summoned, the chandelier catches its outstretching beams and it feels as though it has changed nothing because there you are smiling at him. He thinks that you’re the only light he will ever need. You’re as kind as a gleam, reflecting his best qualities into him. He’s still Aegon but people enjoy his company now, seek him out even. His own father comments on it sometimes. That might be the only thing Aegon dislikes about you, how easily you collect the affection of others, faster than he, Aegon himself, ever could, you have garnered the affection of even his father. He wishes sometimes that he could keep you locked up in a little box to preserve forever but that would be selfish and he promised himself that this time would be different. It had to be. He will be good enough for you, he knows it.

So he dismisses the champagne and tentative curling fingers wave at you across the room. Gods, his heart starts thrumming gently again at the sight of your smile. When your feet patter softly in shining shoes, his arms are already outstretched and waiting. A soft giggle slips from your lips like the purest wine–the one that replaces his damnable urges–and your hands glide up his neck to wrap him in an embrace so tight, his breath catches. His eyes flutter like a dandelion loses its seed, alongside the flow of gentle wind; it’s with careful tandem with your own closing lashes. “My sweet girl,” He breathes as his lips dip his head of their own desperate volition. They coax your own so his tongue can sail at the seam of your silken lips. He drinks in your hot breath as if it’s the antidote to all ills and fuck, he thinks he’d be dying without it. He wants to drown in you, he decides, hands pressing so carefully on your hips as he draws you close. Aegon worries that if he presses too hard you will flow away into the air like dust. Your mouth coaxes him into a world beyond his own–instead of cruelty and pain, it is filled with replenishment and golden sunlight. He wants to conquer your lips in that moment or any part that you’ll give him, his brows scrunching in need and fingers rolling the rayon fabric of your dress back and forth between them. It’s not enough to have you in his arms, he wants to commit every part of today into his memory so he can replay it over and over in his mind’s eye until it fries like the computer his sister Rhaenyra fixed for you. He was embarrassed at the time that he couldn’t do it himself but his fears quelled the moment your darling tongue descended on his own.

Panic ebbs at him whenever you look at him like this, when your dilated pupils are so wide they consume him. A rosy blush invades his face; his nose, his cheeks, even his neck and ears are pink. He jumps when a firm hand lands along his back and shakes him out of this fantasy. It’s his brother Aemond giving him a pointed stare. Aegon caves in on himself as quick as a frightened rabbit though he is not so harmless. His blue eyes flicker up at him through shielding eyelashes, anticipating the worst. Instead, Aemond is reaching across to introduce himself to you, having missed the initial family hounding while on a business trip. His face is stoic as always with a straightened back and hair slicked back behind him so unlike Aegon’s messy brush of gilded curls. Unsavoury tastes climb up to his throat before stuffing his cheeks with foul-tasting cotton. “I apologise for our late meeting…” Aemond says, wet tongue gliding the words like prayer through his white teeth. Aegon swallows and looks at the floor. He doesn’t like who he feels like in his brother’s sight. An intruder. A ruiner. A failure. Oh Gods how he wishes for once in his life he could be like you. He wants to be your sunlight as much as you are his forever. But you don’t know this and he would never dream of tainting your sweet gaze for anybody nor any selfish emotions. You won’t be him, you won’t be him. Aegon reminds himself, determined to disrupt all of him if it means keeping you, of being a man you deserve. “I was otherwise engaged and my brother has seemingly ignored the pleasure of my company.” Suddenly a tunnelled light is all that he can see of you, and darkness circles his vision like a deranged tunnel. His fists dig sharp nails into his soft palms. His eyes squeeze shut briefly at the hum of your sweet laugh. A laugh reserved for him. He sucks in an unsteady breath but then your reassuring hand squeezes his bicep just as tightly before releasing with care. Even your hands feel like silk.

Helaena suddenly springs to your side with wide excited eyes and practically begs you to dance, which you eagerly accept even though no one is dancing at all. Aegon watches with a grin rivalling the sun’s bright intensity though he would not think such a comparison would be worthy of him. He’ll keep that reserved for you, for now. Aemond hums from beside him, tapping his fingers against the table. Aegon grinds his teeth. He loves his brother, he loves his brother, he– “A sweet girl, isn’t she?” Aemond asks to which Aegon groans heartily. Normally he’s the one bringing you up at any available opportunity but he knows this isn’t going to be a conversation he likes. Aegon clenches his jaw and remembers what his therapist told him, think of something else…the trees, the sun…her…her smile…her laugh. His lips twitch upward but then the blow comes full force and barrelling. “A shame she’s picked the wrong brother.” Aemond spoke with such vindication before slipping away to engage with another one of their grandsire’s businessmen.

It’s nine weeks later when the panic sets in again, he’s running around a supermarket frantically in search of a birthday card, clutching a (mostly) fresh bouquet of asters and anemone in his grasp. His breathing heavies, sweat collecting on his pale brows and desperately trying to hide his dilated pupils. His hands shake as he thrusts the card at the cashier–he can tell they’re slightly scared as they scan it with flickering wide eyes. “T-Two seventy five.” They inform him and he snatches it with one hand, the other casting coins at her hurriedly. He needs to be out as soon as possible. Aegon sprints faster than he ever did in cross-country and then shoots into his car with a relieved sigh. He checks his phone and smacks a hand over his forehead, groaning. 16:43 pm. He was supposed to be there at three. God damn it why wasn’t he there at three. His heart beats against the concrete wall of his skull. His hand clutch the steering wheel like a lifeline and his foot presses so low on the revs that he’s probably 20 miles past the speed limit. Of course this doesn’t end well, he rushes through a red light. A screeching alerts him first at what’s happening before the weight of a 2010 toyota prius smacks hard into his own car which is sent spinning across the road, hitting another car as it goes. Aegon is sent flying in his drunken haze across the car and burning shards dig through his skin but he doesn’t know what they’re looking for. His ears beat with a deafness he’s never felt, urging his mouth to spew vomit out of his broken window. Aegon’s already throbbing head strikes against the rough tarmac, blood seeping across the mud and dirt that infects his insides. A jagged wedge of glass rummages easily through his pale skin but he doesn’t have it in him to scream as his eyes drop shut. He feels like he hasn’t slept for days…he probably hasn’t as he lets the pain suck him into the dark void.

The flowers and their pathetic petals skid like an empty promise beside him–they infiltrate his nose like a lie.

You don’t like hospitals, you decide, as you try to stop the sobbing that gyrates your body as strong as a vice and as cruel as the wicked world around you. A warm hand is wrapped comfortingly around your waist but it’s awkward because as much as you love Helaena, you don’t want her. You want Aegon. You want your sweet stupid boyfriend who you’re not sure you’re going to ever forgive for making you love him this much. For making you hurt so badly as you sit desperately awaiting a doctor or nurse or someone. You didn’t even know you were his emergency contact until yesterday. Your weary eyes stand red and puffy as you finally settle. You can’t rest–no–you will not. Helaena sighs in relief when Alicent arrives with the coffee and takes her place beside you. The loud footsteps approaching are what snap your head up and send your coffee flying to the floor. A couple opposite you gasp but you ignore them, fixing interrogatory sights on the nurse before you. They lick their lips and you already know they’re hesitant. Their head leans slightly and double checks the papers. “Aegon Targaryen’s fa–?” “Yes.” You say instantaneously, playing with the ring you moved onto your engagement-finger. Aegon hasn’t proposed but you’re not about to let some half-pint tell you you can’t see the love of your life based on a technicality. Your tongue darts to wet your stark lips. “What is it?” For once you don’t have the time to be polite.

Aegon smiles weakly when you jog in, not even exposing his teeth like he’s trained since birth. His voice is drained and devoid of his vibrant heart. It’s quick when you latch your teeth on your lower lip, sucking it to soothe your ever-growing nerves. You hold back from launching yourself at him and instead settle for gently embracing him, tears collecting on that stupid itchy gown they forced upon him, as he says so eloquently. You can barely choke a laugh. Even now, he can’t be serious for too long, you should have expected it. You’re scared to look at him, instead burrowing your face into his smooth neck even though now it’s gash laced and a thick goo seeps from it. Dainty and beaten hands tremble as they try to guide through your hair but you hear the hiss that tears through his teeth. It’s reflexive when you jump away but he whines. “P-please, baby,” He simpers. You want to slap the stupid grin off his face, instead you tuck your hands beneath your chin and reluctantly let him try again but his eyes twitch and squeeze, veins jutting at even this. Your own face crumples at the sight and even more when tears wet his eyes, as overcoming as a tidal wave. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, breath hitches. “I tried, I promise, I-I-” You shake your head, fingers twitching to hold his hand but you force them away. “Sh, sh,” You soothe. “That doesn’t matter right now. I’m here to take care of you, nothing else.” He lets out a whimper and you swear someone has punched your intestines. “It’s not fair to you.” Aegon argues uselessly against himself. “This isn’t fair. If I wasn’t so fucking drunk all the time–” You shush him again but it doesn’t calm him this time, instead it only intensifies his inner guilt and turmoil. “No, stop, I don’t want to be coddled…Please. This isn’t good for you. I’m not good for you.” Your brows knit, your mouth parting but he slides a shaking finger in front of you. “No.” He repeats. “I want you to leave me.” Aegon sniffles now, trying hard not to let the wave win but he’s tired, so exhausted of trying. “I want you to go!” He spits like poison. You reel back as though he had stabbed you. “What? No.” You snap back but the dam has finally broken. “Just go!” “Just talk to me!” You plead, reaching to grasp him but he dodges like a cat in water. “Go.” He grinds out. “Please,” he sniffles again, vulnerability engulfing his tortured tongue. “I want you to spread those beautiful wings of yours.” You shake your head. “You’ve been doing better!” “Not better enough!” “I don’t care; we both knew something would happen and I’m here because I love you, not for what you can give me.” He huffs at the resolute tone flying through his ears at your voice. He refuses to look at you now.

Instead his eyes snap to the door where a familiar face stares back at him with concern embedded in his lone eye. You’ve switched places with him, this time you’re the one desperate for him. Unlikely but in truth , however, you both still move in perfect, infuriating tandem. He’s okay with dying if the cost of living is you remaining trapped in this little bubble of life beside him. He finally decides with the words of others ringing in his head. He can’t keep doing this, he won’t let himself. He can’t keep you if this is what it means. He wants you to fly–no–he wants you to soar, above him, above everybody. Always. His curled hand reaches to brush back your hair but he holds off the begging flinch this time as he rests his forehead against your own. He’s done trying. “I’m sorry.” he whispers to you before kissing your forehead. “I’ve already had you for far too long, as long as I could but I won’t keep doing this to you.” Neither of you care as chalked and decaying blood snaps from his wounds onto you. Selfish. Aegon Targaryen has always been selfish. That’s what he’s sure they will one day sear on his tombstone once his miserable life comes to an end. You’ll be there too, he knows it. His eyes lock on the flowered vase behind your head and which rests like a threat on the window sill. Begonias, he almost laughs aloud at the irony of it all.

When you leave, he expects to see that familiar smirk on his brother’s face but instead the expression is tight and not even a hint of guilty glee threads through his lips.

Your eyes glimmer when you embrace Alicent as tight as possible without cutting off her circulation. It’s been a month and four days and you still wake up with the sick feeling in your stomach before work. The dread that tears into your open wound because you can’t bring yourself to close it…not yet, it’s too soon. Instead you accept the sweet advances of your ex-boyfriend’s family. You move into Helaena’s apartment with her, you befriend her roommate and cousin, Baela. You start tutoring Daeron on the weekends. You even agree to meet Baela’s friends and go to the parties her girlfriend arranges every Friday. They mean well and so you agree. You want to feel better, you swear you do but everyone sees the look on your face when someone says his name. Part of you worries sometimes that he was a figment of your imagination at the sheer concern they express but you're moving on, you promise. Or at least trying to. It doesn’t feel enough because as always, you’re all or nothing. He liked that. Fuck, no. He doesn’t exist, just tell yourself he doesn’t exist. You take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom and into the blaring loud hallway. You jump when your head makes contact with a hard figure who struggles to keep liquid in his scarlet cup. The masculine voice chuckles and when you meet eyes, you remember why you came and give him a tight-lipped smile. “You enjoying the party?” CCregan Stark asks–the kind stoic boy in one of your uni classes. You lick your lips while taking in his dark curly hair and stubble, he brushes it out of his face awkwardly. You’ve replayed the story in your head a million times; his barber thought he said jaw instead of chin somehow so now it’s cut just a bit too short to comb behind his ears like he used to and prefers. You smile up at him but as you part your lips, he shakes his head softly. “You’re not, are you?” His playful voice rings in your ear.

Your laugh comes out forced but there all the same and nod reluctantly. “I hate it.” You answer, words spilling like leftover wine. He chuckles again and curses when his hand tilts his cup again. He steadies himself, rising back to his towering height. It almost feels weird that he’s not leaning over you, he’s like the empire state building or something. Your eyes lift up to his steel grey ones but they don’t sparkle like Aegon’s did. They don’t have the same warmth, he doesn’t give you flowers between classes, he doesn’t collapse on you in bed because he needs to know you’re still there, he doesn’t make false promises either though,…He doesn’t beg you to change your own mind about him no matter how many times you tell him you want him. “You okay?” Cregan asks, tongue darting to wet his cracked lips.You briefly recall the lip balm Aegon used to steal off of you at home–no. Not home. Not anymore. You look up at him, barely nodding with a jut of your chin. “Yeah. Perfect.” You let the poison slip over your tongue, the taste too bitter to ingest. It’s okay. So long as other people believe you then it’s alright. Cregan bites his lip and glances behind him then leans down to your ear. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to.” Your face erupts in crimson embarrassment. He knows, of course he knows. You aren’t deaf to the whispers of class so why should he? “No one’s by the backdoor right now, I’ll pretend I gave you a ride home if you want to tell Baela. She’s worried but you don’t need me to tell you that.” He takes a sip of his cup and reluctantly you let out a suffocating breath.

You wish you could call Helaena. Instead you nod and thank Cregan quietly before sneaking outside and into the cold air but even that feels stale somehow. You feel sick. More sick than you’ve ever felt since seeing him in that stupid hospital bed, that stuffy room clutching you like a child does their barbie. When you finally stumble into your apartment again, it feels as empty as ever. Bare, stripped, motionless. You can almost trick yourself into thinking that it’s a photograph. In your mind you can pretend you’re on the sofa, the one that’s caked in memories and late-night conversations. “You’re so wonderful,” He had said the first time you visited, long before it had become your own. He had pressed soft, warm lips to each of your cold knuckles and grinned at the gentle laughter that poured between your own. You feel dizzy as you let your feet guide you through the door of your painfully new bedroom. You slip onto the covers, feeling too trapped to go beneath them. You don’t like this feeling, this loneliness. You want to feel those comforting arms again without the fear of waking up, of knowing what is awaiting you. It’s not healthy, you know that, but it still hurts.

Three months. You both wake up. You both lose your keys before letting them rattle between either palm. You both feel the dull ache when you turn around to call out a name you want to forget. Aegon swallows the words while you let them out with a mere breath. You both go to uni with a sour face. You’re walking through the lengthy hallway when you hear the collapse of the heaviest binder you’ve ever seen. Your head snaps up, expecting to see a first year or awkward collection of joking friends. Instead your eyes meet familiar watered pools of soft blue. His lips are tugging downward but his hair is styled and his sweater clean. He looks good. He looks like Aeg. You swallow but don’t lose eye contact and neither does he–binder forgotten. Neither of you move at first but then his hand twitches and instead of avoiding you like all the times before, he breaks out into a run and you eagerly meet his pace. His hands reach out, fingers spread and waiting to lock with yours, entangling once they do. They squeeze tight, refusing to let go as you breathe out in mutual relief. It’s been so long. Too long, too far, too much. Blood thumps loudly, hearts connecting. “Oh thank fuck.” Aegon chokes out. His breath stutters and he ruefully pulls away his finger to wrap one along your back and another in your hair. You look up at him, the students around you melting from your vision because nothing matters anymore now that you can see his rosy cheeks again. Your eyes roam his face. “You look good.” You whisper after about half an hour passes with him leaning against the wall with you head lost in his shoulder, your lips just barely ghosting his neck. He smiles but there’s a hardness in his face. Something beneath the irises of his eyes. “I wanted to be good for myself, for you, for my mum.” He says then gently shakes his head. “I didn’t want people to remember me like that, I want you to be happy when you see me.” He bites his lip then sighs. Your brows twitch and your hand carefully cups his face. “I just wanted you.” You respond, voice soft and lips curling. “I just want you to be happy…Are you?” Aegon swallows. “Mostly.” He whispers. His thumb runs over your palm. “I’m getting better but-” He wets his lips. “It’s hard. I’m gonna do it this time though, I promise.” He turns to press a chaste kiss to your palm and smiles. “Aemond’s been visiting.” Your brows shoot up. “Really?” He nods. “And he’s…?” “He’s actually helping.” He chuckles then breaks out into a grin. “Of course mum is, as well. She had to practically chain me down to get me to stop asking about you. Helaena’s sick of my shit by now.” He seems so much warmer now than he was before. He feels like Aeg. “Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “Get this, I make tea now.” His stupid grin is like a beam of gold. “Tea!” Your giggles echo around the large now long-empty hallway.

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