#cleaned up some of the grime in post and then just tried to lean into it

[littlenimart]

tojoctober day 3 - safe

[theapollochronicles]

𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐉𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞 | 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧

“She said, "Hello, mister, pleased to meet ya"

I wanna hold her, I wanna kiss her

She smelled of daisies, she smelled of daisies

She'd drive me crazy, she'd drive me crazy,”

pairing: caitlyn kiramman x female!zaunite!reader

summary: you’re a filthy blooded zaunite and she’s a pure blooded piltie. both of you are worlds apart.

warnings: unimplied post-sex morning after, mild cussing, mild smoking, angst, some fluff (if you squint).

The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of sheets as Caitlyn shifted in her sleep. You lay beside her for a while longer, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest in the muted light of morning. She looked peaceful, far from the stern Enforcer you’d come to know, far from the one who might have arrested you had circumstances been different.

You pulled yourself from the bed carefully, mindful not to disturb her. Your boots sat neatly by the door where Caitlyn had asked you to leave them last night—a futile attempt to keep her immaculate floors from the grime of Zaun. Padding across the carpeted floor, you grabbed your coat, shrugging it on as you slipped onto the balcony attached to her bedroom.

The morning air bit at your skin, crisp and clean in a way that only Piltover air could be. You leaned against the railing and pulled a cigarette from your coat pocket, lighting it with a practiced flick. The first drag hit your lungs like an old friend, grounding you in the reality you tried to forget whenever you were here.

You blew out the smoke, watching it curl upward and disappear into the sky that always seemed too bright, too clean. Piltover. A city of progress, as they called it, but all you could think about was the soot-streaked faces back home in Zaun, the ones who never saw sunlight like this.

And Caitlyn. You looked back toward her sleeping form through the glass doors, her dark hair spilling over the pillow, her features soft in repose. She didn’t belong in your world, just as you didn’t belong in hers. An Enforcer and a Zaunite. The irony wasn’t lost on you, not when you knew the Chem Barons you worked for—the ones Silco led—had spilled blood in the streets she swore to protect.

You exhaled another plume of smoke and shook your head. What the hell were you doing? Every time you woke up in her bed, it felt more dangerous, more impossible. The gap between your worlds didn’t just feel wide—it felt insurmountable.

But you couldn’t stay away.

The sound of the door sliding open caught your attention. You turned to see Caitlyn, a blanket draped over her shoulders, her expression a mix of sleepiness and quiet concern.

“You’re up early,” she murmured, stepping out onto the balcony. Her voice was soft, but it carried that steadiness you admired so much.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” you replied, flicking the ash from your cigarette.

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked to the cigarette before returning to you. She didn’t scold you for it—she never did. Instead, she leaned on the railing beside you, her presence grounding in a way the smoke could never be.

“You know,” she began, her gaze sweeping over the city below, “you don’t have to leave so early every time.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “And let your parents find out you’ve been sneaking a filthy ass Zaunite into your room? Don’t think so.”

Caitlyn’s lips quirked up in a faint smile, but her eyes betrayed her. There was worry there, the kind that always made your chest ache.

“We don’t have to keep doing this,” she said softly, the words hanging in the air between you.

Your grip tightened on the railing, the cigarette burning low between your fingers. “Don’t say that, Cait.”

“It’s the truth,” she pressed. “You work for Silco. I’m an Enforcer. If anyone found out—”

“They won’t.”

“But they could.”

You turned to face her, the raw vulnerability in her expression cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “What do you want me to say? That I’ll leave Silco? That I’ll run away with you? That I’ll become someone else?” You shook your head. “That’s not who I am, Caitlyn. You know that.”

Her eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought she might argue. But instead, she sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of all the things left unsaid.

“I just… I don’t want to lose you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, cupping her cheek with a hand that felt far too rough against her soft skin. “You won’t,” you promised, though you weren’t sure if it was a lie or not.

She leaned into your touch, her eyes closing briefly as if she could hold onto this moment forever. But the sun was rising higher, and you both knew what that meant.

With a reluctant sigh, you dropped your hand and turned back to the railing, taking one last drag of your cigarette before snuffing it out against the stone.

“I should go,” you said, your voice quiet.

Caitlyn didn’t argue, but as you stepped back inside to gather your things, you could feel her gaze on you, heavy with all the things neither of you dared to say.

You paused at the door, glancing back at her one last time. “Be careful out there, Cait.”

“You too,” she replied, her voice laced with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

And with that, you slipped out the door, leaving behind the warmth of her room for the cold, unforgiving reality of the world outside.

Zaun had a way of swallowing you whole. The air down here was thick with smog, the streets pulsed with danger, and the shadows stretched longer than they ever did in Piltover. It was the kind of place that reminded you why you couldn’t afford to dream of something better.

You were back at The Last Drop, leaning against the bar with your hood up, the cigarette smoke here less a choice and more a byproduct of existing. Silco was somewhere upstairs, likely finalizing deals that would send more Shimmer to the surface. Jinx flitted around the floor, unpredictable as ever, but you’d learned not to react too much to her antics.

This was your life. This was where you belonged. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But you still felt her. Caitlyn. Her presence lingered in the back of your mind like a phantom—her soft voice, the way she’d smiled at you that morning despite everything that made her world and yours incompatible.

“Thinking about someone?” Sevika’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and rough as she slid onto the stool beside you.

You scoffed, brushing her off. “None of your business.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned in, her grin predatory. “Careful, kid. You start acting like you’ve got something to lose, and you’ll end up dead in a gutter.”

Her words hit harder than they should have, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you flicked your empty glass toward the bartender and stood. “Don’t worry about me, Sevika. I know what I’m doing.”

She chuckled as you walked away, but the sound grated on you. Did you know what you were doing? The line between loyalty to Silco and your longing for Caitlyn felt thinner every day, and you were already stumbling over it.

The sting of seeing her again was as sharp as it was inevitable. You hadn’t planned on crossing paths, but Zaun and Piltover’s borders were ever-blurred, and tonight seemed determined to remind you of that fact.

It was on the bridge, that tenuous, fraying connection between the cities. You were running an errand for Silco—simple enough, nothing worth worrying about—when the flash of blue caught your eye.

Caitlyn.

She was speaking to an officer, her expression tense but composed. Even in her uniform, she stood out, her polished demeanor clashing with the grime of the bridge. You should’ve turned around, but something rooted you in place.

She caught your eye.

Her body stiffened almost imperceptibly, and for a moment, the world around you both seemed to fade into nothing. You didn’t dare move, but the weight of her gaze was suffocating. There was something in her eyes—relief, longing, and that same damn worry she’d carried the last time you were together.

“Officer Kiramman.” The other Enforcer’s voice broke whatever spell had settled over you.

Caitlyn nodded curtly, her professionalism snapping back into place. She glanced at you again, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face, but she turned and walked away, disappearing into the streets of Piltover.

Later that night, you couldn’t sleep. Her face kept flashing in your mind, the fleeting glance you’d shared on the bridge. The way she’d looked at you—like she wanted to reach out but couldn’t, like the invisible chasm between you had grown wider than either of you could bear.

The ache in your chest felt heavier than usual. You reached for the flask you kept by your bed and took a long swig, hoping the burn would drown out the thoughts. It didn’t.

The night stretched on, and when sleep finally claimed you, it came with the weight of dreams you’d rather forget—dreams of Caitlyn’s laughter, of her hands tracing the scars you tried to hide, of a world where you weren’t on opposite sides of a war neither of you could stop.

You found her again—or maybe she found you. It was in a forgotten corner of Zaun, where the pipes groaned and the air smelled of rust and decay. She wasn’t in her uniform this time, but her posture was still rigid, her presence too clean, too sharp for a place like this.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, voice low but steady.

Caitlyn crossed her arms, her jaw tight. “Neither should you.”

A dry laugh escaped you. “This is my home, Kiramman. What’s your excuse?”

She hesitated, her eyes scanning your face like she was searching for something. “You were on the bridge,” she said finally, her voice softer now.

“And you were in my city,” you replied, stepping closer despite the voice in your head screaming to stop.

The air between you was heavy, thick with the weight of words left unsaid. Finally, Caitlyn broke the silence.

“I hate this,” she admitted, her voice cracking just enough to twist the knife already lodged in your chest. “I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate that we’re…”

“Worlds apart?” you finished for her, your voice quieter than hers.

She nodded, her eyes glistening. “I don’t know how to do this. How to… be with you.”

You swallowed hard, the raw vulnerability in her voice making it hard to breathe. “Maybe we can’t,” you said, hating the words even as you spoke them. “Maybe that’s the truth we keep trying to ignore.”

Her face crumpled, and you had to look away before you lost whatever strength you had left.

“But I don’t want to stop,” she whispered, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you let yourself dream again. You stepped closer, your hands finding hers despite the voice in your head screaming at you to stop.

“I don’t either,” you admitted, your voice raw. “But what are we supposed to do, Cait? We can’t keep pretending this will work.”

“Then tell me how to stop,” she said, her voice breaking. “Because I can’t. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

You didn’t have an answer. All you could do was pull her into your arms, holding onto her like she was the only solid thing in your crumbling world.

Neither of you said anything else. There was nothing left to say.

A/n: this was not requested but i wanted to see how i’d write for the arcane show. how’d i do? requests are open for those wanting to request anything!!

[starwarsmum]

Day 3! Today's prompt is Head Over Feet

@maribat-calendar-events

Marinette packed the last box in her room and glanced around. The room felt larger than before, the bed neatly made and the desk empty. The bookshelf was bare of trinkets and novels, freshly dusted and gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. 

“You know, when I said I wanted Nino to move in I didn't mean you had to move out,” Alya said, leaning against the door jamb. Marinette smiled at her and came over to give her best friend a hug.

“I do know that, but I also know that a two bed apartment with three people is a squeeze. I was thinking about moving to America anyway, this is just a good time to do it. So really, I should be thanking you both for the push.”

“Sure, if that's what you're telling yourself,” Alya snorted, hugging her back tightly. “You promise to call if you need anything, day or night? I don't want you worrying about the time difference if you need something.”

“I promise.”

_ _ _

Stepping off the plane in New Jersey, Marinette felt a whisper of change in the air. As she'd come into her powers as Guardian, she had noticed that her instincts had honed and, more frequently now, she could anticipate when something big was going to happen. She assumed it was her link to Fluff making her more attuned to the future.

It didn't feel like a bad change, but it was something she would be on the lookout for. Normally, when she felt this particular whisper, it meant that she should take an opportunity. It gave her a flutter in her stomach, an anticipation that made her twitch a little as she grabbed her luggage and made her way over to the taxi rank.

She looked at the sparse few taxis and let her instinct pull her over to one that looked a little beat up. It was surprisingly clean inside, and the man driving it was devilishly handsome with dark hair and a strong build. He smiled at her and asked where she needed to go, not once leering at her or making her feel uncomfortable.

“I'm actually headed into Gotham,” she said, putting her luggage in the seat next to her as she slid in. “I'm staying in the fashion district…” she rattled off the address and he nodded along. Before long he had pulled away and was chattering easily as they made their way to Gotham.

He pulled up in front of the apartment building and she frowned slightly. She could just about see the resemblance to the photos she had viewed online, but there was at least a decade’s worth of dirt and grime built up on it all. The cabbie chuckled when he saw her face.

“Look a little different to what you were expecting?”

“Yes, but I'm locked into the contract for at least six months so it'll have to do,” she said, paying him and tipping generously. He tried to protest but she leveled a glare at him until he relented. “Thank you, I hope you have a lovely night.”

Using the key that had been posted to her, and the code she had been emailed the day before, she got into her new apartment and breathed a sigh of relief. It was cleaner inside than out, the walls a little dingy but the floors were clear of dirt. The room's were bare, ready for her to furnish as she wanted but there were appliances in the kitchen.

She was glad she’d known it wouldn't have a bed and pulled a yoga mat, pillow, and blanket out of her suitcase. She could probably get a solid six hours of sleep if she crashed then, and then she could go find a coffee shop and somewhere to get some furniture delivered.

As she lay down, Tikki curled up in the crook of her neck and they went to sleep.

_ _ _

Tim sat on top of the Wayne Enterprises building as he worked on some of his patrol logs. He had his ear on comms but if he could get the paperwork done while he waited to be needed he could just go to bed when his shift ended. 

“Yo, Robin, I think the guys we've been waiting for are ready to get in the cab,” Dick's voice crackled into life in his ear and he sighed before giving two clicks to let him know he was on his way. It didn't take long for him to land on the outer edges of Gotham, following the only road that would lead from the New Jersey airport. 

Dick's voice carried on, generic questions about what they were doing in town, whether they needed advice on where to stay…it wouldn't have worked for anyone else, but something about Dick just disarmed people. 

As soon as they left the cab - barely bothering to pay for the ride, until the last guy to exit seemed to realise it might cause problems to short change and Gotham cabbie - Tim took over surveilling the trio of men, following them to a warehouse. Once he was sure that this was their base, he slipped in and planted a recording device with a direct link to his tablet.

“Okay, I'm all done with that, I'll send you the link to the videos and audio once they start rolling in.”

“Thanks Robin,” Dick said easily and Tim grinned even though he couldn't be seen. “I didn't tell you about the woman I picked up at the airport yet! She gave me an insane tip after I dropped her off in the fashion district.”

“Wait, a woman travelling alone in the middle of the night just…got in your cab? Did she have a death wish or something, we made that cab look sketchy as hell!”

“I know, right? She was super confident too, gave me her actual address and everything. She was moving to town, I hope she doesn't end up doing something stupid. She was kind of cute and that doesn't always go down well in Gotham.”

“Do I need to warn Oracle that you've got wandering eyes?” Tim said in an amused voice.

“Hey, absolutely not! I'm head over heels for my one true love,” Dick said hotly, making Tim snigger. “I was thinking more like cute for you. You haven't been on all that many dates since you and Wonder Girl finally called it quits and I know it can get lonely up at the manor.”

“Well thanks, but no thanks. I'm doing just fine and I don't think dating a ditzy girl who thinks traveling at night in Gotham is a smart way to spend time is really my type.”

[slippinmickeys]

Proof of Life

(AU, MSR)

TW: This is an AU idea I’ve been playing with for years, and while this does not take place there, in light of the recent atrocities in the Middle East, the situations presented herein may cause discomfort for some readers. I’m posting a trigger warning for those who may want to stay away. There are mentions of violence in this work, though nothing graphic. I’m using an archive warning on AO3 out of an abundance of caution. Please take care of yourselves and each other.

1. When she’s shoved into the hotel room, it is on a scorching dump of adrenaline; dry-throat, sphincter-clenching, pure terror. She’s sure this is It. But the door closes behind her before she’s finished stumbling forward, and no one has followed her in.

The relief she feels is short-lived, as she looks up to see a man sitting on the floor opposite her, legs out straight, head propped lazily against the wall behind him, days worth of beard stubble growing unevenly over his jaw. He is holding a mid-century Nikon, which he slowly raises with one arm. A squint through the viewfinder. Click.

Ten floors down, on the street below, there is the rapid insect-chitter of gunfire. He doesn’t so much as flinch, but does lower his camera.

“Cable is out and room service hasn’t showed in over a week,” he says in an American accent. “The service here is terrible.”

Her producer Murray, who also acted as her translator, is dead. Mikey was shoved into a different van, along with his camera and the soft-sided bag of cables and equipment. That communication won’t be a struggle with what she now assumes is her new cell mate feels like a holy deliverance.

Before she can formulate a response, he introduces himself.

“Name’s Mulder,” he says, the distant fireworks-like concussion of an explosion punctuating his statement and rattling the room’s single window.

“Dana Scully,” she says, feeling an odd compulsion to cross the room and offer the man a handshake.

“Scully,” he repeats, her surname rolling off his tongue like honey out of a jar. “Welcome to the Hilton.”

2. He’d let her take the bed, which was pretty chivalrous, all things considered.

It was a queen, and had been shoved up against the wall on the far corner of the room, leaving a soft rectangle of plush, clean carpet upon which Mulder slept, surrounded by flattened, trodden paths of grime. The headboard was still affixed to the wall where the bed had previously sat, giving the room a tilting, off-kilter feel. As Scully exits the bathroom in the morning, she nearly stumbles from the vertigo.

There is still a trickle of water from the bathroom sink, and the toilet tank takes about an hour to properly fill, but Mulder informs her that he has yet had reason to use the slop bucket the militants have helpfully left just inside the door. She imagines the small relief she feels now will likely grow bigger as the days pass.

“Morning,” Mulder says, stretching elaborately, the soiled henley he’s wearing lifting up enough to show a few inches of lean muscle sprinkled with dark hair.

“Morning,” she greets him, wandering over to the window to peer out at the gray, post-dawn light. To the west, part of the city is burning, a dull orange glow on the horizon.

After a moment, she feels a gentle hand on her arm.

“I’d stay away from the window,” Mulder says, and when she turns to him, she discovers that he’s tall, far taller than she is, and his hazel eyes are soft as he leads her away from the square of flat light. “There are snipers all over the city.”

She swallows, nods at him, and he gives her a soft smile as he turns to head into the bathroom for his own morning ablutions. She lowers herself to the bed, and looks to the shoes she kicked off before crawling under the covers. There is a spatter of blood covering the canvas upper of her left shoe, all that remains of Murray Underwood. She tries to feel something other than numbness, but nothing comes to the surface.

When Mulder comes out of the bathroom, he asks if she’s hungry, and produces a slender yellow box of crackers from somewhere in the room, pulling out a cellophane-wrapped column of pale disks dotted with black seeds that he hands over when she says she’s famished.

She has finished the sleeve before she thinks to offer him one, but he smiles and says he’s fine.

3. It has been three days since she was shoved unceremoniously into room 1055 and they have not seen so much as another human other than those darting between buildings on the war torn street below.

She has learned that Mulder is a freelance photojournalist from Massachusetts who has photographed conflicts everywhere from Burma to the Congo and that he was taken two days before she and her crew were ambushed and taken hostage themselves.

He does not have an apartment or permanent mailing address, traveling from conflict to conflict with only a backpack and his camera, and is far more comfortable with the disturbing noises outside the hotel than Scully ever will be, no matter how much she fancies herself a war reporter.

He has just gotten her to laugh for the first time since her arrival when the door to their room bursts open and three militants carrying assault rifles trample in, all three of them shouting words Scully can’t understand, their guns up as if they are about to shoot.

Mulder, who had been sitting on the bed next to her, is already up, spitting out words in rapid-fire French and positioning himself in between the gunmen and Scully. The militants either don’t understand him or don’t care and through a haze of adrenal tinnitus she can finally make out one thing they’re saying:

“CNN! CNN!”

She raises her hand meekly.

“I’m CNN,” she says, and the men shove Mulder aside and grab her by both arms, pulling her from the bed and shoving her up against the wall.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Mulder says, making a move to intervene, only to be cold-cocked by the butt of the third man’s rifle right in the face. He staggers to the side before he too is grabbed by the arms and shoved up against the wall next to Scully. All three men swing up their rifles and Scully is certain they’re about to be executed when a fourth man appears, dressed in an actual military uniform and shoves a newspaper into Scully’s hand, gripping her arm in annoyance when she turns it to stare at the headline, which is printed in a language she doesn’t understand.

The man barks something at her and yanks on her arms again, so that she’s holding the paper in front of her like a con holding up a booking ID in a mugshot. He whips up a beat-up disposable camera and takes a picture, the little flash blinding her.

By the time her vision clears, the room is once again empty but for she and Mulder and they are both breathing hard in the silence. Mulder is the first one to find his voice.

“Don’t worry,” he says, putting a hand on her arm. “They’re clearly after a ransom. They’ll keep us alive. Are you okay?” She turns to him dumbly, still holding the newspaper.

The sight of blood knocks her back into the present.

“Jesus, Mulder, you’re bleeding.”

There is a rivulet of blood running down his face from a laceration at his temple. He raises up a hand and touches it to the stream, looking down at the crimson smudge with a wince.

“I’ll be alright,” he says.

“Let me see,” she says, trying to get a closer look, but he gently swats her hand away.

“I’ll be fine.”

“That likely needs stitches,” she says, and he makes a face. She sighs. “I’m doctor, Mulder. Please let me take a look. Sit on the bed.”

He finally relents, lowering himself to sit and giving her a look askance. “I thought you were a reporter for CNN.”

“I contain multitudes,” she says, stepping in close and tilting his chin up with her finger.

He hasn’t showered in days, hasn’t done more than a few hasty washcloth seam cleans, she knows, but the smell of him up close, the smell of his skin – sun-warmed and woodsy – is so familiar to her that she has to blink a few times before she can refocus on the task at hand.

“It needs stitches,” she proclaims after a moment, saying it in a crisp, no-nonsense way that brooks no argument.

“It’s too bad we don’t have access to-”

“I saw a sewing kit in the bathroom,” she interrupts, and she can see the moment he resigns himself to her ministrations.

He complains loudly as she splashes the cut with the small bottle of complementary Listerine, but remains silent as she sutures his wound closed, leaning in close to bite off the thread when she finishes. As she pulls back, she can see a thought flit across his face, but he merely thanks her softly when she’s done and then stands to go clean up in the bathroom.

That night, she invites him to share the bed, and they sleep on opposite edges, though in the morning their fingers are only inches away from each other and her feet have found their way under the warm meat of his leg.

4. It was inevitable really, she says to herself; forced proximity, the bonding of shared peril, two healthy middle-aged sex drives… And it’s not like there’s anything else to do. She thinks of Ethan, probably losing his mind with worry back in the newsroom, but can only muster a finite amount of regret. After two weeks of carefully skirting around the issue, she pressed her body into Mulder’s side one night and it was as if a floodgate had opened, and they were all teeth and tongues and hands everywhere; the most lustful and sensual sex she has ever had in her life.

They have not been disturbed since the Proof of Life incident, other than food of some sort or another being shoved through a cracked door every few days, and so they have taken to not wearing much — their clothes mainly hanging up over the shower curtain in the bathroom, perpetually drying from their feeble attempts to wash them with a credit card-sized, ever-shrinking flat of generic soap that they also must use on their bodies.

Mulder is a generous lover, and affectionate, and now that he has carte blanche to touch her, it seems like it’s all he wants to do. If they’re not lazing away, curled up together in bed, he’ll find a reason to touch her arm, her back, tapping her with the back of his finger to get her attention. She has come to crave his touch, the physical manifestation of a pair-bond that grips them both so tightly it feels sometimes like a vice around her heart.

5. The fighting has moved to a different part of the city from where they are, and the sounds of the chaos seem almost a far-away afterthought. She is standing in the window, something she finally feels safe doing, when she hears a telltale click.

She turns to find Mulder propped up in the bed, bare chested, his beat-up Nikon held up to his eye. He reaches forward with his other hand to adjust the focus, and takes another snap.

Scully smiles at him shyly and he returns her grin.

“The light is perfect,” he says with bedroom eyes, using his thumb to advance the film. He has already gone through three rolls since she arrived, every picture he’s taken since day five all featuring her as the subject.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

She reaches up self-consciously to touch her hair. They are long-since out of shampoo, and it hangs in limp, greasy clumps. She is more embarrassed by this than by the state of her undress; she is not wearing a stitch of clothing.

“Something tells me this isn’t the kind of picture Newsweek generally pays you for.”

“Fuck Newsweek,” he says. “You belong in the Louvre.”

She shakes her head at him as a sound they have not heard in a while begins to build from outside the building. They both pause and cock their heads, attuned now to the odd sounds of a city under siege. From the distance comes the deep tucka-tucka-tucka of a helicopter. They share a look.

The militants who control this part of the city do not have a helicopter amongst their resources, and now that the sound is getting closer, they can tell there’s more than one approaching.

Without a word they both make their way to the bathroom and quickly don their stiff clothing.

“Shoes too,” Mulder says, as Scully puts her arms through her slippery jacket — it still has a large patch on the back that says “PRESS.”

The helicopters are almost on top of them now, and they can hear shouts from the hallway outside their room and the muffled thump thump thump of boots running in both directions.

“Into the tub,” Mulder instructs, and she sees the sense in this, nodding at him, her pulse beating quick as a rabbit’s beneath her skin. “I’ll get in first, you lay flat on top of me, okay?”

“Should we grab the mattress?” Scully asks, thinking they could pull it on top of themselves like she’d seen covering tornado-stricken parts of the Midwest.

“I don’t think there’s time,” Mulder says, his Adam’s apple bobbing as a spate of gunfire erupts from several floors above them.

He lowers himself in and she scrambles in after him, pressing her face into his chest and listening to the tight thump of his heart. The tub isn’t really big enough for both of them — Mulder couldn’t even fit his long legs all the way inside of it — but she feels safer than she has in months, with Mulder’s arms wrapped around her tightly, and his voice softly mumbling words of comfort into her ear.

There is an awful CRACK! from very close to their room and then an eruption of noise and chaos as the door to their room is blown apart, shards of wood from it blowing into the bathroom. Her ears are ringing and voices are shouting, but all she can focus on is Mulder’s arms around her and the soft steady sound of his voice in her ear saying “I love you. I love you so much,” over and over and over.

And then Mulder’s camera bag is sliding off of her legs (because of course he’d brought it into the tub with them) as strong arms lift her up and out of the tub and the next thing she knows, she is being frogmarched between two black-clad militants up an emergency stairwell and all the while she is calling desperately for Mulder but her voice or his is eaten up by noise and confusion.

In a further burst of sound and light, she is pushed through a door and onto the roof of the hotel where two muscular helicopters sit, blades spinning, surrounded by operatives crouched and bristling with all the sophisticated military might of a first world nation. She pulls up short in surprise.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” It takes her a moment to register that the voice was coming from one of the soldiers holding her arms. She swings her head toward him, dumbfounded.

“Ma’am,” he goes on, having to shout above the cacophony of the rotor wash. “I’m with the United States Navy. We’re here to rescue you. I need you to board the aircraft immediately!”

Scully nods and then lets herself be swept along with the tide of soldiers surrounding her up and into the Blackhawk, where she is deposited onto a bench, buckled in, and handed a pair of bright orange foam earplugs which she is instructed to insert into her ear canals post haste.

Before she can think to ask a question, her chopper is airborne, tilting itself and veering south and the last sight she has of Mulder, for months and months, is the back of his body being hoisted into the other helicopter, his arms wrapped around his old camera bag as they’d been wrapped around her body not five minutes before.

[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 6

It’s late, or early. She isn’t really certain. She is more than sure she's exhausted.

MJ is dragging her feet trying to get home at three in the morning. She’s ready to pass out after the shift she'd had at the pub. It had been a long night and it doesn't help that she's been on edge at work since some creepy man had tried to attack her. Not the highlight of her time working as a bartender.

The police did eventually show up and apprehend the man. Andy and Lars had stayed behind to call him in and also explain what happened. Her lead manager that had been dismissive of MJ's worries was promptly fired after. The owner apparently was not made aware of any of her concerns. Lars also wasn't alone as the bouncer anymore. The owner had hired two security posts for every night now, hoping to dissuade another incident.  

MJ's therapist had more than enough to unpack with her that month. She did feel leaps better after the owner profusely apologized about the lead manager ignoring her worries. That made her feel more supported.

Truly after her long shift, she just wants to go home. She was making plans to herself to put on her big hoodie and crawl into her warm bed after the hottest shower. Maybe even have a little snack. 

She slides her key into the door and is almost drooling at the thought of her soft, plushy bed. She shuffles in and trips over something in the entryway. She looks down and almost screams when she sees Hobie leaning against her wall and bleeding out on her floor. It looks like a crime scene with the lights off.

She throws her bag on the ground and turns on her light. She squats down in front of him checking his pulse making sure he’s alive. She moves to grab his face, holding it gently to make him look at her. His face was dirty, caked in blood and grime. Blood dripping down his forehead and lips. 

“Hey, hey, Hobie. I need you to look at me right now.” She pleads, voice a little pitched.

He barely peels his eyes open, he’s looking at her, but not really. More like he’s looking through her. He grunts in response. His eyes are blurry and she doesn't think he knows where he even is. 

“How long have you been here?” She asks moving his hand to look at the wound he’s been clutching at his side. There’s a decent pool of blood underneath him that looks to have been sitting there for a while.

“Couple a minutes, an hour… I don’t know…” He murmurs, his head lolling off to the side. His eyes start closing again, clearly a losing fight to stay awake. Which she needs him awake because she has no idea if he has a concussion. 

“Hey, nu-uh, you can’t do that right now. I need you to be present with me okay? I don’t know where you’re hurt.” She whispers to him. She holds his head back up, forcing him to look at her. Her brows furrowed in concern.

He nods his head, struggling to keep his eyes open. He's only half listening to her, but he is doing as she asks. 

Since finding out Hobie was Spider-Man he had started a habit of using her home like a 24/7 clinic. The first time he rolled into her home she yelled at him as he tumbled face first into her rug. She had to learn how to clean and dress wounds on the spot. She chastised him all the way through it. He scared the living daylights out of her and on top of that he just sat there laughing like it wasn't a big deal.

This though, this is the worst she’s seen him. There's so much blood and he doesn't look okay at all. His eyes can't focus on her and the distant look in his eyes scares her.

She moves to grab her medical kit, “What happened?” she prods trying to figure out what trouble he got into. 

“Not a big deal,” He tries to shrug but hisses in pain, “just got nicked by the Goblin is all.” He replies slurring his words together.

She bends down next to him and gives a disappointed look. “It is a big deal if you’re bleeding out on my floor.” She tells him with a slight scoff. “Can you take your shirt off or do I need to cut it?” she asks him digging around for her safety scissors.

He gives a soft chuckle but does as he’s told. His top clings to his skin and it's sticky where his bloods dried. He groans in pain as he peels the dried blood off of him with his top. “We should go on a date before I strip for ya.” He teases.

She rolls her eyes, “If you’re coherent enough to joke I should be meaner to you.” She mumbles to herself.

She grabs some alcohol to clean up his injury with from her medical kit. She soaks up a soft hand towel to start cleaning around his wounds.

“Oh come on, ya love it.” He says reaching for her hand so she’ll look up at him.

Her fierce gaze flashes to him and his face falters a bit. She knows she's being harsh, but she's never seen him so beat up. It scares her. Maybe it's because she childishly believes he's invincible. This is a hard moment as she realizes he can get hurt.

“What I would love right now, is for you to shut up so I can clean you up enough for you to take a shower without bleedin’ all over my bathroom.” She states giving him a pointed look. 

He nods his head silently and lets her work.

She cleans the area surrounding his wound, he’s mostly stopped bleeding but it’s a nasty gash. Once it’s clean she can disinfect. She looks closer at his wound and assesses his face too. He’s got a few good scraps along his brow bone and one of his piercings definitely looks like it’s caused some damage. Almost like his eyebrow piercing ripped out.

She quietly continues to work, ignoring Hobie’s grunts and hisses of pain as she cleans his face. Her brow furrowed in concentration. She's afraid if she pauses and looks him in the eye she won't be able to finish. She wants to scream at him to be more careful, but she also just wants to hold him tightly and protect him.

“Anywhere else that was bleedin’?” she asks him softly.

He shakes his head no. She pats his thigh reassuringly. “Go take a shower and let me know when you’re done. I need to bandage you but you need a shower first.” She tells him.

He groans but lets her help him stand up. “Don’t leave a mess in there alright?” she teases him lightly.

“No promises, I’m pretty grimy.” He jokes as he shuts the bathroom door.

She smiles and turns to grab the discarded pieces of his suit. She throws them in her washer and waits to run it when she can grab the rest of it from the bathroom. She moves to set up the couch for him to sleep on.

There’s no way she was letting him go back this late after just dressing his injuries. She grabs her spare sheets and blankets, preparing the couch for him. She throws one of her pillows down for him as well.

She hears the bathroom door creak after a while and turns to see him poking his head out. He already looks a lot better. Relief washes over her and she relaxes a bit. She grabs the medical kit again and goes to wrap him up.

Hobie leans his weight against her bathroom counter. He's just in a towel wrapped lazily around his waist.

She takes a deep breath and adjusts her eyes up. She forgot to give him clothes. Her face is burning but she tries to refocus on bandaging him.

“You look better already.” She comments. She grabs the gauze and bandages to wrap him. She’s so close to him, eye level with his broad chest. She should be used to it by now but her ears are burning. She can feel his eyes on her, and he gives a halfhearted chuckle.

“I feel better that’s for sure.” He murmurs.

She starts to wrap him, eyes trying to keep focused on her task, and not lower to where the towel is barely hanging on his hips. She's definitely not looking over his toned body. She can keep her eyes focused, this is not the time to be checking him out. 

She’s so intentional with every motion. She’s slow and deliberate, making sure she treats his wounds correctly.

She doesn’t notice him move until she feels him brush her hair off her shoulders. The action has her taking a shuddering breath. She looks up at him questioningly.

His own face is in scrunched up in thought. He keeps her hair between his fingers as he looks lost in his own head.

She finishes wrapping his chest before looking back up at him. She gently uses her hand to make him turn to look at her.

“So serious, what’s rattling around in that brain?” She tries to joke, but it falls into more of a genuine question. Her voice quiet.

He looks at her face and meets her question with silence. Contemplating his own response. He stares at her and he’s doing that thing again. He’s looking at her in a way that feels like he’s peeling back layers of her soul, exposing herself to him. She feels barren and unguarded, it scares her.

“Nothin’. Just thinkin’. Brain got all rattle remember?” He says softly tapping his brow. He immediately regrets it, hissing as he hits his own injury.

She gives a soft giggle and lets it slide for the moment. She reaches up, “Let me bandage that, your piercing got pretty fucked right there.” She tells him focusing her attention on that.

He hums in agreement. His hands coming down to grip the counter edge. His grips is so tight it leaves small cracks along her counter. Clearly trying to hide how much he's been hurting tonight. He's a good patient in that he never complains, but sometimes she wished she did. Maybe he just has a high pain tolerance or maybe he just doesn't want her to worry. She'd worry regardless though.

At the end of the day, she'd still rather him crawl into her window every night regardless of his injuries. At least she'd know he was alive. See his chest rise and fall as he breathes.

When she’s done she looks at him, his eyes have just been burning holes into her. She flushes for a moment, she was so lost in thought she didn't notice him staring. Their faces are so close, too close. She swallows hard and takes a step back, “I’ll uh, I’ll grab some spare clothes you’ve left here before… I can just throw your suit in the wash.” She tells him softly, her face burning.

She turns to go into her room, grabbing his clothes and returning to shove them in his hands. He hands over his own dirtied and blood-stained suit to her.

“Thanks Mariana.” He tells her softly pulling her into him with a one armed hugged. For someone so injured, his grip was still strong. 

A chill runs down her spine at him using her name, “It’s no big deal.” She mutters returning the embrace.

She moves away to close the bathroom door and she leans against it. Her head hitting the door as she looks up trying to control her rapidly beating heart.

He can’t keep looking at her with those big brown eyes that crack her open. If he does she might have to acknowledge the fact she’s starting to like him.

She doesn’t think she can handle those far too big feelings right now. So, she shoves them down, under the surface. She can’t think about him like that.

[maylovesfiction]

I'm late to the party, but where I live it's still the 8th august. Happy birthday to our favorite and beloved clown! Here's something short I wrote. Not particularly for his birthday, but I couldn't NOT post on his birthday.

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Buggy had never seen himself getting married, but at that moment when he saw her walking down the stairs of the ship the thought of tying himself to her for life was suddenly quite the pleasant thought. She looked absolutely stunning. The hair she had fought so hard to tame into a ponytail was now a mess. Single strands of hair sticking to her face, the rest just falling wildly without a care for the scrunchy that was still, but only loosely dangling in her hair. Speaking of her face, her beautiful face was glistening with sweat. A few smears of oil and grime were scattered on her exposed forearms and across her cheeks. She looked grumpy and he suspected it had to do with the stain of bird poop on her shirt on top of her left shoulder. Or maybe it was the rip in the right leg of her pants. No, it had to be the blood stains on her new shoes. It didn’t matter, Buggy knew right then and there that he loved her and that she was a special kind of woman. She could pack a punch if she needed to and hell did she just prove that. Buggy was impressed how good she handled herself in the skirmish.

Sure, he liked to see her in nice clothes and she was the only person across the seas that he was not stingy with. He’d buy her every jewelry she’d want, except she rarely wanted those luxuries. She usually was down to earth, a very grounded and practical person, she didn’t need or want the fancy lifestyle. Maybe that was what attracted him the most. Although he made sure to surprise her with some nice trinkets and beautiful jewelry every now and then. 

It wasn’t lust what he felt at that moment, well, at least not only lust… but it went so much deeper.

As she approached him, still with that scowl on her face, he could only marvel at her sight. The way she walked, the way her brows were furrowed, the way she crossed her arms in front of her chest as she reached him, everything about her was appealing. She started talking to him, but he couldn’t focus on her words. Buggy just watched her lips as they moved. Her lips were slightly chapped. Probably because of the spontaneous attack of the marines during the hot hours of the day so she was not able to drink enough water. Buggy didn’t mind, it made him want to kiss her even more. He knew she would be mad at him for not listening, but right at that moment he could just stare.

Secretly Buggy was a bit scared. He was scared the day was going to come that another man found her and tried taking his most valuable treasure away. For the first time Buggy understood what the damned strawhat had told him in Orange Town. Treasure didn’t have to be gold and jewelry and riches only. His most precious treasure was the woman standing right in front of him. Overwhelmed by feelings he couldn’t bear to feel at that moment, he leaned forward, interrupting her rant and pressing his lips onto hers. 

When their lips parted the scowl on her face had vanished. “What was that for?” she asked softly. “Mhm… I’m just glad you’re fine. You’re very precious to me, you know that, right?” She looked at him surprised from this rare occurrence of Buggy expressing his feelings so openly. Buggy cleared his throat, blinking a sudden wetness in his eyes away “Let’s get us both a drink and then we'll get you cleaned up. I’ll help you. How does that sound?” he asked as he put his arm around her and guided her towards his quarters. "That sounds perfect" was the answer.

It would take him some time to be truly open and honest with her, to truly confess how much he enjoyed seeing her ‘messy look’, to even just confess how much she truly meant to him. To be comfortable with showing her his vulnerability, to ask her to marry him, to openly tell her he loved her. But Buggy knew she’d understand that he needed time, he somehow knew she’d wait for him to be ready and that was a truly comforting knowledge.

[akechiguro]

to see you again.

oneshot | shuichi saihara x kokichi ouma

alternate universe - postgame, simulation

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Synopsis | Shuichi Saihara and Kokichi Ouma meet again after the events of the 53rd season of Danganronpa.

Word Count | 3.0k.

Author’s Note | i don’t usually write in first person so this is a change of speed ^^ this is also from january so it’s pretty old, i feel bad for not posting :,D

also posted on ao3! (with minor changes)

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I still remember our last conversation. It rings like a fucking melody in my ears every time I go to sleep and I hate it. Every time the ear worm starts replaying in my head, it makes me forget about her, she’s the reason I even put myself out there and yet I find myself thinking about his and I’s last conversation rather than hers and mine.

“But, y’know…I…wasn’t boring, right?”

He wasn’t. He never was. He kept me on my feet like a real detective and pushed my limits so far over the edge I was sure I’d come crashing down at some point, but I didn’t. In a way, he saved me from doing that— or did she? Both of them? It doesn’t matter. One way or the other, I’m a better man because of them. Better, sure, but whipped out of my damn mind because of that little scumbag who preferred to play the devil’s advocate in serious situations rather than actually being of some real use.

I thought— no— I knew he died. Investigated his own death with my own eyes, forced another one of my best friends to his execution because of it, and found myself becoming a sobbing mess all over again. Not just for him, but her as well, even if she was some number of months between the two cases. I wasted too much of my time crying over someone I swore up and down I hated. Was it for nothing?

It had to have been. He’s sitting right in front of me right now.

There’s an awkward silence to the room, an unresolved tension lingering in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. His hair is still the same shade of purple, if not a bit darker, maybe a little longer, and he looks taller since we last talked. Ironic. The outfit is near unrecognizable— the strangest feeling of deja vu, and yet, neither of us can remember where we’d seen each other in these clothes.

“So,” he started, taking the liberty of starting our conversation. God knows I can’t. Not after everything I’ve seen, argued for, cried over. He leaned his head against his hand with that certain admiration in his eye I could never quite figure out during the game. I’m glad he’s casual. It helped me calm down a little bit.

“So?” I retort shakily. My hands are trembling, fiddling with the hem of my school uniform’s jacket. I know I said Kaede helped me grow as a person, be more confident, but for some reason I can’t meet his eye.

“How’d you do? You know, after I was gone?” He asked. His tone is more…calm? It’s different from the game’s, whatever persona he took on. He doesn’t seem like a malicious person anymore. Or at least, not acting like he is. But he doesn’t seem totally different, either.

“What do you mean?” I mumbled, and I felt like an idiot. You know what he meant. How’d we figure out it was Kaito, who survived and how we did it, stuff like that. I clenched my teeth and averted my gaze to a wall— plain white with a bit of grime. Well, can’t expect every room in this facility to be squeaky clean.

Kokichi laughed, softly, a strange unfamiliarity striking right through my ears. It’s nothing like how it was in the game. It’s intriguing. “You know what I mean! How did you figure out my plan and all that? Who was the mastermind you and Kaede tried so hard to uncover? I want all the details!”

I blinked. “Oh, uh— right. Well, it took, uh…a lot of probing, I guess, to figure out it was Kaito in the exisal and not you,” I started, gazing off in a random direction to gather my thoughts. “I…well, neither Maki or I could really handle the aftermath of that. For two different reasons, I think,” I chuckled nervously, and this caught his attention.

“Two different reasons? Maki was affected? I didn’t think she cared about anybody!” He laughed again and my heart started beating faster. Why did I have to catch feelings for someone who purposefully made themself out to be a bad person in a game of life and death?

“Yeah, believe it or not,” I smiled, catching his eyes for no longer than a second before deciding the painting behind him was a lot more interesting. Some sort of wave, I think the picture was. “She had a crush on him I guess, ended up threatening Monokuma and all that. Kaito didn’t actually die in his execution, either, it was his sickness that ended up killing him. Had he not had it…” I trailed off, feeling my features soften, “…he would’ve survived with the rest of us. Maki, Himiko, and I.”

“Woah, woah. Slow down,” Kokichi grinned. “Himiko survived with you but not Kiibo? What, did he kill Tsumugi or something? And an execution failed?”

“Yep. His execution failed and that, uh…really pissed off Monokuma,” I smiled. Enough time has passed where names don’t make me flinch anymore, they don’t send my lunch up my throat like they used to. “…You’re not far off from your theory about Kiibo, though. I guess Miu installed lasers and stuff inside of him and he ended up destroying the End Wall so we could escape. The final trial was a redo of the first one, and we figured out Kaede’s plan…”

No. You swore you wouldn’t cry to him when you found out this opportunity was something that could happen. Stay strong.

“…Kaede’s plan failed. Her shot put ball missed,” I explained, voice shaking with each new word. “It was Tsumugi who actually killed him, and who ended up being the mastermind. It…it wasn’t an easy trial,” I laughed bitterly, staring down at the table. I know Kaede is still alive. I know it was a simulation. But that means Tsumugi also lives; the one who orchestrated all of their deaths, left a far deeper cut in my core than any murder attempt ever could, is still walking and breathing. Something about that made it worse.

Kokichi fell back in his chair with a look of shock. “Dang. So how did her and Kiibo end up dead while you, Maki, and Himiko didn’t? Wouldn’t Kiibo’s lasers have killed you, too?”

“Nope. He destroyed the Ultimate Academy while breaking the End Wall, and a piece of rubble ended up falling on Tsumugi. Kiibo, he…he made sure we were safe and protected before self-destructing.”

“So a robot did have some humanity after all,” Kokichi giggled, crossing his arms on the table and letting his head follow. He still looked just as childish as he did in the simulation, yet there was more of a sense of…maturity, maybe? Was that the word? I don’t know. When it comes to him, it feels like no words even come close to describing him.

There’s awkward tension in the air again. There’s so much I wanna tell him and yet none of it is coming out. So much I wanna ask; why put on such an…interesting front? Why sacrifice himself the way he did, especially with the show he’d put on just before his death? Was everything he’d told me about hating me true?

I can’t get anything to come out. I’m just staring at him like an idiot, or maybe admiring, I can’t really tell, myself. I think he notices, too, because he seems totally comfortable in the silence. At least he seems like he does. If I’m not in tune with my own emotions, then I don’t think I ever will be with Kokichi’s, even outside of the game.

“You’re still insecure, aren’t you?” He asks suddenly.

I blinked. “What?”

“I can see it in your eyes, y’know. I may not have the same confidence I did in the game, but I can still read you like a book, Shuichi,” he smiled, something soft in his gaze while he stared at me. Maybe even sincerity. I fully believe him, too. Even the tone of his voice is softer, meeker, and his eyes don’t hold the same mischief and judgment they used to. Is this the real him? What he truly feels? No, not that— he’s not done anything out of emotion. He’s just…talking. And yet somehow my assumption seems correct. “I thought you got over your emo phase,”

I want to counter that. But he’s right. I guess I don’t really have the same confidence I had in Danganronpa, either. “I, uh…I thought I did, at least. Why bring that up?”

“I dunno. You look like you wanna say something.”

“Oh,” I breathed, mentally beating myself up. At the very least I thought I was better at speaking my mind. Well- this meeting should’ve made it obvious to myself that I’m not. “I guess I’m kind of just wondering…how to word this…why? Why were you the way you were? You seem so…” I trailed off, not letting myself finish that. That’s not the only thing I want to ask. Not why I contacted Danganronpa asking for this meeting. But it’s all I can get out right now.

He laughed. “You’re not the first to ask, y’know? I thought my favorite might be more original, but you’re asking such a boring question.”

So others got to him before I did…somehow that’s not surprising. “You’re surprised? I thought you could read me like a book,” I smirked, “I thought you of all people should know why I’m the most interested,”

“Fine, you’re right,” He smiled, adjusting so his cheek laid against a fist. “Welp! I don’t have a good answer to that. I wanted to be the antagonist. Nagito was my favorite in all 52 seasons I saw before applying to Danganronpa,” He laughed.

“Is that…it?” I asked, mentally cringing. That came out rude.

“Yep.”

“I don’t…really believe you,”

He barked out a laugh. It’s the most familiar thing he’s done this whole time. “Wow! A whole couple months after we last talked and you still don’t fully trust me?” He’s weirdly amused, I noticed. Was his in-game personality the real thing? No— somehow this feels like an act.

I shook my head quickly, flustered. “No, no! It’s not that! It’s just, well- it’s not just your attitude I was referring to. You seemed to have it out for me specifically. And Kaito and Miu, I guess, though I can probably assume for them…”

He hums, leaning back in his chair. His arms rested comfortably behind his head, the darkness of his uniform making his hair pop to a lighter purple than it actually is. “Yeah, those two are idiots. I’m surprised Kaito lasted so long,” he giggled quietly to himself, “but as for you…I don’t really wanna tell you that.”

“Huh?” Now that actually surprised me.

“I didn’t hate you or anything if that’s the answer you’re after,” he continued, averting his gaze elsewhere, “but the exact reason..eh,”

I can’t complain, that is the answer I was after. But now I’m just more curious. “Is there a, uh…a reason you can’t tell me the reason?”

Kokichi shrugged. “Nope! Maybe I’m lying though, huh?” He smiled. That itself was a lie. I could tell, somehow.

Another moment of awkward silence.

“Well, what did you think of me?” He asked, adjusting his position back to resting his head on his arms again. Could he always not sit still for this long? Or had I just never noticed in the game?

“Do you not know?” I asked, cautiously. “I…I told you that you’ll always be alone. I- I don’t mean it now, in fact I wanted to apologize for that-“

“Don’t worry about it, Shumai,” He laughed. “It was easy to hate me in the game, y’know? I hated myself!”

“Er…” I glanced down, picking at my nail beds.

“Oh, not to traumadump or whatever the word is,” Kokichi shook his head quickly, “I already knew, actually. I just wanted to hear it come from your own mouth.”

“But I still want to apologize! That was- that was rude of me. What you did was horrible, but it was still uncalled for on my part.” Plenty of people had murdered in the game. Too many, far too many. Was I justified to say that to someone who, more or less, did what he did in self defense?

“But is that all you felt about me?” Kokichi asked, the same cautious tone I’d used earlier. Like he’d said it accidentally, almost.

It kinda shocked me, to hear him ask that. He’s right. That’s not all. It’s the safe answer, the one I’d assumed everyone else had told him. But should I even admit to that other feeling? The one still eating at me, the one I can’t get out of my head no matter how hard I try? He can’t feel the same. Not him.

I took a second to think of a response, holding unsteady eye contact. It was Kokichi who’s eyes darted away momentarily, only to return with the same hesitation. “…No. It’s..it’s not.”

Why not come clean? What are the chances I ever see him again after this? We both will become just another face in the crowd, going about our school lives as though we hadn’t gone through someone so horribly traumatic.

I don’t think Kokichi was expecting my response. His eyes widened slightly, the micro movements of his mouth and eyebrows revealing to me a sort of surprise. I know I’m not a detective anymore, but I’m still attentive. He definitely wasn’t expecting it.

He licked his lips, ever so slightly. They’d gone dry. “What’s that other feeling, then?” He leaned forward, slightly, his eyes falling somewhere else. Lower to my face. The tension’s changed.

My breath caught in my throat, mimicking his actions. “I’m…sure you can guess.” I mumbled, meeting his eyes again. I feel like I’m running a fever, I feel lightheaded, this is a horrible idea…I shouldn’t have said that, I should’ve lied, I should’ve…

…His hand sliding gently over mine, his body to lean further across the table… Should I?

What other chance would I get?

I stood, cupping his face gently and closing the distance. His skin is just as smooth as I remember it being, so strangely soft, yet I can still feel the bones in his cheeks. He’s thin, sure, but it doesn’t seem too unhealthy. His lips are chapped, dry, almost uncomfortable. He chews at his lips, a nervous habit. It’s more endearing than I should think of it being.

He’s quick to kiss back. He tugged at my uniform’s collar, almost needily- hungrily?- like he’d been waiting for this. None of this explains anything that happened in the game. I think it just raises more questions, if anything. But my mind’s too fogged and my face is too hot to think of anything else but our proximity.

It’s only when he starts to fidget with the buttons on my jacket that I pull away, and I can think of absolutely nothing except how much I’m going to regret that. Not because I don’t like Kokichi, honestly, it’s the opposite. I refused it for so long that I think I’m actually in love with him. But I thought it earlier; what are the chances I’m going to see him again after this? I don’t think I can handle a long distance relationship, but I don’t think I’m ever going to get over him. No, no, I don’t think, I know I’m never gonna get over him.

He looked nervous, hand lingering on my clothes for a moment longer before he brought them to his chest nervously. He looked so out of character from what I remembered of him in the game…that Kokichi would probably keep going. This one looks like he’s on the brink of tears. “Pausing for air, or..?” He asked, trying to laugh it off.

I shook my head. “We can’t do this, Kokichi.”

“Why not? You kissed me!” He’s getting defensive. I should’ve seen this coming.

“I know! I know, that was…my mistake. It’s not that I don’t want this,” I started, grabbing his hand and slinking my fingers through his, “I…I’ve been denying how much I’ve wanted to do that for entirely too long. But it’s…I don’t know where you live. We don’t go to the same school, hell, we might not even live in the same part of Japan. I don’t…want to commit to something I can’t maintain.”

He looks defeated, for far longer than I would’ve liked. I feel horrible. But quickly perks up. “Well, where do you live?”

“Huh?”

“You can’t just kiss me and then go on this whole rant about why we can’t be together and then expect me not to ask where you live!” He smiled. “Where you from?”

“Oh.” I take a second to think. Are we even allowed to tell each other that? Fuck, of course we are- why wouldn’t we be? “Uh, Okinawa. I wear…probably too many layers for how warm it is compared to the rest of Japan,”

He smiled. A lot brighter than I would’ve imagined. “And you’re not lying?”

“No! Why would I?”

“I’m from there, too! No way that’s a coincidence!” He giggled like a child, freeing his hand to wrap them around mine. “I don’t live with my parents, they’re from Aichi. Just my older brother. But it’s crazy lucky I do, right?”

I stood there, dumbfounded. I was worrying for nothing? “So…so that means—“

“If you break my heart, Shumai, DICE is a real organization. They’ll kick your ass!” He laughed, dropping my hands to grab me in a hug. It’s so unfamiliar. In game Kokichi…no, I need to stop thinking about him.

“Y-yeah..! Yeah, I’m sure Kaede or Kaito will have your head in seconds if you, uh..break mine, too.” I laughed, awkwardly returning the action.

I still don’t know a lot about Kokichi. I don’t know about his family or how his school is or even if this version of him is the real one. There’s still so much I need to learn about him, that he needs to learn about me, but somehow, I know it’s going to be easier with us. I don’t think I’ll ever forget our last conversation as characters in a television show. The game, I think, forever changed who we are as people. But it’ll work out. We’ll be okay.

We’re gonna be great.

[evenmorecrows]

Other Half - 1.1k ( Day 1: Soulmates )

V and Johnny learn that the whole 'soulmates' thing wasn't as bullshit as they had started to believe.

a little something i wanted to write for @silverv-week! the v in this isn't my own v, i just kinda made up a guy for this. here's what i imagine their soulmark to look like :3

V trudged his way into his H10 apartment exhausted and covered in blood, guts, and street grime. His clothes stuck to his skin repulsively, and thank god he was nose-blind to Night City, because he could only imagine how much he reeked.

“The hell are you standing around for? Take a goddamn shower before I take one for you.” Johnny materializes, leaning against the wall connecting the main room and the bathroom, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. For a guy perpetually covered in dirt, V could tell he was just as disgusted with the current state of V’s-- Their? Body.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks mom.” He grumbled, willing himself to the bathroom instead of dropping off into his bed.

He always felt a little weird, getting undressed with Johnny in his head, cheeks burned at the idea of him watching, because, whether he showed himself or not, he always was watching. Neither of them had much of a choice in that. Johnny always felt blissfully absent during moments like this, though, and V appreciates the effort nonetheless. The first time he’d had to strip post-everything, he’d expected Johnny to pop out and mock him, tease him relentlessly, something along those lines. When none of those things happened; when, in fact, nothing at all happened, no Johnny, no comments- he felt like a bit of a douche. Back then, it was fear he felt at the idea; invasion, like he had thought about Johnny’s presence in his head as a whole. Now? He’s not so sure.

He tries not to think about it.

The water’s barely lukewarm, he’s lucky it’s not ice cold. As it stands, he finds it actually kind of refreshing. He runs through washing himself systematically, scrubbing soap through his hair, over his back, across his chest, the draining water mixing black, brown and red. His eyes glaze over his wrist as he cleans his right arm, making it up to his shoulder before a sudden compulsion stops him, has him looking back.

His mark looks loosely like a humanoid split in the middle. One half has a weird, jagged extension to the head, a few small disconnected dots around the protrusion, the other has a withered, wobbly look. It’s small, barely noticeable, only slightly darker than his skintone, and a lot of people in his life have wondered if it really was just a birthmark, not a soulmark. He’s always wondered himself.

Looking at it feels right, resonates through him. From the moment he was born, to the moment he dies, his most steadfast companion. He goes to run his finger over it when he catches sight of his other arm-

He blinks. That’s not…

Johnny’s mind and his blending, snapping apart only through the discrepancy of his organic arm.

His eyes go wide as he realizes why, and he feels it dawn over Johnny as well.

He’s a snot-nosed kid with greasy, black hair falling into his face as he holds his wrist, rubbing at the mark, wondering what it means, who it links him to. Wondering if he’ll meet them when he finally gets out of this shithole of a city, back when he thought he could escape it.

He blinks.

He’s a Heywood gutter punk, worn down tennis shoe heels scraping against cracked sidewalks, chasing and being chased by other kids, other Heywood rats, just like him. They laugh together and steal together and get their asses beat together. Two of them have matching soulmarks, they say they’ll be together forever, even if everyone else goes their own ways. He remembers how whenever anyone new joins, they all compare marks, everyone eager to find their pair, giddy at the prospect. Later on, in his mid-20s, long after they’d all gone their separate ways, he’d be the only one without his soulmate. He’d also be the only one to make it to 26.

He blinks.

He’s in some bar’s back room, Alt in his lap. Their marks don’t match, of course. His doesn’t seem to match with fuckin’ anyone. Doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Whole soulmates thing is bullshit anyway, what the hell’s some mark supposed to do? Why the hell would he go along with gonk shit like that when he could live his own life, carve his own path? He wouldn’t have gotten nearly this far if he spent all his life on his ass waiting for his “one true match” to come along. It’s kiddy idealistic shit, is what it is, and he refuses to waste any time on it. He figures he’ll die before he finds his match, and right now, he tells himself, he couldn’t give a shit.

He blinks.

He’s sitting on a bench, running his hand over his face. Another date, another guy who used him for a quick fuck then kicked him out because their marks don’t match. This one didn’t even wait ‘till morning, gave him the boot almost immediately. What a shame, he’d really been looking forward to an awkward breakfast. He’s so fucking tired of it, of trying to put himself out there, make deeper connections than just being fuckbuddies, and what the hell does he get for it? Rejection at every turn. He’s stopped even looking for his soulmate; no one he’s ever known has ever seen a soulmark like his. He’s unique. Yippee. Maybe he doesn’t even have a soulmark, that’d be a cruel twist of fate. Maybe it really is just a regular-ass birthmark he’s been placing so much importance on. He heaves a deep sigh, hoping it dispels some of the weight in his heart. At this point, he wonders what kind of deus ex machina it would take for him to find his soulmate, if he even has one. For right then, though, he decides to throw dating to the wind- hell, Night City to the wind too, while he’s at it. Maybe a little trip would get him out of this funk.

He blinks- no, shakes his head, landing back in the present. Johnny appears in front of him, wearing the same expression of shock in the wake of that revelation as V imagines he himself has on. All this time, and they were-

“No fucking shit…” Johnny murmurs, at a loss for anything else. “You- you?” V stammers, “There’s- seriously? All this time I’ve been waiting around and it ends up being the guy in my head. Fucking-- preem.”

“Yeah, well,” Johnny huffs at him, “This guy in your head didn’t sign up for this shit either. Could be saying the same thing.”

V runs his hands through his hair, tugging a bit at the roots, grumbling, “We can’t even like- makeout dramatically like they do in the shows, because we’re the same guy.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “Would you want to?”

“Huh? Makeout? I mean… We’re soulmates, apparently, and you’re not…” Heat rises to his face. “You’re not unattractive. So yeah, if it were an option, I’d like to at least, y’know. Try it out.”

“’Not unattractive’? Yeesh, tough crowd.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “As for the making out thing, though…” He smirks, “I’m sure we could figure something out.”

[thora-jane]

Twin-Way Mirror (pt vi)

(a/n): Hey everyone. My mental health's getting a little bit better. These past few weeks I've had some depression/anxiety episodes but I think I might be on the better end of it now? I will say that the stories I post may be more spread out over time (I had a lot of this already written before I made the tumblr account, and I haven't had the time/energy to write more of the story. So like...idk thank you for your patience and understanding? anyway, I hope you enjoy this :)

Summary: Thanks to the Weasleys, you start to recover from the attack at the world cup

Word Count: 2,229

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, reader has a bit of a ptsd attack, also things get a little bit spicy but nothing nsfw.

TAGS!: @aliiiyyaaah @superblyspeedydragon @bamboozledflamplant

***

Someone was moving you. Everything was spinning. Mudblood. Mood. Blood. Mud and blood filled your mouth, swirling with bile and spit. Spit. Something smelled terrible, you smelled terrible. Reeking.

You felt a hand on your cheek. The pain stabbed across your face like a knife.

You bolted upright.

And screamed.

“Hey, hey hey hey it’s alright,” you heard George’s (or was it Fred’s?) voice through your ragged and panicked breaths, his hand placed gently on your back, “(y/n), we’re safe now, we’ve made it home.”

You finally looked around, you were on the couch in the burrow’s living room.

“Home?” You asked. You looked up, George was rubbing your back and Fred was sitting on the arm of the seat, eyes flitting back and forth between looking at you and down at his hands with what appeared to be shame. You looked back at the rest of the room, where the others had managed to find room standing and watching you, Harry and Ron stone-faced, Ginny with her jaw clenched, Hermione appeared to be on the brink of tears, Mr. Weasley looked awfully serious, and Mrs. Weasely was holding her muddied and bloodied hand to her chest, a damp rag in the hand at her side and fear on her face.

You felt your face gingerly, most of the caked on mud and blood had been smudged off, except for the grime around the large bruised and scarred lump on your face.

“Yeah, home,” George nodded again with a smile, “How are you feeling?”

You held your head in your hands, “Who was that?” You felt your eyes well up as you sat up more and looked down at the rest of your body, you were still covered in mud, and there appeared to be a boot print right in the middle of your shirt.

“Death Eaters,” Harry piped up from the back, “Voldemort’s followers. They stormed the campgrounds and-” He stopped, looking at you, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off, and it took you a second to realize you were crying, the salty tears stinging the wound on your face.

“Oh it’s alright Harry,” you interrupted yourself with a shaky breath, “I don’t mind, keep talking-”

But Mrs. Weasley interrupted you, “Alright everyone, I think it’s best we give her some space. I’ll come back in a bit to help clean you up more, sweetie. Get some rest.”

The others filed out of the room quietly, but Fred and Geroge stayed beside you in silence, after a moment you sighed and bit back a smile. “I don’t suppose I look any better than either of you now, eh?” You chuckled, but it came out more like a twisted sob. George’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as he pulled you into a gentle sideways hug, “I wouldn’t say that. Why, look at Freddy over there, you could hardly believe we shared the same womb! He’s hideous!” He chuckled softly, squeezing your shoulder. You let out a wince at the pressure and he frowned, turning to you, “you’re in pretty bad shape, (y/n), but I doubt it will last. Is there anything we could do to help?

You looked back down at your crusted and soiled shirt, “A change of clothes would be helpful. And cleaning up doesn’t sound like the worst idea either.” you smiled, or at least offered what you could manage of a smile without hurting your face, “I’ll go get my clothes-” You started trying to get off the couch with a long and pained groan. Everything hurt, your stomach, your legs, your hand. And Merlin, you could barely move your wrist without tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

George seemed to catch on, and he carefully eased you back onto the couch, “I’ll go get you a change of clothes. Stay here, alright?” he stroked the back of your head for a moment before getting up and leaving.

You and Fred sat in silence for a moment before nuding him with your foot, “Oi, I don’t think I’ve seen you this quiet since...well, I can’t remember.”

“(y/n)...I’m so sorry this happened.” He said, looking up at you hesitantly.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’re both here now, yeah?” you shifted in your spot on the couch, leaning forward as you tried to maintain eye contact, but he only looked away again.

“No, no (y/n) it’s not alright. I shouldn’t have let you out of my reach. I shouldn’t have let the crowd separate us, I should have forced my way back sooner-” his voice was dead serious, something that you hadn’t thought was possible before now.

“I don’t want you blaming yourself for this,” your voice was a little uneasy, you could feel it as you tried to keep your breathing steady, “Because I’m fine now. We’re home, you heard your brother-”

“No, but (y/n) you’re not fine!” he snapped, standing up and gesturing to your body in one big sweep of his arm, “They were going to kill you! And whose fault would that have been? It wouldn’t have been yours I can tell you that!”

“Freddie,” George’s voice was stern as he returned to the room, a change of clothes in hand, “Go get some things to clean up. What’s done is done and we can only start moving forward. I don’t think either of you are in a state to start pointing fingers,” He walked towards you on the couch as Fred went off to the kitchen, his hands balled into fists.

George knelt down beside you, brushing the hair from your forehead and dabbing at your lingering tears with the edge of his sleeve. “How are you feeling?” he asked, holding his hand under your chin carefully and examining your face.

“A bit banged up, surprisingly,” you quipped. You paused, looking down at the clothes in his hand, “So...should I change?” You looked back up at him, a bit embarrassed by your current lack of mobility.

“Oh! Yeah,” he agreed with a bit of a start, “You can’t quite be up and about right now, huh?” He glanced around the room before snatching the blanket off the back of the couch and holding it up in front of him as a curtain between you two, “I swear on Fred’s life I’m not going to move this until you say you’re done, and I will scream bloody murder if anyone walks in,” He delcared in what you assumed was a mock-stoic voice from the other side of the blanket.

You began to peel off your muddied pants and slide your sore legs into the new pair. It wasn’t until after you had them on that you realized how this unfamiliar stripey pair fit quite loose, “These aren’t mine?” you mumbled to yourself, and from the other side of the blanket you could hear George clear his throat.

“I uh...couldn’t figure out how to open your trunk so I..grabbed a pair of my pajamas. I promise they’re clean. I can get you yours later it was just...short notice and I didn’t want to be a bother-”

“It’s alright,” you assured him as you started to lift your shirt over your head, “At least they're clean- OW!” you felt a screaming pain stab it’s way through your wrist after you had managed to get one arm out of your sleeve.

“Are you ok?” His voice was nervous, and you saw the blanket shift beside your head-

“Oi!” You almost shouted, “Watch the blanket!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” you heard him mumble as the blanket lifted up a little bit, “I guess we’ll call it even from this morning.”

You had managed to carefully wrangle your way out of your shirt and pull one of the sleeves of George’s shirt before it dawned on you, “Oh Merlin, did you see me? Just now?” Your stomach twisted as you shrugged on the second sleeve and looked at the open front of the shirt, “Damn buttons.”

“If it’s any comfort, I only saw your shoulder. And I looked away as soon as I saw-” He stammered out nervously, as you gave the buttons down your front a calculated stare.

“Just...never bring this up again, yeah?” You muttered mostly to yourself before your first attempt at buttoning up your shirt. But your try was unsuccessful, pain twisting the muscles and bone in your wrist as your right hand went to try and help the button through the hole. You let out a faint gasp of pain, and from the other side of the blanket you heard George shift his stance awkwardly.

“Do you need any help?” he piped up from his side.

You paused, sighing as you carefully moved the shirt to cover your front without buttoning it, “If I must. But if you try to pull something then so help me Godric the second I get my wand back you’re dead.” He let the blanket fall to the floor and his hands flew up to his face, squinting through his fingers. It was clear he was trying to lighten the mood as he perched himself on the edge of the couch. You chuckled at his efforts and reached for one of his hands with your good one, placing his fingertips on the buttons of his shirt, “You don’t have to do it with your eyes closed, dimwit.”

George smirked, opening his eyes slightly and making it clear he was staring directly at the buttons he was fastening, “Y’know, I don’t usually do this for folks,” he smiled looking back up at you with a dramatic wink. His eyes stayed latched to yours as he worked his way up the trail of buttons, making a point to not stare at your chest.

“Oh? This isn’t a regular occurrence between you and your roommates? You don’t sit in a circle helping each other tie your ties each morning? You don’t fix Fred’s hair and make sure Lee’s robes are nice and straight?”

George laughed, “Keeping Lee’s robes straight is Fred’s job.”

“Well someone ought to tell him he’s not doing a very good job of it, Lee’s robes wouldn’t stay smooth unless he used a charm,” you sighed, a weak smile lingering on your face.

“Oh! That reminds me,” George reached into his pocket and pulled out your wand, “managed to get it out without a scratch!” He tucked it into your messed-up hair and smiled, “Good as new!” His hand lingered on the side of your face, carefully touching the area around the swollen and bruised gash for just a moment, “You don’t look that bad, really. A little roughed up but give it some soap, water, magic, and time, you’ll be back to your wonderfully-faced self,” his voice was encouraging, but your thoughts had drifted off to elsewhere.

“Oh my god, you took on a Death Eater.” You blurted out, eyes widening, “Are you ok? Did he get you at all? Are you alright?” Your hand reached for his face, there was a scratch just below his cheek bone but other than that and a few smudges of mud he appeared fine,

“I’m alright, (y/n), really,” he patted your hand.

“Oi, I got you out of there too, y’know.” Fred interrupted from the doorway, “Where’s the worry for me?”

“Oh my god, Fred!” Your voice was startled as you scrambled off the couch and stumbled across the floor over to him. He had just barely managed to set down the bowl of water and sponge before you practically collapsed in his arms, “are you alright? What on earth were you two thinking? Running into danger like that? You could have gotten yourselves killed!” You winced at the pain pulsing through your body, but you only hugged Fred tighter. After a second you let out a muffled sob into his chest and you could feel his arms wrap around you, patting your back.

“But it’s alright,” you heard him whisper, “You said it yourself, we’re home,” He placed a kiss on the top of your head, and you could feel another body hug you from behind.

“We’re here, (y/n). Now c’mon, it’s late and you should get some sleep,” You felt George lean down and kiss your cheek before helping you shuffle back to the couch and wipe the last bit of mud from your face.

***

You woke up the next morning feeling sore, but minimal agony in comparison to the night before. As you opened your eyes, you realized you were face-to-chest with one of the twins. You figured the two of you had slept on the couch the night before. As you poked your head out from behind his shoulder, you saw the other twin asleep in the chair. Neither of the boys had changed their clothes from yesterday, and you looked down to see the large gold “G” against a green sweater, with its sleeves wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

“Mmm, (y/n), are you up?” George murmured, his eyes not opening.

You smiled softly at his warm embrace, “No George, go back to sleep,” you whispered, laying down again with your head against his shoulder.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he nodded, barely awake as he pulled you closer and nuzzled his face into your hair with a sleepy sigh.

[tinylittlestella]

Okay so I’m just gonna post this now I guess. I was waiting until it was more “done” but???

Edit: omg I forgot to credit @yeenybeanies for inspiring me to just throw this idea out to the public instead of hoarding it and waiting for it to be perfect

I’ve been kicking around the idea of a Cinderella story where the prince doesn’t let her leave at midnight. They’ve hung out at a few balls because magic or whatever. Ella is her name, society is a mix of humans and elves. Elves are like maximum 20 inches tall, half elves take after their elf parents like 25% of the time. Bases covered? Cool.

Ella’s heart seized in her chest when she realized that the doors back into the ballroom were locked. She ran quickly for another pair, but they were locked, too. They were all locked. She was trapped out here on the balcony.

“No...” she murmured to herself, glancing back up at the clock tower in the courtyard. She only had a few minutes left until the spell broke; if she couldn’t get away she would be stranded at the palace. Her family would find out that she’d been sneaking away, and if she wasn’t killed for treason for using magic inside the palace surely her stepmother would do it herself, like she’d been threatening to do all Ella’s life. After all, it would be too easy...

“Something wrong, my lady?” came a voice across the cool garden air, and Ella spun around to see that the prince had joined her. How did he get out on the balcony? Had he come out before her?

“Y-yes,” she said, finally letting go of the door handle to turn towards him. “I’ve been out much later than I intended, and I need to go home. Can you open the door?”

For just a moment hope bloomed in her chest when he nodded, but the slow smile that stretched across his face made her heart sink. “I can, but I won’t. You’ve proven far too elusive, my lady. I can’t let you go when I’ve finally got you right where I want you.”

Any words she might’ve been able to muster caught in her throat as she realized his meaning—he’d done this deliberately. He’d trapped her out here to prevent her from running away. She had known that he was getting frustrated at her disappearing, but she never imagined he would take this much interest in her, a nobody who hadn’t even given him her name. She didn’t really think she deserved this much attention.

“I c-can’t stay, your highness, please,” she said, horrified when her voice started to break. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t hold in her fear. “There w-will be—t-terrible consequences if I don’t go—“

For a moment the prince seemed equipped to give her a snappy response, but then he looked down at her and he could see the genuine terror in her eyes and it seemed to strike something in him—the teasing disappeared from his face, replaced by concern. He reached out for her and steadied her shoulders.

“Easy, it’s alright,” he said, trying to go for a soothing tone, rubbing at her arms over the sleeves of her dress. “Nothing’s as bad as all that. I can protect you from anything that happens.”

“I d-don’t think you’ll w-want to for long...” she murmured, and he frowned. Her lip trembled and she let out a soft, pained little wail as the clock began to chime, lifting her hands to her mouth. It was over. It was all over.

The prince was still touching her shoulders when it started to happen, when her dress started to glow and magic started to swirl up in the air around her. He had to let her go as it whipped around her body and dissolved all the careful work that had been put into her appearance, taking away her fine hairstyle and makeup, taking away the fine fabric that made up her dress, taking away the human stature she had gained through her fairy godmother’s magic. When the magic was gone and the light had faded, all that was left was Ella, in her true form.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as though that would cover the ragged scrap of a dress her family had given her for daily wear, or the stained apron tied around her waist, or the fact that she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her ears were just slightly pointed, the freckles on her cheeks caught the light like glitter, and if she stood up straight she would be no more than sixteen inches tall. She was part elf, like her mother had been.

She could only dare to glance up at his face once and immediately regretted it. Those eyes which had once been able to light her on fire from the inside out were now horrified as he looked down at her and she clenched her eyes shut, holding her hand over her mouth as she tried to restrain a sob.

“I’m s-so sorry, your h-highness,” she managed to choke out on a ragged breath. Her chest hitched and she had to pause to catch her breath again. “I n-never wanted you to s-see me l-like this—“

She was covered in a thin layer of soot and grime from the backbreaking work she did to keep her stepmother’s household running and her hair was a mess gathered at the back of her head. She knew how absolutely wretched she looked—a creature like her would never be allowed in the palace like this. Shame burned deep in her gut and she finally just collapsed on herself, falling into a crouch as she tried to make herself as small as possible—as if she weren’t small enough already.

For a long moment there was silence, and then she couldn’t help flinching as she heard him getting closer. He paused when she did, but when she didn’t actually try to run, he started again. He put a hand on her back and it covered her from her shoulders almost down to her hips. His fingers were so warm and she was so damn touch starved that she let out an entirely involuntary noise at the contact—a soft, aching sound from the back of her throat that apparently stirred him into action once more and he moved so quickly she didn’t have any chance to stop him. He scooped her up in his arms, tucking her securely against his chest, and started walking.

Ella didn’t have the courage to ask him where he was taking her, and even if she did she was so stunned by how quickly and securely he had picked her up and held her that she might not have been able to form questions anyways. Mostly her mind was whirring and trying to think of any way she could get out of this situation with her life. She wasn’t coming up with much.

It didn’t help that she was pressed right up against his chest and could hear his heartbeat thrumming through his body, which could have soothed her off to sleep if she weren’t so goddamn frightened. Instead it just clouded her head, made her lose her train of thought, and made her feel like she was about to doze off.

Finally he came to a stop and she realized that he had taken her some hidden way back into the castle. She had never been in this room before, but a quick glance around said that it was...it was most likely his bedroom. Oh, god, what had she gotten herself into?

He walked over to his giant four poster bed and, much more gently than she expected, set her down in the middle. He gave her a look as he took his hands away, trying to communicate without words to ask her not to run when he let her go. She nodded, and he gave her a brief smile that looked exactly like they used to before he walked off to a closet and started pulling out clothing. She watched him warily as she wrapped her arms around her knees where she was sat in the middle of the bed. He still hadn’t said a word about her true form since the spell had broken.

He came back without his jacket or his waistcoat, bootless, and holding a tiny bundle of fabric in his hands. He offered it to her with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to change into this?” He kept his voice soft and low for her and her breath caught when she realized what he was offering her.

A traditional elvish robe. She hadn’t seen one since she’d had to sell all of her mother’s to help with costs at the manor. It was simple, but clean, and she reached out a trembling hand for it. He allowed her to take it from his fingers and turned around.

“Tell me when you’re done,” he said, and Ella’s eyes widened. Change here? In front of him?

But she didn’t have much choice, did she? She took a deep breath and quickly whipped off the ragged dress and apron to put the robe on over her undergarments. Despite remembering how to tie the waist tape behind her back, it was made difficult by her trembling hands. She finally dared to look him in the face again when she was finished. Only—he was still turned around. She struggled for a moment for what to say before she finally settled on, “I’m done.”

For a moment she thought she said it too quietly for him to hear her, but then he turned around and tossed her old clothes aside and her breath caught once again. It hadn’t truly, fully struck her how much bigger he was than her now, but with him further away so that she could see more of him, the difference was stark. And it wasn’t the prince who had changed. It was just her. She found herself again struggling against tears and ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes. She didn’t know how he could stand to look at her after she lied to him. She didn’t know how he didn’t hate her. Maybe he did. Maybe he was just that kind that even though he couldn’t stand the sight of her he still wanted to make sure she survived the night.

One long, massive digit hooked under her chin and tilted her face back up to meet the princes gaze. His skin was warm and she could feel the strength in his hand just from this one small touch, something that he could barely feel. He leaned down to see her better, making himself look even bigger, and she trembled as his eyes bored into hers, questioning and curious.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly, and she knew that she could no longer evade him.

She took a deep breath and swallowed. “Ella. M-my name is Ella.”

“Ella...” He repeated it softly and she closed her eyes for a moment, pulling back from his hand. The way he said it sounded far too intimate, far too much like something she had desperately been wanting to hear, and it hurt her heart like a stab to the chest. A lump had formed in her throat and it was getting more and more difficult to swallow down. “Where are you from, Ella?”

She flinched as he sat in the bed beside her, but he took extra care not to jostle her, holding a hand out by her side in case she fell from his movements. The level of care was startling and Ella didn’t know how to take it.

“I’m f-from the T-Tremaine estate, y-your highness...” she said, though her voice was strained. She watched warily as he lifted his hand, but he just brushed his fingertip against her cheek. It was so gentle and tender and for a moment—for a moment she thought—maybe, maybe she had been granted the greatest gift she could ever ask for. Perhaps, there was a chance, if he could spare any affection, she would take even the barest scraps he could offer, she didn’t care as long as she could stay by his side and get out of that horrible house—

But then that moment shattered. She realized when his finger came away that he had been brushing away a smudge of soot on her cheek, and that was when she finally broke. Her face crumpled and the sob that had been building in her chest finally released. She lifted her hands to her face with her last shred of dignity, to at least try to muffle herself, but it turned out to not be necessary. Her body was just too small for her humiliation—she couldn’t physically sob as hard as she needed to, so she couldn’t even make a sound. She staggered as she gasped for air and that was when the prince finally decided to intervene.

Enormous hands seemed to appear out of nowhere and curl around Ella’s form. She let out a startled little yelp at the suddenness of it, and the sensation of being lifted off her feet, but it was short lived as in the next moment her head was nestled in the crook of the prince’s neck and he was stroking her back with his fingers while he held her securely in place with his other hand.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and his voice was deep and bassy and inside and outside, filling her head and the air around her. “You’re okay, it’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

She was too overwrought to question it anymore, so she just let herself be swept away, burying her face against his neck and crying every tear she had never let herself shed. She clung to his neck with one hand and reached under his collar with the other, almost as though she was trying to work her way under his shirt. He didn’t seem to care, as he hadn’t stopped trying to soothe her.

“Please don’t be frightened of me, darling. I would never hurt you,” he murmured down to her, as he stroked the shape of one of her legs through her robe with his thumb. “You’re okay. I’ll protect you from anyone who tries to harm you. You’re safe with me.”

And she felt like it. Pressed against his neck and chest, with his hands on her back and her legs, she felt so safe. He was so gentle with her that she couldn’t help trusting him, and she was warm and surrounded by his skin and the beat of his heart and his breathing and his scent. He was heady and spicy, with a sweet undercurrent of vanilla. She closed her eyes and turned to nose at his neck, looking for more of that scent. She thought the gesture small enough that he wouldn’t notice but he did stiffen just slightly, and she drew back immediately with a murmured apology.

“No, darling, stop,” he said, and he stroked her hair with one finger to encourage her to lay her head back down. “It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting you to...trust so quickly. But I’m glad.” He stroked her hair again and she couldn’t help melting under the soft touch. “Ella, what...what happened out on the balcony? You changed.”

Immediately any relaxed feelings disappeared and she stiffened in his hold. She looked up at him, leaning back to see his face, and she could see the curiosity burning in his eyes. After a long moment she quietly began to tell her story.

“It‘s... a long story. It started when I was younger...” She hated how small her voice sounded, but she carried on and told the whole thing. Her mother’s death as a child, the arrival of her stepfamily, her father’s death and her subsequent misery. How the balls and meeting him had been a lovely escape, and she’d never intended to lead him on. She had grown to know and love him, but knew he could never be with someone like her.

The entire time she spoke he kept a hand at her back, supporting her silently through it all, and every now and then he reached up with a finger to brush away a tear or two or to find her tiny little hand. When she got to the end of the story he brushed hair behind her ear with one finger and gave her the softest look.

“I never could have imagined you were going through so much,” he said quietly, and she blinked. That was far from what she’d expected him to say. “You always seemed so—happy. I thought there might be something more, something underneath you didn’t want me to see, but I never...I never thought it was this.”

“I didn’t want to—to hide, or to lie, but I never would have been allowed into the palace otherwise,” she said. “My stepmother would have recognized me instantly, and then I never...” She paused, and her cheeks heated until she was sure he could feel it under his finger. “I never would’ve gotten to meet you.”

[drabbles-mc]

Sacred

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Prompt: “Soaping together is sacred to us. Washing each other’s shoulders. You can fuck anyone—but with whom can you sit in water?” (From This Post)

Warnings: language (kind of), angst, mentions of blood/bruises/injuries

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: A sad fic for my favorite sad boy?? You betcha. In the midst of all of my Mayans feels I got randomly hit with this idea so I had to run with it. I’ve been meaning to write more stuff for Juice because I just...love him so much. In my head this is taking place around S4-ish when shit really starts to spiral for our boy. Enjoy! xo

The knocking on your door was incessant, and so hard that you thought whoever was on the other side of the door was more intent on breaking in than getting your attention. You pulled your robe tighter around yourself as you walked to the door, calling out that you were coming and to stop banging already. You took a deep breath before unlocking and pulling the door open.

“What the fu—” you stopped yourself short when you saw Juice standing in front of you.

He was bruised and bloody, tears spilling over onto his cheeks before he was even able to try and get any words out. It was difficult to choose where to look first. His face was covered in cuts, his neck wrapped in bruises, blood stained all over his shirt. On top of all of that, you had never seen his eyes filled with so much sadness before.

“Juan,” your voice was a whisper, unsure of what to say or do. You hadn’t heard from him in a few days, which wasn’t super unusual, but he’d never come back to you looking so defeated before.

“H-hey,” he forced out.

You motioned for him to come inside, “Come in, please,” you shut and locked the door behind the both of you, trying to get your mind to stop reeling for a second.

He looked so small standing in the middle of your living room, trembling under the cover of his black hoodie and baggy camo cargo pants. You took a small step towards him and he flinched away from you slightly, causing you to pause. As much as you wanted to pull him into a hug, to hold him as close as possible, you had no idea what was going on inside his head. He was so shaken up.

“You’re safe here, you know,” you said after a minute of distant silence, “No one is going to hurt you here.”

The tension dropped out of his shoulders as the tears began to stream down his face. He buried his face into the palms of his hands and you couldn’t stop yourself as you stepped in to pull him into a hug. He leaned against you, sobbing as his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, clinging to you like a life preserver.

You gently ran your hand up and down the back of his head, “It’s gonna be alright. You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, “I didn’t want to bring this all to you, but I can’t be alone and I can’t talk to them and I just…” he trailed off as he took a deep breath, soaking up your warmth and scent.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” you whispered as you pressed a kiss to his temple, “I’m glad you’re here—I’m glad you came to me instead of trying to get through this alone.”

He pulled back from you, wiping the tears off of his face as he tried, unsuccessfully, to get his breathing to return to normal. It hurt you to look at him in the state that he was in. The man you’d fallen in love with, who was filled with so much laughter and light and love was not the man who was standing in front of you in that moment. You loved him nonetheless, but you wondered what had happened that drained all of the light out of him, taken away the infectious smile that you’d loved since the moment you saw him.

He saw the look in your eyes and it made his heart feel heavier, if that was even possible. You were his safe place to land and the last thing that he wanted to do was make you upset or hurt you. There was nothing that he could say, though, that would erase the worries from your mind. The truth would shatter you, and he wasn’t a good enough liar to try, not that he wanted to lie to you anyway.

Once he caught a glimpse of the tears started to gather at the edges of your eyes, he felt something suck the air out of his lungs. He never wanted to be the reason that you looked like that. Not knowing what else to do, in a desperate attempt to feel something besides the crushing sadness taking over his mind, he cupped your face and pulled you into a rough kiss.

It caught you off-guard, and for a few moments you let yourself lean into it. You felt the desperation bleeding from his lips onto yours. His fingers traced along your jaw and neck and with each stroke you could feel how lost he was. His tongue ran along the inside of your lip before meeting yours, your hands resting lightly against his chest as he pushed himself up against you.

His hands slid down and you felt him beginning to pull at the belt of your robe. You pushed against his chest, pulling out of your kiss. He looked down at you, eyes dark and brimming with tears. You reached up and gently thumbed the tears away as you took a deep breath. Enticing as it was, the last thing Juice needed to be doing was losing himself in you.

“I love you,” his tone was pleading as he took in every detail of your face, fingers gliding across your skin as if to make sure you were really there in front of him.

“I love you too,” you reassured him as you placed your hands over his, stilling his movements, “Let’s clean you up, okay?”

There was a moment of hesitation but he nodded, letting you gently tug him towards the bathroom. Truthfully, you’d already showered for the evening but that fact seemed inconsequential as the two of you stood in your small bathroom. You leaned and turned the faucet on, stopping the drain so the tub would fill. You poured some of your good, scented body wash directly under the faucet so it would start to foam and bubble.

When you turned back to Juice you could see the confusion on his face. The two of you had showered together on numerous occasions, but realistically that never happened for hygiene purposes. He’d never taken a bath with you before, and you wondered when the last time he’d taken one in general was. You figured he could use the care and the intimacy of it all, though.

You stepped over to him, slowly unzipping his hoodie, “Let me take care of you.”

His entire body relaxed at your statement, and you heard him let out a breath he hadn’t even noticed that he was holding. With a small smile you pushed the hoodie down off of his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. You took the bottom hem of his t-shirt and lifted it, allowing him to pull it off the rest of the way. You saw the bruises and small cuts on his chest and stomach, trying not to focus on them too much as Juice took off his boots and socks before slipping out of his pants and boxers. You untied your robe, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of the clothes before pushing your underwear down your legs as well.

The apprehension was still there on Juice’s face and you took him by the hand and pulled him towards the tub. You stepped in first, gesturing for him to do the same, and turning the faucet off after he was in the water with you. Once he was mostly submerged in the hot water, you saw the nervousness disappear, the tension starting to leave his body.

Without a word, you scooted closer to him and motioned for him to turn so that his back was to you. He did, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his forehead against them. You took your washcloth and started to wipe away the sweat and dirt from his back and shoulders. You were gentle with cleaning the back of his neck, knowing that those bruises and gashes were still fresh. That was a conversation for later. You let the warm water run down the back of his head and onto his body and heard him let out a quiet sigh of contentment. Pressing a kiss onto his shoulder, you asked him to turn around and face you.

He did as you asked, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, but along with it there was a little bit of relief. You’d always been a sanctuary for him. You offered up a smile, “Let me sit on your lap?”

It was the first smile you’d seen from him all night as he nodded, resituating himself so you could straddle him on his lap. He leaned back against the back of the tub and the wall behind it, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment as he took in everything in the present moment, rather than letting his thoughts spiral out into everything that had happened before.

You took the washcloth and started to wipe off his chest, the blood running down his skin and tinging the water red around the two of you. He opened his eyes and saw it, body stiffening as he took it in.

You gently tilted his chin up and forced him to look at you and shook your head, “Don’t worry about it. You’re okay.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, eyes focused on you as you carefully wiped away the blood and grime of a tumultuous past few days. The water trickled down over his tattoos, and you were glad to see them return to their unblemished state, no longer stained with blood. You paused for a moment before wiping his neck, silently asking for permission to do so. He gave you the slightest nod as tears gathered in his eyes again. He tilted his head back against the tile, eyes shut tight as you cleansed his wounds. You felt his breathing start to get ragged as he bit back tears but you didn’t comment on it—if he needed to get it out you weren’t going to stop him.

Blood, dried and fresh, washed away from the bruises around his neck and it took all of your strength to not cry. The bathwater became stained but you paid it no mind as you focused on the man in front of you. His eyes were still closed as he started to run his hands up and down your back, his calloused fingers gliding over your soft skin.

“Lean forward for me, baby,” you whispered, “Let me get the cuts on your face.”

Doing as you asked, he peeled himself off the back of the tub. The gashes that littered his face were fresh—whatever fight he’d gotten into must’ve happened earlier in the day. You didn’t ask, though. You noticed his bottom lip starting to quiver as you wiped off his sliced-up cheekbone, and you knew it wasn’t because the cut hurt. Leaning in, you kissed him softly on the lips. His hands traveled up your back until they rested between your shoulder blades, keeping your lips pressed to his.

You pulled away, hand resting on the cheek that wasn’t cut, “I’m almost done, then we can go to bed if you want, okay?”

He nodded, “Okay,” he let you tilt his head to get a better angle for cleaning, “Thank you.”

“Anything you need, I’m here,” you didn’t take your eyes off of the cut above his eyes that you were cleaning out.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I…I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you.”

“Lucky for you,” you kissed his forehead, “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Even once you were done, Juice made it clear that he was in no rush to get out of the tub. The two of you stayed in until the water started to turn cold. Neither of you said much of anything, opting to just hold each other as the water coated you in a warm, slightly red-stained blanket. Juice’s eyes roamed all over you as you gently caressed his arms, shoulders, and chest. You pressed your forehead against his, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close so that your chest was flush against his, and that was how you stayed until it finally got too chilly to stay in the tub anymore.

You grabbed towels for the both of you and let the water drain. The discolored bathwater slipped away down the drain and so did the insecurities that Juice had stepped into that room with. Whatever demons were waiting for him outside the walls of your house had no place within it. You left the clothes in a pile on the floor—they were tomorrow’s problem.

The two of you tossed your towels aside once you were in the bedroom, each getting in on your own side of the bed to meet in the middle. He pulled you in close, hands on your hips as he rested his face in the crook of your neck. You rested your hand on the back of his head, taking a deep breath as you let your eyes close. He tangled his legs up with yours and despite the heaviness of the night, you smiled. You gently raked your nails along his mohawk and pressed featherlight kisses along the side of his head.

As you laid tangled up together, skin to skin, the only thing you could think about was the fact that you wished you could take away the darkness that was inside his head. You felt his breathing and heartbeat start to even out and it brought you some comfort.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your neck.

“I love you too,” you whispered in his ear, “so much.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around you, giving you a light squeeze. You took a deep breath, relaxing into the feeling of knowing that at least for tonight, he was safe. Each time he nuzzled into you, you felt yourself ease, your fingers dancing up and down his back. You reached over and turned off the lamp next to your bed once you heard him starting to snore quietly. It was one more night you’d gotten through together, getting you each ready for whatever the next day held for you.

[hattiepins]

Expectations

Zeke Yeager/Reader 18+ Chapter 1/??? Warnings: Alcohol mentions, explicit content a/n: I haven’t posted fic to tumblr in literal years so here’s me christening my new AOT blog with some Zekefucking. This fic will eventually have an actual plot, and I have it mapped out, but for now it’s just smut so have fun with it. I’m also on ao3 w the same @ if you prefer that layout better.

Zeke Yeager was an incredibly imposing man. The warriors were an intimidating group to anyone who had heard of them, but there was something special about him. 

You had “met” several years ago, at work cleaning the imposing Marleyan government building that served as the warrior headquarters in Liberio. Most of the year it was filled with children hopeful that if they worked hard enough, dedicated their hearts firmly enough, and bought into the belief that they too could bring honor to their homeland, they could be worthy of inheriting a titan.

You liked children, and though it hurt to see them pushed into the grim roles they took up at the compound, you would occasionally share excited chats with them in the halls, rooms, or courtyards of the massive complex. You’d scrub the floors of the messes left behind by their muddy boots, or the walls of the grime that accumulated every week, and the candidates, being the chatty little kids that they were, would update you on their days. Who beat who in what race, how fast so and so could disassemble then reassemble a rifle. On a good day of work you were given a run down of everything. 

On special days, though, the Marleyan warriors themselves would show up. A woman with unruly dark hair, a tall and disheveled scruffy man, and a blonde with a slicked back undercut all would often pass you by.

But Zeke Yeager? He always stood out to you the most. Anyone who could spare enough pocket change for a paper would know of the great feats of the beast titan and the man who held it. There had never been quite anything like him before in history, and his accomplishments on the warfront were praised as the ace up Marley’s sleeve in many battles. 

In reality though, Zeke bore no resemblance to his titan, with there being no visual similarity between the terrifying monster printed on the front page of every news story and the warrior who controlled it. 

He was tall, with a laid back posture that stood in stark contrast to his own mythic status. A legend among Eldians, and a fearsome specimen among all men, with his steely grey eyes and furrowed brow. He always looked as if he had something weighing on his mind whenever you spotted him, be it alone, or with his comrades.

You would absentmindedly toy with the hem at the edge of your own grey armband every time your eyes glanced over their red ones, not envying their lives as warriors but wondering what it must be like, being honorary Marleyans. 

None of them ever noticed your presence, and why should they? You were the cleaning girl, a part of the scenery. 

So then it comes as quite the shock when, tonight, as you head to the pub around the corner from the compound, Zeke Yeager recognizes you. 

The place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s halfway between work and the run-down tenement you can afford to rent on a maid’s salary. You go here on your days off, when you want more than anything to just relax, have a drink, and listen to the gramophone at the bar play music that you’d never get to hear otherwise. It’s a surprise enough to even see Zeke here, but the way he reacts to seeing you has your heart seize up a bit in your chest. 

He waves you over with his hand clutching his drink, calling your name with a voice just loud enough to be heard over the scratchy, poorly recorded music of the wax cylinder recording, his face plastered with a smug expression.

You blink slowly, as if closing your eyes will somehow remove him from the table in front of you and confirm that just a few sips of your drink have led to full on hallucinations. But you do not move. 

Catching onto your nervousness, Zeke raises the glass of warm swill this poorly stocked Eldian pub calls drinks, swirling the liquid inside as he motions towards your general direction.

“Come on now, that’s your first drink of the night in your hands. I know you aren’t far gone enough to not recognize the sound of your own name.” 

The volume of his voice is louder than you would like. A necessity, you know, for him to be heard over the sound of the gramophone, but still embarrassing.

You gesture stupidly at yourself with your pointer finger, and he nods, brows raised and mouth smiling with pursed lips as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh at your blatant confusion. 

He, in turn, gestures for you to take a seat next to him at the small booth he holds for himself in the corner. 

“You’re the cleaning girl, right?” He says. 

And for as awkward as that introduction is, it doesn’t stop you from joining him.

“How did you know- where did you learn  my name?” You drum your fingers against the base of your drink, still slightly nervous. 

“I’m observant.” He takes a sip of his own drink. 

“That, and you’re more well known than you’d think. The Grice boys talk about you sometimes. The younger one, Falco, is pretty damn fond of you, actually. Says you’re a good listener. Likes talking to you. His brother’s the one set to inherit my titan.”

You stare at him, a little shocked to hear that the candidates even remember you beyond simple hallway chatter, let alone that a warrior has actually taken note of your reputation with the children. 

“Falco’s a good kid. Colt too.” Your lips quirk up into a small smile, thinking about the two blond boys, always polite and courteous. They even bothered to get to know you by name, and always seem to ask about your day before telling you about their own.

“You’re quite the conversationalist for someone who the government pays to mop floors and dust shelves all day.”

You tense up, and suddenly, for a moment, a sense of sudden clarity and fear grips you. Is this an interrogation? Does Zeke Yeager think you’re a spy because you’re too chatty with the candidates? You knew this felt off, there’s no way that he’d invite you here just to ta-

“If I’m honest, I noticed you first because I was shocked that a pretty face like yours would be working scrubbing dirt. Didn’t put a name to said face until Colt started bringing you up almost just as often as his little brother. But I’m a good listener.”

He smiles, repeating your name with a soft smile as if testing out the sound of it.

“It’s a pretty name. Suits you. I try and keep things professional at the compound. Lots of eyes and ears. Granted there’s definitely a few in this place right now, but we don’t have to worry about them.”

You lift your head with a start, eyes scanning the bar, all a sea of patrons with worn clothes and grey armbands. None of them stand out as being particularly unique. None accept the man with the red around his arm seated across from you. He sticks out like a vibrant wine stain against white cotton, and though the patrons know better than to stare, you catch them sneaking “coincidental” glances his way. 

Their eyes rest on him, then flicker away to observe the much less interesting rest of the bar as if it’s merely chance that they managed to get caught looking.

You let your gaze wander over all the faces in the crowd, trying to see who he might be referring to. To see who could be watching. 

“Shit, could you be a little less obvious, sweetheart?”

The sudden affectionate name has your heart  flutter in your chest in a way you absolutely were not expecting, and as you turn your gaze back to him, an embarrassed flush creeping its way across your cheeks, you see his smirk grow. He’s smug, but you suppose he has all the reason in the world to be, with all his accomplishments.

Zeke, you thankfully come to realize as your conversation progresses, is not here to report you to the higher ups for something or another, nor does it seem that anyone in the bar is particularly interested in your chatter. 

You do, however, find that Zeke Yeager is not only a very powerful presence, but that he’s very handsome. It was something you didn’t particularly notice at the compound, mostly because you tried to avoid being in the way of your superiors in the warrior unit, but also because the stories you’d heard of the beast titan’s strength painted the man as a brute. 

Instead, you find yourself enthralled by him. He has beautiful hair, and his beard is kept very nicely trimmed. The way his grey eyes light up when he learns you two share a similar taste in novels has your breath catching in your throat. 

You list off your recent reads, only to find that he’s also read most everything on the list. He says he’s an avid reader, especially when they ship him out. It helps him keep his mind off of the fighting to think of smaller problems than wars.

“I couldn’t put it down.” 

You find yourself raving about your latest literary obsession. 

“The way the whole town just watched her descent into madness was so painful to read, but I wanted to know why they hated her in the first place so badly.”

You have long since finished your drink, but the conversation with Zeke ensures that you absolutely do not want any more. The last thing you want to do is slur your speech in a conversation about your shared interests, and especially not when those interests are shared by a very handsome man. 

“The reveal of how her daughter was framed had me glued to every word. And the ending!” He leans back in his seat, like he’s processing it all over again just speaking about it. 

“Lighting the whole town on fire… they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but reading about her walking through the burning streets…”

“Brilliant.”

His smile is captivating.

You remind yourself that this man is an honorary Marleyan, and you are just a regular Eldian who is lucky enough to have enough pocket change at the end of the month to even buy those novels. 

But for as much as Zeke insists that you are well known at the compound for being a great conversationalist, you find that the same compliments the Grice boys have paid to you apply tenfold to him. You don’t want to stop talking. 

When the bar closes, you don’t say your goodbyes and head home. Instead, you find yourself continuing your conversation in the streets of Liberio, walking the cobblestone roads at what must be at least two in the morning. Your conversation never has a single slow moment. 

You don’t think the slightly intimidated feeling you get while next to him will ever fully subside. He is, after all, much larger than you, and you feel dwarfed by him as you walk side by side, looking up at his handsome face. You’ve switched conversation topics through nearly a dozen different novels now, and your ideas bounce off one another perfectly. 

He mutters how your theory about a plot twist and it’s possible connection to the yet unreleased next book in the series might be one of the best ideas he’s heard, and his little smile while he does so is captivating. 

“You’d serve better as a critic than a cleaner, you know.” He says with a laugh. 

And you smile, because for a moment, by Zeke’s side, you almost forget it’s Liberio’s streets that you’re walking, and that you can’t hope to aim too high. All that exists for now is the two of you, and the words you share. 

As you walk under the lamplight through deserted streets, you take notice of the way he scratches his ear when he’s thinking, but more specifically your eyes fixate on his hands themselves. They’re big, and you purse your lips imagining how little your hands would be in his. He admittedly dresses like an old man, and while his wardrobe is nothing fancy, it doesn’t hide his impressive stature. 

His broad shoulders and military status imply an impressive body under the loose fitting coat he wears, and you feel like a repressed schoolgirl just looking at the exposed skin of his neck and how the muscles there tense when you bring up some narrative choice or another that you both didn’t enjoy. Your cheeks flush as you watch him take a drag of his cigarette, holding it between two thick fingers. 

He seems to take notice of your stares, but says nothing to discourage you. In return, you catch him eyeing you a few times too, but unlike you, he doesn’t get flustered when you notice him clearly staring. 

It’s still fairly chilly out, and your warm coat doesn’t do your body any favors, but that doesn’t stop his glances. 

When the two of you cross a bridge, you find yourself staring up at the moon and how it’s surface reflects on the wide river below. Zeke leans over the rail, taking yet another drag of his cigarette, and you cautiously reach out a hand to his. He makes no move to shift away from you as you lock your arm in his. 

You continue your walk like that, the feeling of closeness making you far more flustered than you should be. It’s only proper for a man to escort a lady by the hand when it’s so late. But you’re no lady, you’re a maid. And Zeke’s glances are growing far from proper, even as the topic remains firmly on literature. 

When he invites you up to his apartment to see his books, you both know you won’t be doing any actual reading. But you let him lead you through the streets and up countless flights of stairs regardless. 

He turns the key in the lock, and you enter, following his lead in kicking off your boots and hanging up your coat by a hook on the wall. You barely have time to take in how nicely furnished the home of an honorary Marleyan is before he has you pressed against the door, closing it shut with the weight of both of your bodies against it.

You gasp at the impact, and run your fingers through his soft blond locks as he presses his lips to yours in an open mouthed and greedy kiss. His lips are soft, and his breath is hot against you as he pulls away.

“Do you want to-?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You pull at his coat, hoping he’ll get the message, and he does. 

He shrugs it off, and then his lips are against yours again. Your touch traces down along his back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt until it comes untucked from his pants and you can slide your hands underneath it, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

He fumbles with the buttons of your own blouse, before tearing it off of your shoulders as he unfastens the last one, and you can hear his breath catch in his throat as his hands move to touch you. 

His mouth parts from yours to get an eyeful of your body, his fingers trace the edge of your bra, watching how your chest heaves against the constraints of the lacey garment with every breath. He groans, the sound guttural in his throat, and fuck, you need him. He brings his lips to your neck, kissing and biting his way down to your collarbone.

“Can we please get this thing off?” His thumbs hook at the straps of your bra. 

“Marley’s greatest warrior can’t figure out how to unhook a bra?” You smile as you reach for the clasps. 

“Bigger things on the mind right now, sweetheart.” His tongue runs against a spot at the base of your neck that his teeth just bit at, soothing the skin.

“Oh?” You drop your bra to the ground, and he is quick to grab a handful of your breasts, teasing lightly over your nipples. You moan as he slides his hands down your torso, stopping as he gets a handful of your ass, kneading at it with a grin. 

“You enjoying yourself there?”

He hums as he presses you further against him and lifts. You let out a startled whimper, your legs wrapping around his hips and hiking up your long skirt in the process. He lifts his head from your neck and looks down at you, hunger in his grey eyes. 

“Trying to figure out if I can even get you to the bedroom, or if I’m gonna have to fuck you right here against the wall.”

Zeke grinds his hips against yours, and through your soaked panties you can feel him strain against his trousers. He’s so horny it hurts, and he hisses at the little bit of contact, bucking against you. 

“Fuck, baby, need you to decide.”

“B-bed.” You wrap your arms tighter around him and wiggle your hips just enough to get more of that delicious friction. Zeke doesn’t have to be told twice as he carries you to his bedroom and practically throws you into his mattress. It’s soft as a cloud, and you feel yourself sink into it, pulling your skirt from your hips, letting it fall in a pool at the edge of the bed. 

Still situated at the side of Zeke’s massive king size bed, you spread your legs, your stockings and your panties all that’s left on you. You circle your clit through the fabric, and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, his eyes fixed on your clothed pussy like a hungry animal. He makes quick work of his own clothes, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stepping out of his trousers, stripping to his boxers. 

Your cheeks flush as you take in the sight of his bare chest. He’s toned in the way only a warrior could be, and there’s a small dusting of blonde hair that trails from his bellybutton to somewhere below his waistband. He towers over you, imposing and arousing at the same time. He looks like a marble statue, beautiful and powerful and perfect. You can see the outline of his bulge against the grey fabric of his underclothes, and he palms himself lazily, his eyes clouded with lust behind his glasses. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

You scoff. “Could say the same thing to you.”

He smirks, and you want nothing more than to kiss him. For a moment it looks like he’s about to do just that. Instead, he sinks to his knees between your legs.

“What are you-?”

“Gotta get you ready for me first, babygirl.” He says, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down, letting you kick them off your legs. 

“Are you joking? I’m already soaking, you don’t-“

You’re cut off by the feeling of his hot breath against you.

He runs his fingers against your folds, and you bite your lip before he shoves two thick fingers inside. The noises you make as he hooks them inside you have him painfully hard and straining against his boxers, but he knows what he wants. He pulls his fingers from you, earning him a whimper.

“Fine. I can be transparent here.” He groans as he kisses at your inner thigh. “Just wanna bury my face in your cunt, nothing else to it.”

You whimper as his lips circle your clit, the burn of his beard between your thighs coupled with the feeling of his hot breath against you has him having to hold your hips in place to keep your squirming down.

“Z-Zeke, I-”

“Hm?” He releases your clit from his lips but licks slow stripes up between your folds now. 

“Too much.”

He teases the tip of his tongue against your hole, his moans the only response. You feel his grip on your hips tighten as he pushes it inside of you. His mouth works against you, making you grind against his face. 

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good…”

He’s a madman as he devours your cunt, and you have full confidence that Zeke could make you cum with just his tongue. Instead, he opts to do otherwise, spurred on by the delicious sounds you’re making. You cry out as he circles his lips back around your clit and plunges two thick fingers inside of you. 

You can barely think as he curls them into you, fucking his fingers into your weeping cunt while his tongue laps at your clit. 

“I’m- I can’t-”

“You can.” He adds a third finger, and the stretch is so food, so filling, as he watches you fall apart. “Good girl, my pretty little slut, come on.” 

His tongue never ceases for long, even as he speaks. “Come for me.”

You’re falling apart under his touch, cries and moans spilling out of your mouth as you cum into his. You clamp your thighs down around his head as he keeps fucking his fingers into you, running his tongue desperately against your little bud as you writhe beneath him, only stopping when he feels he’s had his fill of your taste. 

He lifts himself up and pushes you further into the bed, letting your head rest on the pillows as he leans on his side next to you.

“You’re a quiet little thing whenever I pass you in the compound. Never knew you could be that loud.”

You’re panting, still coming down from your orgasm.

“Never been fucked in the compound.”

“We can change that.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine. “Can we start with here first?”

His beard is wet with your slick as he grips your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan as you tug at the waistband of his boxers. 

You remove your lips from his to look down at the shape of him, still straining against the fabric. 

“Zeke, please…”

He sits up on his knees at the end of the bed, hovering over you, thumbs toying at the elastic. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

Your little nod is all he needs, pulling his boxers off. You watch as his hard cock springs free of confinement and slaps itself against his stomach. It’s big, and you’re practically drooling at the sight. He crawls over you, lining himself up with your hole, rubbing the tip over your clit. He smirks, watching how you whine and writhe at his teasing. 

“You have to beg for it, sweetheart. Let me know how much you want it.”

He fists his cock, leaking precum all over your slit as he drags the head up and down your folds. 

“Fuck, Zeke, please fuck me. Need you so bad, just please...”

He grips your hips hard, lines himself up with your hole, and bottoms out in one quick thrust. 

You moan and he curses under his breath. It’s so much, all at once. The stretch is much more than his fingers prepared you for, and it’s overwhelming, even with how wet you are. It’s a little painful, but it hurts so good. 

“F-fuck, move, fuck me, please. Please, please, please, please.”

He pants into your shoulder as he follows your request. Zeke grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head, kissing and sucking at your neck, leaving little purple marks. 

“So pretty like this, letting me fill you up so good. Gonna leave my mark everywhere I can on you. You gonna come to work with your neck all marked up from me? Huh?”

You pant and grind your hips against his as he pistons in and out of you. “Y-yes.”

“Gonna advertise to every soldier there that you’re mine? My little whore? You like being fucked like this?” He pulls back out all the way, only to thrust back in at just the right angle that has you seeing stars.

“Yes!”

“You know how long I’ve thought about this? Wanted to just p-pull you into a supply closet and fuck you til you forgot your own name, ‘cuz hell, I didn’t even know it back then, but now…”

He traces his hand down to your clit, and starts to rub circles against it.

“You’re perfect, you know that? F-Fuck... Perfect for me. Fit me so good, god, you’re so tight.”

“Zeke, s’too good, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too. Come for me, it’s ok.”

He captures your lips in a hungry kiss, and the closeness is not enough and too much all at once. You can’t tell where he begins and you end and suddenly your orgasm is washing over you in waves as you scream his name. Your arms struggle against his grip and he relents as you cream around his cock. You grab at his back, nails sinking hard into the skin, and you swear he’s letting off steam as your fingers scratch down his back in ecstasy. 

Zeke fucks you through it, thumb still playing with your clit as he hammers into you, hips snapping against yours at a rhythm much less even than before.

“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful with my name on your lips and my cock in your cunt.”

You whine, still barely coherent and too fuckdrunk to think as he pounds you hard enough to make the bedframe creak and the headboard slam against the wall. 

“G-good girl, you like being a good little-fuck- good little cocksleeve for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck.” 

You’re so overstimulated it hurts. He keeps hitting just the right spot, and while he’s still toying with your sensitive nub, you can tell he can barely hold his focus. He removes his fingers from you and buries his head in your shoulder. His beard is rough against your skin as he lets out a few last thrusts into your cunt, his grip on your hips enough to bruise. 

Zeke pulls out and fists himself a few more times, panting before he empties his load on top of you, white ropes of cum shooting out of him as he finishes onto your stomach. Zeke collapses, panting, by your side. He pulls you against him and kisses the top of your head.

You practically purr at the affectionate gesture, and lean into his touch. 

He sighs, removes his glasses, and carefully places them on the bedside table, relaxing into the comfort of the bed. 

His eyes are closed, and as you snuggle closer to him, you can feel his heartbeat slowly start to return to normal along with your own. 

“I think now’s the time I should ask where your bathroom is so I can clean off?” You breathe out, tracing figure eights lazily against the muscles of his chest. 

He lets out a tired laugh. “You’re not at work. No cleaning right now. You can afford to be a little messy for a while.”

You hum, unwilling to admit you’re fine either way. You guiltily realize you enjoy the feeling of his cum on your skin, and, instead of admitting that embarrassing thought, you kiss him again. 

You whisper against his jaw. “I should go home soon, just-”

He claims your lips in his again to shut you up. “Stay.”

You lay by his side on the same pillow, faces inches from eachother. 

That night, you stay. You fall asleep in his arms, and everything somehow feels right. He feels right. 

You hate going home to your shitty apartment after that. And Zeke hates seeing you go. 

Every week you repeat it all like routine. 

Zeke is always there at the pub. You always end up in an endless conversation before following him home, and leaving the next morning to prepare for your afternoon shift. 

It only takes one month of this torture for him to ask you to move in.

“Would make it easier. Better than me pretending it’s a coincidence I’m there almost every time you have a day off.” He mutters into your shoulder, as he holds you close. 

It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made. 

You laugh at how his beard tickles your skin, pressing yourself further into him, to which he responds by wrapping an arm around you tighter and smiling that smug grin against your skin as you card your fingers through his blond locks and whisper “I figured it wasn’t a coincidence by the third time it happened.”

He kisses you, and cradles your cheek in the palm of his hand. For what feels like the hundredth and the first time, you drift off to sleep in his arms.

You never return to your old apartment, even to grab your things. Zeke has the same books as you, and his bed always was nicer. He buys you much better clothes to make up for what little loss of wardrobe you went through. 

You can’t aim too high in Liberio. But with him, you feel like you’ve started over on a clean slate. 

And for a time, though you never put a name on it, Zeke Yeager is yours.

[oldwoods233]

Slice of life (01)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)

Relationships: Rick Grimes/Shane Walsh

Daryl Dixon/Glenn Rhee

Characters: Rick Grimes, Shane Walsh, Judith Grimes, Carl, Lori, Carol Peletier, Sophia Peletier, Glenn Rhee, Daryl Dixon

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse

Happy Family, Kid Judith Grimes, Judith Grimes has two fathers

Summary: Rick Grimes and his husband Shane Walsh raise their daughter Judith together. As the growth of the daughter, they are face some problems.

Notes: Today, I translated it into English. I originally posted it in AO3 in 2021. I hope you can enjoy it. A few chapters will be updated later.

Chapter 1

Judith sat on the child seat of the back row, intending to say nothing, staring at the tiptoe. She didn’t sing let it go on the way home like before. The silence made Shane feel strange as sitting in the driver’s seat. He asked, “Why you don’t sing today, sweet?”

She wiggled, “I don’t want to do it.”

“Is something made you unhappy? You can talk to daddy.” Shane expected his daughter to share her worries with him to strengthen the bond between father and daughter.

Judith chose not to talk with him, starting to look outside through the window at some blurred things. Shane knew her, so stopping talking anymore and digesting it by himself.

Rick stayed home to make dinner, putting the child’s tableware on the wooded table. He can’t bear the tablecloth, changing it during this time. He prepared the orange juice for his daughter and opened a bottle of beer for his husband. After a short time of thinking, he opened a bottle of beer for himself. The dinner was spaghetti with tomato sauce and meat sauce. To avoid making the same food daily, he made a form to stick it with a magnet on the fridge. He didn’t have much time to make sweets today, so he bought a slice of cherry pie in the diner. He just cut a little piece of it for her daughter because it was too sweet for her.

Judith wrinkled up her face to walk into the home. Rick smiled at her as they met, but he faced this difficulty simultaneously. He bent down to her, trying to find out what had happened. As Shane shut the door, he saw Shane, hoping to find something in the face.

She clutched Rick into her chest. The move broke Shane’s heart. Rick let his daughter leaning on his shoulder, listening to her sobbing.

He glanced at Shane, finding out the disappointment in his husband’s face. Shane didn’t want to stay here but rejecting by Rick with the signature.

Shane dragged his hair on the back of the head, staying beside Rick.

He shook Judith in a slight move, starting to ask, “What happened?”

She shook her head, “Carl has a new friend. His name is Edward. I don’t like him.”

“You can make more friends. Last time you told me about Sophia, the little blonde girl, you can invite her to our home. Daddy and I are both welcome her.”

“It’s different. Carl is a boy.”

Rick seemed to understand something, “You can meet more boys. They are a lot in the class. Although different classes, you can still make some friends. Daddy and I were in the different classes, but we still stay friends.” He lied, but it was a white lie.

She looked up, turning her body to the back to see her daddy. Shane took some tissues on the table for her, squatting down to wipe her tears. “Dad was right. We met each other in playing baseball. Go sporting, sweet, and you’ll meet more boys.” Shane said. Then, he kissed her cheeks. He didn’t kiss Rick, saying, “we have to eat dinner. Let’s see what dad made.”

Dinner went well except for the silent one who became Shane. Rick realized that.

As they washed up the dishes in the kitchen, Rick tried to tell some jokes but failed. Rick asked until Shane finished and wiped the hands with a clean cloth. “Are you okay, my husband?” He wrapped his arms around Shane, perking the other’s cheeks and jaw.

“Nothing.” Shane turned his head in the other’s direction, gazing at the distant point on the wall.

He nodded, loosening his grip. Shane said instantly. “Shit, I finally knew why Judith started to talk with you as she hugged you. You don’t know, I found something happened as I picked her up from school, but she didn’t want to talk with me.” Shane touched Rick’s face with a wet hand, “I want to hug you too. Hug me one more time.”

He smiled and hugged the other again, feeling the weight of his husband’s leaning.

[slashedthroughtheheart]

A night with the trapper

Hey hey, I’m cross posting on here from my Ao3 account! Hoping to build up a writing blog once again after The 2018 Incident happened and I lost my other one for overwatch.

This time, I’ve delved into the slasher fandom after picking up Dead by Daylight! This is just some good nice fun with Evan, focused on his pleasure! Enjoy!

He'd been so considerate of your needs when you approached him tentatively.

He'd just returned from a trial and was in the middle of cleaning the grime off of his hands and arms when you gingerly pulled on the side of his overalls, looking up at him with those big doe eyes he loved to see.

Barely above a whisper, the words left your lips in a rush. "Would you let me touch you?"

The words themselves weren't dirty, but the look you gave through those eyelashes of yours, a flush dusting your cheeks and the slight pout of your lower lip lent a lewd meaning behind the words.

He hadn't even taken his mask off yet, but the candlelight in his workshop was just enough to give you a glimpse of the smug grin that donned his features.

Turning back to washing himself, he let you stew in your emotions for a bit before his voice filled the room. "Lemme get this right, doll. You wanna touch me...intimately?" Despite the words being a question, it sounded more like a pleasantly cocky statement. The low hum of his voice made you shiver, his knowing and almost teasing tone had the blush spreading further on your face.

The slight turn of his head was what prompted a meek but determined nod. You'd wanted this for a long time, and even if it was embarrassing having to ask like this, you knew you wouldn't get a chance to act it out unless you did.

Any time you'd been with him, it was always him on top of you, all around you, baring down on you like he was a hunter and you were the prey he'd caught.

And while you'd been enjoying that, you couldn't deny you wanted more. Something different.

You'd been so scared of everything at first, the pain from being hooked and sacrificed in trials was maddening. You barely talked to the other survivors for the first week, completely thrown through a loop and reeling from the shift in your new normal.

They'd tried to reach out, to be comforting and welcoming, but you had resisted. The fear gripping your heart at all times very real and palpable.

What if the killers came to find you after the trial too? What if the time you weren't being forced to fix gens and run for your life were also plagued by the terrifying monsters that hunted you in the trials?

No soothing from any of the other survivors helped. They feared you'd break before too long had passed, having seen it before in the ones that stopped appearing after they broke fully.

It was the leader, Dwight, who had tried one last ditch effort.

While the killers didn't hang around with any survivors often, it wasn't unheard of for companionable time to be spent together outside of the trials. Some were easier to approach than others, like Bubba. He didn't do much talking, but he was always happy to see anyone and would listen to people talk for as long as they wanted.

So Dwight had gone to their leaders domain, skittishly asking if one of the killers could show the newbie some kindness outside of the trials so they'd stop spiraling out. So she wouldn't be taken like some of the others had been.

Evan had stoically listened as the survivors leader talked about that new girl who'd been so very afraid during every trial he'd seen her in. She'd fueled all the killers instincts very well, looking so picture perfect with the fear readable in her eyes. Such big eyes that always had tears just threatening to fall, or falling already.

It had probably led to a bit more brutality than usual.

He remembered you, shaking like a leaf looking like you were about to wet yourself. Your hand over your heart as you stood like a deer in the headlights when he caught sight of you.

Then you turned tail and ran, your panting had excited him. It had been a while since they'd gotten someone new to chase.

You'd managed to outfox him that trial though, your fear keeping you from most of the generators so he never caught sight of you a second time after he lost you when someone blinded him with a flashlight. The other survivors worked double time to make up for the teammate they lacked, and since he'd been so fixated on finding you again, he'd mostly left them alone unless they got just a bit too close.

He hadn't managed to hook anyone that match, having been too focused on finding that doe-eyed survivor again and hearing them scream.

So he fully understood that maybe the welcoming had been rather hard for you. "What's 'er name?"

The skittish leader seemed to let out a breath he'd been holding in, worried that the Trapper wouldn't entertain the idea of trying to calm the newbie down.

"Y/n. She's real spooked, by everything." The almost derisive laugh that came from Evan at that moment startled Dwight.

"If you're saying that, she must really be a fraidy cat then." The grin on his face was visible through the opening of his masks own garish smile.

Dwight had the smarts to not say anything more to that, but his head dipped down as his ears tinged pink with embarrassment.

"So... will you have someone come out and say hi to her? Let her know we aren't ever hurt outside of trials? She won't listen to us about it." He was rubbing at the back of his neck now, willing the blush he could feel under his fingers to go away.

Evan's arms crossed, seemingly contemplating his response before he gave a single nod. "'spose we can't have the little thing losing it. Sure, I'll come say hi to her. Might be best it's from me anyways, never have managed to catch her in trials. She's never even stepped in my traps either."

He had already started moving to leave his home, lumbering through the trees with Dwight having to jog to keep up with his pace.

"R-really? You've never caught her?" the tone was awed disbelief. He knew how many trials they all went through each day, she'd had to have faced the Trapper at least 4 or 5 times by now, and to have never even stepped in a trap was quite the feat.

A grunt preceded a small hum. "M'nope. She's a small one, slips right through everything. Not particularly fast, but she's real sneaky. You haven't noticed that?"

The rest of the walk from his realm and to the camp was filled with little questions from both of them about the girl. How many times had the Trapper caught sight of her in a trial? How did she spend her time around the fire? Did they know anything other than her name?

Upon arriving, Evan wasn't surprised that she nearly bolted upon seeing him, but Claudette and Feng had each been by her side and gently held her in place.

"He's not here to hurt us. They never are when they come here. We're safe outside the trials." Claudette's hushed voice reached his ears, and he gave a slow nod.

He stopped a good distance from them, knowing his sheer size would be intimidating on it's own, but him being one of the killers made it that much scarier for the poor girl.

"Hey there, little fox. I ain't here to hurtcha, promise. I heard from our good buddy Dwight here you were having a hard time adjusting to life in the entity's realm." He kept his arms down, trying to appear as non-threatening as a metal-bedecked behemoth like him could.

While he enjoyed the chase in trials, he understood that outside of trials it was a grave mistake to hurt the survivors. Every killer learned that the hard way through punishment, and the survivor or survivors hurt would be given a reprieve for a day or two from doing trials.

His gaze swept over the group, taking in their little camp they'd eked out in the forest.

"Y'all mind if I...?" he made a gesture towards the fire and one of the logs that had been dragged near it.

It was Ace who spoke up next. "Go for it, big guy." He was the one sitting on the other end after all.

He nodded to him, wandering over slowly to take a seat and lean forward, resting his arms against his knees. "It really ain't that bad outside the trials. Y'all stay around here until you're called next, and we stay in our realms until called." He wondered if anyone had bothered explaining that to her, as she sat there still held to her seat by the girls on either side.

The fear had lessened a little in her face, but not much. She didn't look like she'd fight to get up and run anymore at least.

"Does that make sense, little fox?" his head tilted ever so slightly as he looked at her from across the fire.

She looked unsure, fear still gripping her limbs, before a very slight nod that he would have missed if he blinked.

He sat back up a bit, no leaning as far forward. "Good. We all want to work so as to not displease the entity. And hurting y'all outside of the trial displeases the entity. So it's in our best interests too that we leave you unharmed."

This bit of information seemed to be the thing that had her relax the most, the white knuckle grip of her hands lessening as she blinked owlishly at him.

If he hadn't been listening intently and looking right at her, he might've missed her whispered "Really?"

He chuckled, leaning to one side, resting his weight on his good arm. "'course. The entity is all about rules. Do this, don't do that. And one of those rules is no harm outside of trials. You think being sacrificed to it hurts? Punishment for disobeying is much worse." He kept his tone light, easy going.

At the mention of punishment, he saw her shoulders tense again. "Now don't go worrying that pretty little head a yours. Only people who've ever been punished is us killers. Y'all can't really do anything to displease the entity, considerin' your position." Another light laugh left him as he settled in to chat the night away.

Over the course of the night, she'd slowly warmed up to those around her, and to the big man who eventually introduced himself as Evan to the group. It had been when Dwight had referred to him as the Trapper, and he waved a hand. "That ain't my name, at least not outta the trials. 'm Evan, nice to meetcha little fox." He'd smirked a bit, that long dormant charm from his past life peeking through.

After that night spent around the fire, more of the survivors sought out forging friendships with some of the killers outside of the trials. If they had to mutually please the entity, then maybe they could find some understanding with one another.

So that's how simply trying to assuage one new survivors fears led to basically all of the killers and survivors having a much more easy going time outside of the trials.

It had been quite some time since then, and that initial bond between Evan and you had been the strongest. While you had sought out others, namely Sally and Bubba since they were genuinely really sweet outside of the trials, you stuck by Evan the most.

And as time went on, feelings blossomed. You'd taken a shine to him and his slightly dated charm. He liked to use names he knew would fluster you, calling you doll and sweet cheeks and the one time he'd said sweetheart had truly been your undoing.

The silence after he'd said it had made him worry maybe he had taken his teasing too far, and that you'd turn away from him.

Imagine his surprise when the next thing out of your mouth was "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

He'd been stunned silent by it, causing you to go through your own mortification, your hands coming up to wave in front of you quickly, trying to literally brush away the question you'd ask while verbally stumbling over yourself "I-I-I...nevermind!!" the squeaky tone your voice had taken on pulled a hearty chuckle from him.

He rested his hand on your shoulder, dwarfing you in size and reminding you just how much bigger and stronger than you he was. He leaned down just a bit, looking right into your eyes, seeing just how flustered you'd gotten by the hue of your face.

"I think you're damn beautiful, y/n." He was hoping he'd read your body language right, and that that question had been because you were as interested in him as he had been with you.

The little face you'd made after that, your lips forming the tiniest 'oh' as he loomed over you. He read no fear in your posture, but even while closely observing you, he'd never thought that the timid little fox of a survivor would ever have the gumption to lean into him, resting their hand so gently against his chest while they gazed up at him.

That had been the turning point in their relationship, and he had barely been able to keep his hands off ever since.

Something in your face now reminded him of that first time. Reminded him that you really did want him.

He let the rag he'd been wiping himself off with drop into the basin, turning to face you fully.

"Mmmm, well little fox, what'd you have in mind then?" his grin had turned almost wicked as his now clean hands reached forward to graze the bare skin on your arms.

The little breath you'd been holding didn't go unnoticed by him. You must've been waiting a while to ask him, working up your courage.

Instead of speaking, you pulled on his hand you'd taken with yours, leading him towards his bed.

Amusement flooded him, enjoying the sight of you turning to pull at his overalls with a pleading look at him. "Take these off, please." Even when you were in charge, you were so adorable to him. The politeness of your request had him huffing out a soft laugh while he undid the clasps, letting it fall to the floor and kicked it off and away.

"How d'you want me, doll?" The lascivious smile had your skin heating up once again, but a pleasant thrum was going through your body now. Excitement that he was going along with what you wanted.

"S-sit on the edge of the bed. No, not like that, further out. Yea, now just.. hold on." You had him sit on the bed, and had him readjust until just his backside was on the bed and his legs spread just enough to help him keep balance and for you to fit between them while standing.

He was gazing at your face, hand coming up to remove his mask while he watched you shuffle around, disrobing quickly and then kneeling between his legs, hands gingerly resting on his knees.

A single brow quirked up. "This is what you've been wanting all this time, little fox?" He couldn't deny the sight of you licking your lips for a moment before leaning forward to place yourself fully between his legs didn't do something for him, but he was a bit surprised that this is what you'd been wanting.

You gave such a cute little nod, determination on your face. You didn't want to be denied this now that you were so close to getting what you wanted.

He hummed out, hand finding itself on the side of your face, cradling your whole head tenderly. "Well, I ain't gonna stop you, but just hold on a moment." He leaned back, reaching for something behind him before leaning forward again with one of the pillows in his hands. "Here, get up just a moment and use this. The floor ain't exactly soft. Don't want ya hurting yourself sweetheart."

You melted at his thoughtfulness and the use of one of the more tender pet names he liked to call you.

Obediently you stood so he could put the pillow down to cushion your knees, hands held together in front of you while you waited for him to lean back up again.

Once he was satisfied with it's placement, he sat up, spreading his knees wide enough for you to slip between them comfortably.

He enjoyed the sight of you gracefully kneeling so close, your hands on either thigh, looking up at him with adoration and anticipation. It wasn't something he ever thought he'd get to see.

"Look at you, little fox. You look ready to downright devour me." The lazy grin that followed had your own slight smirk appearing.

A giddy bit of delight lit you up when you noticed him hungrily staring while you licked your lips once more, hands sliding up his thigh to brush against his half hard member laying against his stomach.

The texture had you marveling at the silky smooth feel as you barely caressed it with your fingertips, a reverent look on your face as you now devoted all your attention to the rapidly hardening cock just in front of your face.

He gave a very low murmur of praise, barely breathing out a low rumble of "That feels nice, doll." as he fought the urge to let his head hang back. He wanted to watch you, see just what you had planned for him, how far you would go.

He stared, eyes fixated on your lips as you leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss at the underside of the tip, staying still for a moment, eyes closed in what appeared to be pure bliss to him. You caught him off guard when you slipped your tongue out to give a little kitten lick to the tip, sliding up to his slit and getting the barest hint of a taste of salt mixed with his musk.

The groan that slipped from him at that as his eyes clenched shut for half a moment before opening again and searching your face for any idea at what you were going to do next.

He was half worried you were just going to drag out this torturously slow pace since you had barely gripped him enough to bring the tip closer to your mouth.

His half-lidded gaze met your own as you planted another kiss directly to his head this time, a shuddering breath when you stuck your tongue out to lick a slow stripe from tip down the side to his base, leaving a small trail of wetness behind.

At least he didn't have to worry about teasing it seemed.

When you nuzzled against his balls his breath hitched, hands tightening in the blanket underneath him.

He was too enthralled to speak at this point, waiting for whatever you wanted to give him.

You gave each testicle their own little kiss, all while making hungry eye contact with him, hand slowly, languidly pumping his now pulsing member.

He gripped tighter when you licked a stripe back up to the tip, flicking it at the end and enjoying the rumbling almost growl that left him.

He lost the battle with keeping his head up and eyes open when you finally slipped the head of his cock past those perfect lips of yours, tongue swirling slowly around, getting it nice and wet before slowly pushing your head down, never breaking what would be eye contact once he pulled his head back up and opened his eyes.

He drew in a sharp breath as he felt you sinking him into your mouth, head almost spinning from the sensation after you had so expertly teased him before.

He snapped his eyes back open when he felt you keep going, taking more than half of his length already and showing no signs of stopping.

He leaned back up a bit, finally seeing the heated look you had on your face, your mouth almost painfully stretched on his girth.

You rewarded his gaze with a low moan, the vibrations making him almost lose his cool and buck his hips, but he just barely held back, the strain showing in every muscle of his suddenly flexing to keep him in place.

His left hand left the crumpled blanket, finding its way to the side of your face and gently pushing a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. He ghosted his hand over the side of your head, almost petting you as he watched you keep taking him in, inch by inch.

He almost closed his eyes again when he felt your throat flex momentarily as you swallowed around more than two thirds of his length. He just barely managed to keep watching, completely at your mercy and you pushed yourself those last few bits to nestle your nose against the short bush of pubic hair he had.

A low, throaty "Fuck, you're so good baby." left his mouth, hand now making full contact with the side of your face and partly into your hair, just holding your face, not pushing you down.

His whole body was trembling just a bit, the effort he was exerting so he didn't buck his hips and potentially hurt you was enormous. The choked sound that left him when you swallowed around his whole length this time was plenty reward for you, well worth the burning in your lungs and threaten of tears pricking at your eyes.

You slowly pulled back until just his tip was in your mouth, hand coming back up from where it had moved to his thigh to steady yourself, wrapping around the base and slowly pumping up to the tip and back down to the base.

The room filled with the sound of you working him with your mouth and hands, tongue always rolling up to work the underside of his cock, leaving him to let out low groans every once in a while while you felt him twitch in your mouth and hands.

He was enjoying the attention, basking in you touch and how focused you seemed on his pleasure.

During a particularly quick press of your mouth down his length, he lost a bit of control and pressed your head into his crotch, feeling your throat tighten instinctively around him had him grunting and hips flexing as he gave the shallowest of thrusts.

He had barely gritted out a "Sorry, sweetheart" before he registered the absolutely lewd moan you'd let out at his actions, mouth still full of his length.

He didn't know what he'd done to deserve you, but he was thanking every star he had, lucky or not.

A breathless "Y'like that, doll?" left him, sounding more confused than anything else.

He watched closely as you pulled up and off him, a bit breathless yourself as you nodded eagerly and almost whimpered out a "Yes, daddy."

He hadn't ever heard you call him that before, but the look you had on your face and the way you had sounded did wonders in spurring him on.

A lazy grin split his face, head tilting ever so slightly as his grip became very present on your head, guiding you back to the tip as he coaxed you to take him back into your mouth.

"Mmmmm, yea. Just like that little fox. Take it all in again, do it for daddy." It rolled off his tongue easier than he expected it to, feeling at home in the situation.

And the high pitched moan as you pressed your face right up against his pelvis with his entire length inside your mouth was definitely a worthwhile bonus.

He watched as you almost went cross-eyed with pleasure, feeling your tongue do what little it could while he was fully seated inside.

He tugged gently at your hair, bringing you back up for a breath before pushing your head back down, gently guiding you to fuck your mouth on his length.

Honestly, he couldn't believe that this was something you were getting off to, but he was happy to oblige you. Watching his thick cock pump in and out of your swollen lips while you looked like you were in heaven was quite the sight.

You hadn't even gagged once, or caught him with your teeth. It's almost like you'd been carefully practicing taking something as thick as he was, but he'd never caught you doing anything naughty on your own. You'd always come to him when you were feeling needy, and he'd happily pinned you under him, giving you the pounding of a lifetime every time.

Maybe this slower pace was what had you so over the moon. He'd have to try that out later, pay more attention to what had you crying out for him. After all, it was the least he could do after everything that was going on right now.

Even though it hadn't been very long since you'd started, barely 10 minutes, he was nearing his climax. There was just something about the plush heat of your mouth and the noises you were making and the sheer intimacy you two were sharing that was already pushing him to the edge.

"God, baby. Just like that. Mmmm, yea, you feel so good on daddy's cock. You're such a good girl, y'know that?" His heated gaze watched as you almost unraveled on his cock from his praise, delighting in the whines that left you as you desperately pressed more and more of him into your mouth, taking control of the pace once more, quickening it in your own excitement.

Another low groan left him, his legs flexing hard as he felt the last of his self restraint slip away, seeing stars behind his eyes as they squeezed shut, a growled out "Fuck yea, baby girl, just like that, right... right there, oh FUCK" as the first jerk of his cock and rope of cum filled your mouth and had you whimpering and greedily hollowing your cheeks around his tip, milking him for all he had.

He let out a prolonged moan as you kept sucking softly through his whole orgasm. His hips bucked once, twice, then he was pulled at your hair just slightly to get you to pop off his sensitive head, his breathing jagged as he barely managed to keep his eyes on you to savor the sight of you pulling off of him, face flushed from a mix of lack of air and desire, with his seed still staining your tongue before you closed your mouth for a moment, and he saw your throat move with the swallow.

"Fuck that's hot, y/n." His hand came down to cradle your face in his palm once more, thumb swiping over your cheek once before he leaned forward and down to press a soft kiss against the crown of your head.

When he pulled back to look at you, there was fondness in all his features, a genuine smile on his face for once. "I think I oughta return the favor, since you were such a good girl for daddy." And with that, his smile had turned devious, his hands moving from your face to under your arms and lifting you into his lap, pressing a hungry kiss against your mouth before trailing to your jaw as he laid back with you straddling his hips.

The cheeky grin you were met with when he lifted you easily, dragging you up his torso until you were sitting on his chest.

"Mmm... you know, you left a nice little wet trail all along me, babydoll. Did doing that to me get you that excited?"

You were too turned on to truly feel embarrassed by his words, merely rubbing yourself against the broad expanse of his chest, letting out a loud mewl at finally getting some friction on your sensitive clit after being left for so long without attention.

He let out his own moan at the feeling of your slick leaving a smear across his pecs, excited at just how wet you had gotten from servicing him.

"Well, looks like someone's having a good time." The mirth in his voice was lost on you as you moaned from the vibrations they sent out.

"You poor thing, here. Let daddy take care of you, little fox. I know just what you need." he shifted you one last time, his brute strength sending the butterflies alight in your stomach and he move your thigh to either side of his shoulders, sitting you right on his mouth as that devilishly sharp tongue went to work right away at your most intimate parts.

Now that he knew this was something the both of you liked, he'd be taking advantage of this information any chance he got. After all, you really were such a good girl for your daddy, you deserved to be rewarded~.

[jodiereedus22]

Mirage

A/N: Here I am, posting! I don't even want to know how long its been since I posted anything, I am so sorry, motivati9on has been hard to com by. but I have a piece for you now! thank you @crossbowking for the amazing support and I want to thank @fxlminare she got me motivated to do this piece, she is amazing!!!! 

I hope you enjoy!!! <3

Word Count: 2165

You awoke suddenly to the sound of your alarm going off, you rubbed your tired eyes as you rolled over to switch it off.

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling, for some reason you were confused, and you didn’t know why - maybe you had a dream last night and couldn't remember it.

You shrugged it off, turning your head to the side, seeing a soundly sleeping Daryl. His chest rising and falling gently, his hair draped over his face making his closed eyes hard to see, you smiled to yourself, the alarm clock had always been for you, Daryl could sleep through anything.

You gently got out of bed, putting on a robe and headed downstairs, you had a lot to get ready for today – but first, it was time to get breakfast started.

You started with the bacon, then some eggs, then got started on the pancake batter when you heard footsteps behind you and suddenly a pair of hands wrapped around your waist, placing kisses on your neck.

“Hmm, somethin’ smells good,” Daryl said in a sleepy gruff voice, you groaned as he kissed your neck some more, holding you more tightly.

“Why did I wake up to a cold bed?” Daryl asked, whispering in your ear as you tried to concentrate on cooking the breakfast.

“Well someone has to get up around here, or nothing would get done,” you joked, laughing as Daryl went over the top kissing you more.

“Eww, that’s gross!”

“Do you have to do that over breakfast?” Your son said as he and your daughter walk into the kitchen.

“Lucas, Mia, you want us to stop? Go set the table,” you bribed your kids as you laughed, and Daryl let go of you to help.

You finished cooking the breakfast and served it up. Sitting and eating, laughing with your family.

You took a moment to look at your families smiling faces, realising how lucky you were to have such a perfect family.

As everyone finished up their food you got to cleaning as everyone else went to go get ready, giving your children kisses as they headed up the stairs.

Daryl came down first, dressed in a blue button-down shirt that hugged his broad shoulders, black jeans and nice black shoes.

“Looking good Mr Dixon,” you admired, your eyes travelling up and down his body as you bit your lip in approval.

Even after all his time and 2 children together, Daryl getting embarrassed was always the sweetest and endearing thing, as he looked at you with a blush upon his cheeks.

You walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek.

“I'm gonna get ready. Will you get everything into the car? Everything is in the fridge.”

Just then Mia and Lucas came bounding down the stairs.

“Well look at you both, all dressed up and clean,” you smiled walking up to them, placing a kiss on both their foreheads.

“Can you both help daddy put everything in the car while mummy gets ready please?” you asked as they got to helping Daryl load the car.

You headed to your room to get ready, you put on a simple floral dress that landed just above your knees, you put on some flat sandals knowing you were going to have to play with the kids at some point. You put on some simple light makeup, knowing anymore would make you melt in the Georgian heat.

Coming down the stairs you could see the hustle and bustle of everyone getting everything in the car, popping in and out of the house, picking up random items to pack into the car when Daryl stopped dead in his tracks, staring directly at you.

Daryl stood there in silence, in awe at your beauty as a blush came across your cheeks at the look in his eyes.

“You look pretty mommy,” Mia exclaimed coming up to you, wrapping her arms around your middle giving you a nice big hug.

“Thank you sweetheart,” you thanked her, hugging her back and leaning down to place a kiss on the top of her head.

“You really do Mrs Dixon,” Daryl walked towards you, the same look of awe in his eyes as he took you into his arms. You placed your arms around his neck, your hands playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, smiling and staring back into his beautiful Georgian blue eyes.

“Oh really?” you teased.

“Really,” Daryl leaned down and captured your lips with his, closing your eyes, getting lost in his kiss, Daryl’s kisses, no matter the reason for them, were always perfect, they were a balm for your soul.

You got interrupted by Lucas making disgusted noises behind you.

You and Daryl looked at each other with smirks on your faces, finding your sons embarrassment amusing.

“Alright. Come on. Let’s get going?” you called out to everyone as you call clambered into the car.

The journey was short, sharing laughs and admiring the countryside, you were there in no time.

As soon as you stopped the kids jumped out of the car, heading to the garden where they could hear the other kids having fun, as you went to the trunk to grab all the food to take inside.

“Here, take this, give it to Rick,” you handed him a bottle of wine, knowing he was eager to see his best friend.

He took the bottle of wine, placing a kiss on your cheek as he made his way into the party.

You and Daryl had been friends with Rick Grimes for a very long time, and every year he hosted a BBQ for everyone with his wife Lori who was now pregnant, and their son Carl.

Carol always came with her daughter Sophia. Maggie and Glenn came with Maggie’s sister Beth and their father Hershel. T-Dog and Andrea also joined.

Everyone had a great time at these, everyone brought food and drink, some brought things for the kids to play with, it was a great catch-up session for adults and a fun time for the kids.

You made multiple trips from the car to the kitchen until everything you brought was set up. you then made your way outside to greet with everyone, finding Daryl with Rick you walked over to join them.

Standing next to Daryl he placed an arm around your waist as you looked around the party seeing your kids playing with Carl and Sophia, being so close in age, it was always lovely to see them having such fun together.

You did your rounds, catching up with everyone, having a laugh, sharing food, drinks and stories, enjoying yourself.

You thought to yourself how lucky you were to have such an amazing family in Daryl and your kids, but also an amazing extended family in everyone else who was at the party.

With the party in full swing, you went inside the house to grab some more food, looking out the window onto the beautiful fields and trees that surrounded Ricks house, when you saw a figure from afar, he was walking funny, like he was drunk. It filled you with a sense of dread, but you had no idea why when gunfire in the house drew your attention in panic.

Running in the house, you saw all the kids sitting on the couch.

“What are you doing? You asked, slightly panicked.

“Watching a movie,” Carl answered. You looked at the tv to see them watching some kind of zombie movie with guns going off every minute.

“Come on guys, its summer, go out and play,” you said with a sigh of relief, your dread dissipating slightly.

“You can watch it another day,” you said as you walked up the tv set and turned it off, herding the kids back outside to play.

But that man outside, stumbling around, still set you on edge.

You went back to the window to see where he was, but he was nowhere to be found, it's like he had just vanished in thin air, considering the space around Ricks house is fairly open.

You took a minute to pause, taking in a breath, you decided to shake it off and go back into the party and enjoy yourself.

So, you tried to do just that, you carried on your afternoon with everyone but in the back of your mind there was still this creeping feeling, it felt like you were being buried alive, the weight slowly getting heavier on your chest.

You tried to concentrate on the here and now and what was happening around you, knowing there was no rational reason for you to be feeling this way when Daryl calling your name pulled you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head from the group of people you had spaced out on, having a glance around the party trying to pinpoint Daryl, when you saw him talking to Carol.

You broke away from your little group and headed in Daryl's direction.

“Did you call me?” you asked Daryl as you reached him and Carol.

“No, why?” Daryl answered, causing you to furrow your brow.

“Ya a’right?” Daryl asked placing a hand on your arm in a gentle, loving way.

“Yh, I'm just … I’m,” you stuttered not knowing what to say, confused at the chain of events, confused at your feelings.

You started walking backwards away from Daryl when a wave of heat came over you, starting to make you panic.

You turned away from everyone for a minute, trying to catch your breath.

When you turned back around everyone was staring at you. Everyone was silent, no one said anything as they stood motionless, staring without blinking in a disturbing manner.

You then realised they weren’t wearing the same clothes, they were dirty, covered in blood, holding weapons. Rick looked as though he had a colt python, glancing over at Daryl as he held a crossbow.

The more you looked the more familiar it felt, but it still didn’t make any sense. It didn’t fit.

You tried to blink away the feeling, taking a second to close your eyes, steading yourself, but when you opened your eyes it was like nothing has happened and just like that the party went on, all back in their own clothes, no weapons in sight.

The confusion sent you dizzy, the colour drained from your face. What was happening?

“(Y/N) … (Y/N),” you heard Daryl calling out your name, but as you looked over to him, his lips weren’t moving.

“(Y/N), (Y/N)! Wake up!” you heard Daryl again when a huge wave of dizziness came over you as you stumbled backwards.

Your body started falling to the floor, but you never felt yourself meet the floor instead you found yourself sitting up, gasping for breath in a bed that you recognised and a face you recognised as Daryl's, but you weren’t in a lovely clean, bright house.

You were in the prison, you remember now, everything came flooding back. You had gotten ill; you must have fallen unconscious.

“Hey, hey, you’re back, you’re okay,” Daryl reassured you, placing a gentle hand on your cheek.

“Yh, I'm fine, it’s just, I had the weirdest dream,” you told Daryl.

Even though you were still alive, and Daryl was right by your side, you couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment that your dream wasn’t real. Remembering the world how it was now, the dead rising, the hunger, the death, you would have given anything for your dream to be real.

Daryl climbed in bed with you as you told him all about your dream in as much detail as you remembered.

“Two kids huh?” Daryl asked, raising an eyebrow with a grin.

“Yh, Mia and Lucas. It’s so weird to talk about them, they’re not real, they don’t exist. But they felt so real,” you said with sadness in your voice.

“Hey,” Daryl got your attention, placing a finger on your chin to turn you towards him.

“Just because it ain’t real now, don’t mean it won’t be one day,” Daryl revealed, making you smile.

“You think so?”

“Yh, in the future, maybe we’ll find a better place than this. It could happen,” Daryl revealed.

This was a complete surprise to you. You knew Daryl's past, you knew his childhood, children were something you thought Daryl would never be able to bring himself to have - out of fear he’d turn into his father.

“You want kids?” you asked surprised.

“I didn’t’ think I did, ‘til I met ya,” Daryl confessed.

“I love you so much Daryl,” you told him, snuggling deeper into him, enjoying his warmth, his scent.

“I love ya too (Y/N),” Daryl reciprocated, holding you tight in his arms, placing a kiss on the top of your head as you both drifted into a peaceful deep sleep, both dreaming of the future you hoped one day you could both have together.

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[autumnslance]

Seems we get a brief breather between parts 1 and 2 of 5.5, so Aeryn's snagging her man so they can take care of one another post infiltration and combat. Just two adventurers cleaning up together. The rating actually remains in "older T" levels. You'll see why.

Below the cut on Tumblr for those who prefer this medium: ----

After the hearty dinner their colleagues set out, the senior Scions dispersed. Y’shtola, Urianger, and G’raha vanished to the library to discuss the Hydaelyn theories. Tataru offered to show Estinien his new room with the twins opting to tag along, for better or worse. Aeryn snagged Thancred’s coat before he could leave the dining area. He raised a brow and glanced about as she tugged gently, encouraging him to follow her. No one seemed to pay them much mind, so he did not fight being drawn along.

“Have a plan?” Thancred asked as they headed down the hall leading to the various senior Scions’ rooms.

Aeryn shrugged. “Nothing specific. Mostly I’ve missed you and we seem to have a moment.”

He drew her into an embrace, backwards against his chest. They both still smelled of levin-burnt sand and grimy sweat, tinged with the coppery tang of blood. But her viola hairpiece was also mingled in, familiar and comforting, and he let out a deep sigh he felt he’d been holding for weeks. “I’ve missed you as well.” He leaned closer to her ear to murmur, “I’ve perhaps been thinking of the various ways I intend to show just how much I’ve missed you once we’ve cleaned up.”

She giggled and he could see her expected blush as she leaned into the embrace before stepping away. “Sounds as if you think to get dirty again .”

He grinned. “It’s certainly been a thought, if you’re amenable.” Thancred paused as they came to her door. “I need to stow my gear and check on a certain rodent, lest we be interrupted by squeaky indignation later.”

“Come in when you’ve cleaned up and seen to your other girlfriend,” she teased, giving him a wink before turning away.

“On second thought,” he said, overwhelmed by the idea of Aeryn vanishing behind the door. “I’ll risk nutkin wrath and come in now.”

“You know you’re asking for it,” Aeryn said, keeping her door open for him.

Thancred shrugged, propping his gunblade on the stand by the entrance as he stepped inside. “We played and I lavished all sorts of affection on the little tyrant when Urianger and I were here naught but two days ago, it’ll be fine.” Maybe. His pet had been rather clingy since Thancred had awoken to his body after his time on the First.

Thoughts of the nutkin scattered as soon as the door locked, allowing them to fall against each other, Aeryn’s hands gripping his lapels, his hands in her hair and on the small of her back, pulling them into a long kiss and gods he had been needing that. They had had no time to themselves, not even a brief stolen moment, since his return from Garlemald. The closest they had come was leaning on each other for a brief nap on the airship returning from Paglth’an to Ul’dah.

But now here she was; solid, warm, soft in all the right places, and as tense as she normally was after such adventures—and when worried for a friend. They broke the kiss, both sighing with content as their foreheads rested against each other.

“You’re tense,” she murmured, pushing his coat off.

“Was about to say the same of you.” He let her remove it to hang by the doorframe. It needed a good wash and repairs after fighting through Paglth’an, not to mention a few weeks scouting in Garlemald; there hadn’t been time for proper maintenance the brief times he had returned to the Stones over the last few days. He dropped his gloves behind her so he could slide his palms over her form until he found the buttons and fastens for her own coat, hanging it next to his once he had it off her.

Aeryn started unhooking his belts and harnesses. He thought of protesting, but the weight of his gear was suddenly noticeable as his ammunition, daggers, the holster he kept healing potions and unguents, and various other pouches of practical supplies, were hung on hooks or placed on the nearby desk.

Thancred fought the urge to lean on the wall to turn to her, doing the same with her sword belt, supply pouches, the tie she wore with that coat. He was about to unbutton her shirt, but she was unhooking his armor, and he helped remove his chest piece, feeling lighter—and weary and aching, now that it wasn’t holding him up.

“You’ve a lot of bruising,” Aeryn said, already working on removing his undershirt as she frowned, noting every wince and flinch he made as her fingers traced over him. 

“Well, I was holding off magitek and dragons.” He tried to make it sound light, but he thought he sounded more snippy due to his tiredness. He forced his tone to sound gentler. “It’s after effects, really; Urianger saw to the worst of it already.”

Aeryn muttered the familiar incantation, the electric taste of wintry pine and icy mountain lakes accompanying her spell. The aching faded further, his remaining minor injuries progressing to a nearly healed stage. It was an improvement, and he told her so before kissing her again. His hands took advantage of the distraction to remove her blouse, watching her wince and flinch now as Thancred checked over her shoulders and arms, across her back and midsection, frowning at her cuts and bruises in turn. He tried reminding himself that some had been unavoidable, even with him standing between her and their enemies.

“Would that I could return the favor.” He bit down on the old frustration as she cast for herself under his gaze.

“It’s all ri—ight!” Aeryn yelped as he picked her up and turned to deposit her on her nearby desk, then knelt.

“Allow me to help with this instead,” Thancred said, finding the hidden fasteners on her tall boots before pulling them off. She sighed and flexed her toes, socks sweat-stained, perhaps blood stained too, given some of the discoloration. He pulled off her socks and began massaging her left foot, grinning as she released a small relieved moan and slumped a bit. All the flipping around she did couldn’t have been easy on her long, perfect legs, he often thought, working his way from her toes to her calf before moving on to her right foot.

“You’ll have to let me do the same for you. I know those greaves are heavy.”

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, knowing it was pointless to argue. Honestly, he was looking forward to it. He left a kiss just below her knee before he stood with a wince.

Aeryn slid off the desk, a hand on his chest, herding him to sit next to make good on that promise. Thancred sighed and allowed it, feeling better with his boots and socks off and grumbling relief as she massaged his limbs, checking his feet as he had hers.

“I could fall asleep like this,” he murmured. She finished her work and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Not before you get a bath,” Aeryn admonished. “Or shower, if you prefer; the reservoir’s heated and ready to go either way.”

“First things first.” Thancred stretched as he stood. He gestured at the vanity in her wash area. “Sit and pass me your hairbrush.”

Over the next several minutes he carefully, section by section, brushed out her fine locks, removing bands and pins and undoing the braids. Why she put it in such a complicated style was beyond him—though he had to admit it stayed more or less in place, and she seemed able to style it swiftly. Aeryn meanwhile enjoyed the attention, only hissing and flinching the few times he hit an unavoidable snag. Smoothed out, her hair fell past her shoulder blades. He drew his fingers through the black strands for the sheer pleasure of it.

“Want to wash it too?” She half-joked.

“Would be my pleasure. We have to finish getting you undressed first, though.”

“As if you’ve ever had problems with that,” Aeryn teased—even as he undid her brassiere.

“No idea what you mean,” Thancred said, leaving a kiss on the round of her shoulder while his fingers danced down her sides and then front to undo her pants.

Once they were both divested of their remaining clothing, he took her hand like a gentleman and helped her step into the tub. She fiddled with the levers on the shower head, making sure the water wasn’t too hot when it poured forth, rinsing away the grime and grit. They took turns washing each others’ hair and scrubbing backs and limbs. After the magical healing, there were still bruises on them both, but they looked days old instead of—gods, was it truly the same day? The sun had risen over the plains after all night fighting, then returning to Ul’dah, and finally home where it was evening again.

It had been a long handful of days.

Aeryn “mrf’d” as he rubbed her shoulders and back, the soap washed off but much of her tension remaining. He didn’t realize he was just as bad until she did the same for him, scrubbing his neck, shoulders, and back, continuing to massage as the warm water rained down. He forced himself to relax, or tried to at least. The temptation to fill the tub and lounge together was strong, but Thancred feared in their weary states they might fall asleep. Not that that would be a problem for Aeryn, given the Kojin blessing. He really ought to look into that for himself; it could be extremely useful.

They shut off the shower just as the crystal reservoir was running out and the water started to chill. Aeryn was quicker, snagging the biggest of the towels—which she wrapped around him, rubbing vigorously. “Gotcha.”

“My only complaint is you are the one dripping everywhere,” Thancred said, grabbing another towel. “All that hair first, then the rest of you.” He wrapped up her hair as she tucked his towel around his waist like a makeshift skirt, forcing him to find a third towel to wrap her in. It also put him in the perfect position to scoop her up, eliciting another surprised sound and giggle.

“I can walk, you know,” Aeryn said, nuzzling his neck. “And I know you’re tired.”

“Not too tired to spoil you what little you allow.” He carried her across the room and around the partition to her bed. He set her among the many pillows and blankets she kept there, pulling away the towels and dropping them to the side to be worried about later as he settled in beside her.

“Shouldn’t we be under the covers?” She feigned innocence as his hands roamed over her body. “And turn off the lights?”

“This would be part of the ‘get dirty again’ plan from earlier.”

“Ah, right; thought you’d forgotten.”

“As if I could.” Thancred denied further rejoinders with another kiss, this one hungrier than the others. Aeryn responded with an equal fervor, pressing closer to him with a shiver as his fingers found sensitive spots along her spine and sides.

He was enjoying her quiet little noises and how she writhed, and he nearly had her to where she would make those sweet, whimpery begging sounds as he prolonged their mutual pleasure, when Aeryn stilled, blinking past him. “...Thancred…”

He heard the scrabbling and had barely enough time to brace himself before four tiny sharp-clawed feet landed on his upper back accompanied by angry chittering, and he wondered how such a small creature could knock the wind out of him like that.

Aeryn was no help, the traitor, laughing while the nutkin continued its scolding. “I warned you!” she got out between giggles.

“How in the seven hells did it even get in here, I know I locked that door,” Thancred growled, wrangling the beast off his back, though it refused to be held, scrambling over his arms, chest, and shoulders, until Aeryn cooed and clicked for it.

“You’re the infiltration expert, I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” she said as the nutkin bounced over to her, still chittering indignantly but accepting a cuddle and pets.

“Argh,” was Thancred’s only response, dropping on the mattress, arms splayed. A moment later there was another sharp weight on his chest and more chattering, this less angry and more inquisitive and needy. He scritched the nutkin, begrudgingly pleased with how it chirred and nuzzled him. “One would think you neglected entirely, to be so demanding,” he admonished. He went unheeded beyond a fluffy tail bomfed against his ribs a few times in response to his voice.

Aeryn giggled again and settled alongside him, adding her own tribute pets. “You weren’t kidding earlier when you called this critter a tyrant.”

“Perhaps if fed it’ll allow us to return to our own business,” he grumbled.

“There’s a tin container in the cabinet on my desk for such occasions, since we spent plenty of time together while you were gone. You could get the lights while you’re at it.”

Thancred sighed theatrically, eliciting another round of giggles from Aeryn. He sat up with one hand cupped under the nutkin, who chattered and scrabbled up his arm to his shoulder as he crossed the room, its nails prickling Thancred’s bare skin.

There was, in fact, a tin and food and water dishes in the right-hand cabinet in the desk, the nutkin bounding in gleeful expectation upon the oak surface. “You know what you’re after, little fiend,” Thancred said, adding a few treats to hopefully keep his pet occupied and too full to bounce around much more. He brushed his hand over the soft grey fur while the nutkin dug in, chirring with content as it ate. “Lesson learned; see to you first always. Now no more interruptions, hear me?”

The nutkin paid no further attention, focused on its dinner and the snacks for storing in one of its many stashes around the Rising Stones. There was probably at least one here in Aeryn’s chamber.

Thancred left his fuzzy companion on the desk as he turned out the lights, grabbing extra water glasses while he was up, the room familiar enough that once his vision adjusted it was no trouble to cross the darkened space.

Aeryn had slid under the sheets in the meantime and was starting to doze off by the time he set the water on the nightstand and laid beside her. “Sleepy?” He tried very hard not to be too disappointed; it had been a long, hard few days, and honestly sleeping in her bed and being used as her pillow was itself a heavenly feeling he had missed over the past few weeks, and all else could wait until they were better rested in the morning…

The placement of her hand scattered those thoughts. “A bit, after everything,” she said. “But I’m certain you can wake me up again. We had a plan, remember?”

“Indeed,” he said, pulling her close once more. With any luck the nutkin was finally satisfied, as it hadn’t been the only one missing Thancred.