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theorist-fox · 4 months ago

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In your eyes I saw a longing, while I longed to lift you up

John 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader

Again, crossposting this from AO3.

Summary: Johnny survives what should have been a deadly injury. During his recovery, you bond with his family while he refuses to accept his weakened state, only wishing for you to let him wither. However, as you help him through it all, Johnny is reminded why he fought to stay.

18+

CW: smut, tiny angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, deals with medical topics, recovery from injury, mention of depression and struggles related to recovery, cuddles. LOTS OF CUDDLES.

Masterlist 🦊 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Not Johnny.

One hundred and eighty-four days.

One hundred and eighty-four days since Johnny got a bullet in his head. Six months since you saw him flatten against concrete. No lights if not those of the torch tucked in your tac vest.

One hundred and eighty-four days since your own heart stopped beating. More than four thousand hours since the moment you snarled – bellowed. Voice raucous and loud echoing in the tunnel. Raw fire burning your tongue all the way to your fingertips; those that curled around the trigger of your gun.

Makarov on the floor with a hole in his forehead. Mouth-gaped, exhaling his last breaths, mouthing like a fish out of water. Cross-eyed. His lids fluttered, shaking. Pathetic.

Not Johnny.

One hundred and eighty-four days since you pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. And again. To his chest. To his face. To his legs, groin, shoulder.

Since Price hastily got up from where he’d been thrown and grabbed you from behind. Burly arms around your waist lifting you off the ground. Your gun still shooting, bullets now hitting the cinderblock of the walls. The trigger clicked empty, but you still pressed it – autopilot.

The roar that echoed scratched your throat, made you choke. You spluttered and coughed. Tears and spit, foaming at the mouth. A rabid dog.

Not Johnny.

More gunshots echoed, but they didn’t come from your weapon. Price dropped you, your knees knocked against the floor. Helpless, you folded. You draped your body over Johnny’s. Forehead to his chest, arms limp next to his face – fingers grabbing at his cheeks, enough to indent the skin. Blindly skimming through his features, feeling the slick blood carve its path through the tiny folds in your fingerprints.

Senses dull. Not Johnny.

Cotton in your ears. Each explosion from the guns was nothing more than a muffled thud. Bullets flew past you. Bullets hit you. You felt the familiar blinding pain of mangled flesh in your left arm. It caused your body to flop further – a ragdoll. It burned, yet it was nothing compared to the agony currently disemboweling you.

You were gutted. Much like a knife piercing flesh. Cutting its way through layers of skin, muscle, and fat. Intestines pouring out, blood and water and bile mixing on the floor – cocktail of death. Not yours. Johnny's.

Not Johnny.

He heard. His chest rose under the weight of your head, and life was breathed into you again.

───────────

It was absolutely mind-boggling to you how he’d survived. You saw it; you saw Makarov pull the trigger. You saw the bullet pierce his skull. You saw him crumple on the cement in that underground tunnel. You felt the blood on your hands. You felt how slick it made his skin.

But apparently, it wasn't enough to snatch the life out of him.

And as you spent the following days sleeping uncomfortably, curled on one of the chairs in the waiting room of the army hospital, doctors came and went to talk to Price.

Or to Johnny’s ma.

She’d flown all the way from Glasgow to Hereford in the blink of an eye, bringing with her a goddamn squadronof MacTavishes. Four sisters with his blue eyes, and his dark hair. All of varying ages. Even a little one, half of yours. Her long hair was in a plait that swung behind her back. You watched it – transfixed. Too catatonic and dazed to care that you might have looked like a right weirdo – staring at a kid like that.

But she was the one who looked like him the most. Maybe it was in the tilt of her chin. In the shape of her eyes. In the slight fold of the tips of her ears – God, you weren’t looking like one, you were a proper weirdo.

Her braid swung like a pendulum, marking the time you spent apart from him.

A guarded prognosis meant that no one aside from close relatives could enter the room. Family only - and the leader of Johnny’s unit. So, you spent your days of medical leave with your ass on those plastic chairs that were made for short sitting sessions, looking at a platoon of women going in with flowers and chocolates and leaving with tears and bloodied gauzes.

Your arm was wrapped in a bandage of its own, the muscle torn at the bicep. The pain was dull, much like the goddamn sight of you. Or the smell, which you reckoned mustn’t have been the most pleasant whiff to catch with one’s nostrils.

Price took pity on you because he knew. He acted like he didn’t for the sake of his team, but he knew. And he conveyed his awareness with lingering, judgmental glances he gave you and Johnny when the Scot let his hand travel a little too low on your back.

You watched them all from afar, perking your ears to catch any news the doctors told Johnny’s family or your Captain. Clawing at the walls for some information. You’d give your right kidney to know something more aside from the sparse words Price told you out of sympathy.

And then, out of nowhere, after tortuously long days spent with stomach and heart utterly empty, a nurse came to you.

She tapped your shoulder and you flinched. Bloodshot eyes swiveled to land on her face. She looked down at you apprehensively, knowing she’d have to tread lightly. A cornered animal, you were. Pitiful thing.

She called your name, and you blinked.

“The lady there said you’ve been here a while,” she spoke oddly soft and yet respectful. Must’ve spotted the pips on the epaulets of your uniform jacket, the one currently draped over you like a blanket.

Your eyes were unfocused and blinky. Lashes fluttering to swipe away the fatigue – a broom against dust. Looking around made your neck tingle, muscles corded, but you did. Your pupils locked with bright blue ones at the other end of the hallway.

Johnny’s ma waved.

Your brain rewired itself from its slumber and you sat upright. Your shoulders popped as you pulled them back at attention. Legs uncurled from where they were tucked underneath your weight, finally stretching out. Palms to your knees. Your jacket fell to the floor, you didn’t mind it.

“She wants to know if she can talk to you,” the nurse prompted.

You nodded eagerly, probably looking a little too desperate. Your leg bounced in anticipation and anxiety, tiny needles piercing the muscle as it awakened.

Gingerly, his mum walked to you. She sat right in the chair at your side. It took nothing but a look for her to understand: the crust in your lashes from the tears you’ve shed, the bandage around your arm gone from white to yellow with a splotch of brown in the middle. Dried blood and pus. The wound festering beneath it.

She hugged you. She didn’t care if you hadn’t washed in days. If your injury was probably infected, or at least smelled as such. You curled your fingers into fists against her back, and you cried.

She did, too.

𓇬

You understood that Johnny took his fire straight from his ma because she was currently bullying the doctor who had been preventing your entrance into her son’s room.

You stood almost embarrassed next to her, feeling like her child yourself.

She had forced you to wash, after all. Took you to one of the washrooms and helped you out of your clothes. Stroked your skin with a sponge when she noticed the weakness of your movements. Washed away the suds with the showerhead. Dried your hair and braided it.

You’d have felt pathetic if she weren’t there, constantly telling you it was alright. You'd have felt guilty that you became an additional burden to her if she weren't continuously whispering that “whoever loves my Johnny like you do, ‘s mine to care for.”

You took a few steps back the more she argued with the doctor, trying to flee from that predicament. Maybe you’d be lucky enough to peer through the cracked door and spot Johnny’s face now that both surgeon and nurse were busy trying to tame (fruitlessly, they’d learn) Mrs. MacTavish.

However, your back hit something. You lifted your arms, elbows out to create more space around you.

You looked behind and clocked a girl, and her braid. She was slightly shorter than you, about fifteen. The resemblance with her brother was so striking it caused your breath to hitch.

She looked at you with caution. Assessed you like antiques at an auction. Whether you were worthy of her brother’s affection, or not. And you found yourself thinking you’ve never wanted someone’s approval more than you did at that moment.

It was a game of stares that she was clearly winning.

Comical, really. How your skin had bled because of bullets tearing it apart. Knives had ripped crimson gashes on your flesh. Bombs had gone off in your vicinity. You’ve killed. You’ve seen death and brought it, too – a harbinger.

Yet now you stood stock still in front of a teenager. Eyes locked with the depth of the azure sea hers bore. Frozen in place with your elbows still out and your hands hovering between you two.

It was silent for what felt like hours when in truth only mere, tense minutes had passed. The only sound that of Johnny’s ma giving an earful to the doctor and a very tired nurse.

Your lips parted on their own accord then, and your voice came out wet and strained. “You’re so much like him.”

That girl had tried to crack open your skull with the sheer force of her eyes and somehow managed. Then snuck her fingers in the hollow of your stomach and curled them around the handles of your ribs only to rip them open and take a gander at the battered thing that was your heart.

What she said next made your chest clench to the point of pain. Your heart stomped against the hard bone of your rib cage. Her voice was heavily accented yet softer than her brother's. The meaning behind her words was different from the ones you uttered. They went deeper than mere physical appearance.

The thought that she might have seen something in you that even remotely reminded her of him made your heart ache - feeling undeserving of it.

“You are, too.”

───────────

One hundred and eighty-four days since the incident, you could’ve gotten a goddamn medical degree. You took a long compassionate leave to stay by his side, hastily apologizing to doctors and PTs alike for his behavior because during that time, when they’d show up at your doorstep, he’d bark like a dog for them to leave.

For one-hundred and eighty-four days, the moment he fell asleep, you’d bury your head in medical manuals and books. You had his physical therapist explain to you step by step all the exercises he’d have to do for his limbs, so he’d regain strength and mobility.

The massages. The oils. The meds. How to put an IV in. How to change the bandages of his bedsores. You helped him shower. You helped him dress. You did his beard or his hair, and while he pushed for it to be a bland buzzcut or just let it grow, you always let the airstrip at the center stay – gelling it up sometimes, for good fun.

When you’d place a kiss against his buzzed side, next to the healing scar, he’d find himself giving in more and more. His back would soften against your chest, fingers curling at your forearms wrapped around his front.

By the one hundred and eighty-fourth day since the incident, Johnny still barked like a dog at whoever dared to walk in his flat that wasn’t you or a member of his family. But at least now the rest of the lads had their privileges.

At least now he let you sleep on your side of the bed – sometimes daring to curl his arm around your waist so you’d scoot over to his.

At least now he kissed you again and brushed his fingers along your cheek, or through your hair.

His strength came back at a languid pace, but his hands didn’t tremble anymore when he held a fork, so now he could eat by himself. He could lift small weights, but still couldn’t sit up on his own. That was the next achievement you both were aiming at.

His personality now shone through the fractures of the shell he'd locked himself into. The cheeky grin slowly came back like molten gold mending the fissures. That glint in his eyes - a reminder that he was alive.

You already knew it, but he didn’t – and now, he was on his way to finally realize it.

On the morning of that day, Johnny was lying in bed as you’d just finished helping him wear a pair of grey sweatpants. Your back was to him while you folded clean laundry.

He watched like a hawk each movement you made, no matter how mundane and trivial. Shame and resentment still had a tight grip on his heart, withered his soul, but the sight of you – simply there – was enough to make those feelings hush.

“Can’t believe you bloody stayed.”

You stilled in your motions, and only resumed a moment later, setting down the laundry back in the basket. Then, in your sweats and one of his t-shirts, you moved towards the bed. Sat at the edge. Lingered there for a moment as you took him in.

He was thinner. However, against all medical logic, his muscles were still there. Definitely less bulging, definitely much less defined, but there. Apparently, it takes a lot more to wear down John fucking MacTavish. However, you’d have to give credit where credit is due, and your relentless insistence in forcing him to do all the exercises as the PT instructed you, even when Johnny all but cursed at you, might have helped his muscles keep their tone.

You lay down in bed next to him, propped on your elbow with your cheek in your palm. You placed your free hand over his chest, his strong heartbeat at your fingertips.

"'cause you're too hot to drop, eh?" You quipped.

He tried to keep up with your joking mood, his lips curving into that trademark smirk he used to don so effortlessly. Differently from before, when life seemed to flow smoothly, it was short-lived. And while his heart felt like it was being torn apart, he lifted his arm and slung it around your waist, bringing you close.

You snuggled in his side for good measure. One leg of yours was draped over his two, palm still flat on his chest, and now your head lay there as well. While he’d almost returned to his usual self, these moments in which he allowed you to touch him were always sparse and rare. You’d take your fix whenever you could.

His chest still felt tight at the sight of you huddling against him. “Why do ye love me?”

His voice rumbled in his ribcage, echoing in your ear pressed against his pectorals. It perfectly scratched an itch in the back of your brain, almost giving you gooseflesh.

"Because you're pure dead brilliant.” You replied quietly, drawing shapes over the fabric of his tee, "You make me laugh, you make me happy."

Absently, you smiled – memories of your relationship even before it bloomed into love came running in front of your eyes. He could only see the top of your head, but he felt the way your cheek lifted against the cotton, somewhat scrunching the fabric.

"Can't imagine a life without you, honestly.” You lifted your head from his chest and placed a chaste kiss over it. Your shoulders shrugged, the answer being simple. "You're my Johnny."

As much as your words served as a balm to his wounds, he felt as if you were describing someone else. Attributes he was undeserving of – ones that described the man he might have been once but didn’t feel like anymore.

His hand lightly gripped your hip. All he could do was tilt his head down and plant a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger a tad longer. Savoring your skin and the salt of it.

“’m the luckiest man alive,” he mumbled. The press of his mouth against your flesh slurred his words, but you caught them anyway.

Luckiest for real, you mused but didn't voice it. He didn't need a daily reminder of the sheer miracle his survival had been.

Instead, you only relished the touch of the chapped skin of his lips. Your eyes fluttered closed to block out anything else that didn’t involve that tiny, warm feeling.

"My lucky charm,” was all you could muster up to say.

He huffed. The air escaping his nose was warm as it hit the crown of your head. You could tell by the way he tensed that he was hesitant, still mindful when it came to having you close. Insecure, ashamed. But you'd linger there unless he pushed you away – hoping, deep down, he never would again.

In very Johnny’s fashion, he masked his insecurity with a lighthearted joke. “C’mon, inflate my ego a bit more.”

And you did, despite knowing it was all a façade to hide the inner turmoil he’d been brewing constantly ever since. Despite knowing he silently craved your words of reassurance, because maybe, if you repeated them enough, he’d eventually believe them, too.

A chuckle bubbled up your throat. Johnny felt its gentle rumble in his bones, and it stole a smile from him.

“You’re absolutely hilarious – you crack me up,” you continued like he asked, “Sharper wit than mine – which I thoroughly appreciate.”

You leaned your head back, reluctantly pulling your forehead away from his lips, only to be awarded with the blue of his eyes.

“You’re kind and compassionate," you sighed, "You care ‘bout others even when you shouldn’t. That’s noble.”

But then your mouth pursed, because its corners struggled to keep a smile, "You're also absurdly hot, love.”

He scoffed, giving you a look – shallow. But he couldn't deny the way the last comment made his chest puff a little.

It was unbearably hard not to burst out laughing. Difficult to keep the warmth inside, in the face of the familiarity of it all. You cleared your throat, mustering up the most serious expression you could pull at that moment.

“You’re the strongest man I know.”

And just like that, his smile was gone. The dancing flame he lit in your heart, smothered by ice. Johnny, who’d always been the gasoline to your fire, now felt like freezing water.

He shook his head, trying to hide the unease. “My strength is long gone, love.”

And even if your blood was struggling to boil against the ice he instilled, you decide you wouldn’t have that. Not in a thousand years.

Your eyes welled up with tears, as much as you tried to fight it. He sounded so tormented - you craved to take it away from him. Your fingers curled at his jaw, gently. Tilting his head, you forced his eyes to lock with yours – making sure to keep him there, focused on you.

"You, my love," you repeated, voice wavering but filled with resolve, "are the strongest man I've ever met."

Yet your words only fueled the self-hatred. He failed to see the determination in your eyes because the wounds in his brain, both emotional and whatnot, only made him perceive pity.

“I hate this,” he growled. While your fire had been smothered, his only grew. His eyes held defiance and fight, unfortunately against all the wrong things. “I hate this so damn much. I – I struggle to live, darling. I can’t even fucking stand. I’m like a useless sack of sh-”

"None of tha'." You interrupted him. This time, you sounded angry.

Hell, you understood. You were a special forces operator, too. You were in his same team. You fucking got it. The pain, the worthlessness after having been fully independent and, at least on his part, generously strong for most of his adult life.

But you weren't having it.

Your fingers held his face in place, curled at his cheeks. Not too tight, always gentle and mindful of his head injury, but firm enough to indent in the plush of his skin.

"You are Sergeant John – fucking Soap - MacTavish." You stated firmly, and while your eyes were glossy, your voice didn't hesitate this time. "You are a sniper and demolitions specialist. The best out there."

Your pupils sailed the storm in his eyes with unparalleled skill. "You've survived a gunshot to the head. You fought to live, and I swear 'ere and now, John, I'll make fucking sure you will."

Johnny found himself fighting a war he couldn’t win. And while he wasn’t used to it, he realized he didn't mind losing. He had been biting each hand that tried to feed him, to nurse him back to health.

Even yours.

He failed to see, however, that you came back each time – mangled fingers, bite marks and all.

He hated being the reason you cried, even if it was for the sheer amount of feelings that had been brewing all at once, threatening to spill over.

Without warning, he put his hands against the mattress and sat up. And because it wasn’t enough for him apparently, he grabbed awestruck-you by the hips, pulling you on top of him – with no little effort – to straddle his lap. That was the achievement of the week, he thought, and with an exhausted sigh, he flopped with his back against the headboard.

He used to be able to absolutely manhandle you and place you wherever he wanted, once. Now, his chest heaved as a result of barely lifting you an inch. The concept was still hard to grasp for him, but he realized how proud he felt when his eyes landed on yours, when your gasp reached his eardrums.

And he understood, then. He might have thought that he was a useless sack of shit, but you weren’t, and steaming Jesus, he’d do it. For you, he’d take the fucking praise of having lifted a spoon without dropping the stupid golf ball you placed on it. He’d take the kisses you’d pepper his face with each time he’d bend his knee to his chest without your hands helping him fold it.

He’d take that look you were donning right there on his lap, your eyes going from heated to watery. Brows pinched. Mouth-gaped.

He’d take it like a fucking champ, and he’d be proud of it.

"Johnny,” you breathed, steadying yourself with your palms on his shoulder.

The bastard smirked; lips parted as he caught his breath.

He brought his hands up to cup your cheek. His thumb rubbed at your jawline and his fingers threaded through your hair. “How are ye so bloody beautiful, eh?”

You almost melted right then and there.

You huffed. Breathless and shaky. You leaned your cheek against his palm – perfect fit. One could hear the clicking sound it would’ve made as it fell into place.

“Gonna have to cross tha' from our achievements list." You slurred, your words as wobbly as your lips.

He hated your bloody achievements list, but he’d take that one, too.

His voice was raspy. Scratched you in all the right places. “We should put a reward for each one you tick off, mh?”

You blushed.

You did, and you weren't even ashamed of it. How many people could say that their significant other made them flush even after years together? You bet very fucking few.

Because Johnny made your heart stutter like the first time although it had been years you two shared the same bed. Johnny made your chest swell, your cheeks pink, and your panties wet even after he'd seen you naked and bent however he pleased – and he could do that with a very visible craniotomy scar on the side of his head.

You gave him a knowing look, though.

"Just a kiss," you replied, sounding a little too patronizing. Almost as if you were scolding him. "The doc said no sex, Johnny."

Indeed, now he almost looked like a child who just had his favorite new toy snatched away. A feigned pout, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. “Not even a tiny bit?”

He looked utterly gorgeous, even when he acted like this – normally, it would’ve driven you up a wall.

The blue of his irises was now a mere halo around widened, dark pupils. He took a greedy handful of the meaty part of your hip. His other hand journeyed from your jawline to your bum, and he wasn’t parsimonious there either, as he curled his fingers around the plush skin.

"What even is a tiny bit of sex, Johnny?” You huffed. Before he could reply, because you saw that cheek in his eyes, “And for the love of Christ – Don't say just the tip.”

He grinned, caught red-handed.

You fixed him with a blank stare.

And then, you spouted all the knowledge you had acquired during these months while he slept away. You went full medical encyclopedia on him. "Sex increases blood pressure, which might cause weakened blood vessels in your brain to burst, potentially leading to a hemorrhagic stroke. You could -”

Johnny barked a laugh. You ended your lecture by pursing your mouth in a tight line; rolled your lips between your teeth to hide how much the sound of his genuine chuckle had affected your heart.

He absolutely demolished you with a sentence only.

“But I sat up today, sweetheart.”

Your shoulders deflated. Utterly powerless.

He pinched the air between thumb and forefinger in the space between your faces, “Just a glimpse, yeah?”

You scoffed and briefly looked down at the spot where he’d placed you in. All by himself, no help from you whatsoever. You were so fucking proud it made you arrhythmic.

You settled on a glimpse.

Gingerly, you grasped the hem of your (his) tee and pulled it off your head. You tossed it in a vague direction behind you, eyes focused on his. Deft fingers went to unhook your own bra, and you let it fall.

Sitting up on your knees, which gave him a very nice close-up of your breasts (the lad went cross-eyed at the sight), you hooked your fingers at the waistband of your sweatpants. With one motion, you took down both pants and underwear, which pooled at your knees.

You leaned back, sitting on your rear, and pulled them both off your ankles. Much like your sorry t-shirt, they landed somewhere on the bedroom floor.

Planting your feet on each side of his thighs, you kept your knees spread and leaned back on your palms, as if to say There, enjoy.

"Better?"

Johnny’s eyes darkened instantly at the sight before him. You looked wet already for reasons unknown to him. Poor man couldn't grasp the idea that no matter how he looked, he'd always make your heart race and your cunt glisten.

Johnny slowly rubbed the back of his fingers against his lips.

“Better,” you heard him rasp.

You nodded imperceptibly, eyes never leaving his. You raised a hand and drew a map of your body with your finger, tracing a path he’d hopefully follow again, one day.

It started from your mouth, fingertip tugging at your lower lip until it bounced back into place. Then down your chin, down the curve of your throat, traveling in the valley of your breasts.

"You behave, Johnny," you breathed, letting your own hand grab a handful of your breast and squeeze. The fat bulged between the grooves of your fingers.

"Follow PT.” You pulled at your nipple, "Take your meds, do as the doctors say."

Your palm snaked down your belly until it reached your core. You spread your lips for him with your fingers, "And I'll be your first meal after recovery."

Johnny’s eyes followed your hand, hypnotized. He swore his mouth watered and he thought this wasn’t much of a reward as it was torture.

His heart throbbed against his ribs, and his eyes clocked yours once more.

“I’ll behave,” he promised, his voice thick with an unspoken need – and he would.

Johnny decided that he’d take this, too. Fucking hell he would.

Your lips quirked to the side, trying to hide the small smile of delight. The only thing you wanted was for him to get better. Small steps: he had already managed to sit up in bed by himself, so maybe the next step would be to stand up on his own, one day.

Then walk. Then run. Then train at the gym, or take you out for dinner. Fuck you senseless into the mattress. Get on his knees to make a meal out of you. Or get on one knee, holding out a ring.

And by God, if what he needed was a reward – he'd get it. Honestly, if it would help him improve, you'd give it to him every bloody day. You’d bend, break, turn, and fucking dance if he asked. As long as he stayed here, alive.

You were unabashedly wet, so there was barely any friction as you plunged middle and forefinger inside your core. You hissed at the sensation – pleasure and pain. You let out a shuddering breath, eyes closing just briefly.

You should've been embarrassed about the sound your own cunt made when you slid them out, but the way Johnny's eyes widened made you anything but. His hand dropped from his mouth onto his thigh, limp.

Utterly disarmed himself.

Sticky and wet with arousal, you placed your fingers on his lips, gently pushing them inside to rest on his tongue.

"Good man, Johnny," you breathed, your own heart thrumming, "So fucking proud of you.”

Johnny’s chest warmed and his eyes flickered between your own, his tongue automatically coming forward to taste you on your fingers. His cheek hollowed as he sucked, which did absolutely nothing to the already dripping state of you.

You scissored your fingers against his tongue, “Take it.”

His eyes fluttered closed. Sweet and salty, ambrosia on his tastebuds. The tang of you, forever impressed in his mind – a man parched of what he used to drink almost daily and had been denied for months. He thought it had been criminal of you to take it away from him for so long.

And while this totally wasn’t the most appropriate moment to think about it, he realized that you never denied him anything that wasn’t for his own good.

He did it to himself.

Which made him angry. Which prompted his hand to flit up and wrap around your wrist to keep your fingers there, snug in the cavity of his mouth – wishing he could never part from them.

The humming sound of pleasure vibrated through your hand, and you shivered in response. He grunted in a low, husky murmur – words barely muffled by your fingers, “I want my reward, pet.”

Your own eyes were hooded and heavy. He looked perfect, despite that thick scar on the side of his head. Actually, the fact that he was still here, in this plane of existence, with his brain injury - somehow alive, by sheer miracle - made him even more perfect.

You took your fingers out of his mouth. Johnny begrudgingly released them with a pop. He looked flushed and ravenous. It would’ve scared you, the voracity in his eyes, if you weren’t already accustomed to it – known it like your own, same hunger that’d been festering in your lower stomach for months.

You helped him lay back down again, making sure his head would fall softly against the pillow, back flat on the mattress. You stretched out like a cat, settling yourself on your knees between his legs.

Resting your palms against his thighs, feeling the taut muscle underneath, your fingers gently scraped over the fabric of his sweatpants. The obvious tent he sported imperceptibly twitched in reflex.

You grazed the bulge with your nails. Johnny shuddered.

Only then, you curled your fingers at the waistband of his sweats and slowly pulled down, exposing him. His cock bounced back against his abdomen once it unhooked from the elastic of his boxers.

It was your mouth’s turn to water. You’d seen him naked several times in the past one hundred and eighty-four days, but the purposes were very much different. Of course, it wasn’t only him that had to refrain from intimacy. While you could, well, DIY your way to bliss, it clearly wasn’t enough, because your body was reacting dramatically at the mere sight.

Your hand almost darted at the base. Johnny’s hips gave a tiny jerk, and you could hear the lack of sounds coming from him. He was holding his breath, almost in anticipation of what he knew would happen.

Thankfully he’d always been vocal, and when you gave the first stroke, Johnny absolutely melted. Quite literally, you saw him deflate against the pillows as if he were made of wax and your hand was fire. His lips parted in a whine you hadn’t heard in ages. Or maybe never. At all.

You decided you wanted to hear that again. Fucking pronto.

You started slowly, stroking up and down the way you knew he liked. Dragging the skin over the tip, using the honestly baffling amount of precum as lube.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Johnny always looked gorgeous, and during sex, he looked like a god.Made to worship and praise. Now, his eyes were half closed. The narrow space visible was white – he had rolled back his eyes. Lips parted by heavy pants. Brows tight, as if he was concentrating.

Because he was.

“Slow down,” he drawled, seemingly unable to have his mouth follow along with his thoughts. “Fuck, plea-“, he whined, again. That sound you were looking for. Goddamn music that could feel like silk to the touch.

Your thighs squeezed together for some needed friction, and you did as he asked. He exhaled shakily, fully closing his eyes to get a grip. Johnny’s jaw clenched. He gritted his teeth, releasing a sharp breath from his nose.

Slowly, you bent at the waist, shifting a little on your knees. Your face was right next to his length as you held it up by the base, stroking languidly.

Johnny felt your breath hit his shaft and his eyes snapped open. You saw how his chest stuttered, eyelid twitching at the sight. How the indent of your spine drew a curve that tipped at your ass, tilted up. The lashes framing your doe eyes fluttering right next to his cock. Your lips pink, as if they might have caught teeth. The sheen of his precum around your fingers.

Johnny could’ve come right then and there.

To prevent it, he slid his eyes shut again. It was useless, because he felt that plush mouth he loved oh, so dearly, leave a trail of slow kisses from his base up to his angry-red tip. Johnny hissed a string of curses, wringing his eyes closed until his lids wrinkled.

You lingered a little more on his tip with your lips barely grazing it, tasting the salt of him and reveling in the desperation he was showing. Not a bad thing – this wasn’t that kind of torment you hated to see. Indeed, you liked it.

Very much so.

“Johnny,” you whispered, “Look at me, baby.”

Johnny could only oblige; however, he did beg whatever deity up there to give him enough resolve not to cum on your hand. His eyes drifted open and the sight of you, once again, threatened to have him end the moment way too soon.

He gulped. A fruitless endeavor, because his mouth was dry and his throat stuck. He parted his lips to mumble something. Something incoherent and jumbled because his brain was haywire.

Whatever he had to say, however, came out as a choked sound. Your lips parted further and wrapped around his head. Your heavy-lidded gaze locked with his much too wide eyes, and Johnny crumbled once and for all.

“Christ,” was the first sensed word he growled. His head fell back against the pillow, but that made you still.

He moaned again. Not that sound you liked, but more like a lament – why did you stop. Your mouth left his shaft with a sonorous pop. His head lifted and he glowered – how dare you.

“Eyes on me, Johnny.”

His breath hitched, and he thought you couldn’t have looked more beautiful. His eyes softened at the order, and he gave a simple nod, trying not to look as desperate as he felt and failing spectacularly.

You grinned, and he corrected himself: you could look more beautiful.

Whatever devoted thought was about to cross his mind was stopped in its tracks when you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock. Tortuously slow.

You used your hand at the base to slap the head against the flat of your tongue while your other palm rested on his thigh, feeling how he tensed beneath you. Only then, your lips returned around his cock. The muscles in his neck bulged and the tendons tightened, resisting the urge to just flop back once again.

His hips gave yet another tiny jerk, and he bit his bottom lip. "Careful, pet," he warned you, his voice strained against the rock lodged in the back of his throat.

He reached down and grasped at your hair but did not pull, simply just holding on to give you a sense of where his hands were. He wished he could sit up and ram his cock down the back of your throat. He knew you’d take it – fuck, he knew.

But he’d used enough strength to gain the current reward, which was also the other reason why his muscles felt too syrupy to hold him up.

The tight grip on your hair almost made your eyes roll back at the promise of what it could’ve meant. The memories of how good he’d guide your head down his length made your cunt flutter around nothing.

You dived down until his tip reached the back of your throat. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to breathe from your nose.

“God, sweetheart,” he moaned. Didn’t growl, or groan. John fucking MacTavish moaned, and you were unsure whether you liked this more than the gruff sounds you were used to.

You rose up again and then rammed down. Up, and down. Again, and again. And Johnny thought he could’ve cried. His chest heaved and his lungs burned – struggling to keep up with his rapid intake of air. His thighs tensed.

“Just like tha’.” He stuttered, voice cracking at the edges, “Yes, love. Yes.”

It took a lot of him not to collapse right back against the pillow and just enjoy the feeling and the obscene sounds you were making. And while his eyes stayed focused on you because you had commanded so, he also didn’t want to deprive them of the sight that you were.

You knew his tells: breathy voice, taut quadriceps, those tiny jerks of his hips to meet your mouth. Your hand curled at the base to help you out in your endeavor, stroking lightly and twisting as your mouth still worked. Your eyes locked on him, lidded and watery. Tears down your flushed cheeks.

A fucking sight alright, Johnny thought.

With the last spurs of strength left in his body, he selfishly pushed your head down, burying your nose in his curls. He groaned a desperate “Oh, fuck”, lifted his hips to meet you halfway. With a shudder, you felt him empty himself down your throat.

The grip he had on your hair tightened to the point of delicious pain, stinging your scalp. Johnny's legs went stiff under your touch. His cock twitched, buried deep down your throat, as spit and cum bubbled at the corners of your stuffed mouth.

You didn’t fight how your eyes rolled back this time. Struggling to breathe through your nose as you obediently swallowed.

Johnny allowed himself to collapse back against the pillow. Unfocused and dazed. The way his orgasm hit, like a needle puncturing his brain, made him think that maybe you were right and he’d gone and done it – the hemorrhagic stroke, or whatever it was you said.

When you finally pulled back, Johnny looked down at you with hooded eyes. His chest was still rising and falling at an alarming pace. And just when he thought it was over, that the bliss had regrettably ended, you locked eyes with him. His mouth went dry again.

He slowly let the grip on your hair go to allow you some freedom to move. He reached out to touch the side of your face. His thumb skimmed your lower lip, smearing the spit and what was left of him on your cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly – more than just a compliment.

You blushed. As if your cheeks could get any redder.

After tucking him back into his pants and sweats, Johnny beckoned your face closer to his. You followed his guidance, only to have him curl his fingers at the nape of your neck to tilt your head, and let his lips meet yours.

He didn’t kiss your hungrily. He savored you, allowing your lips to slot, and your tongues to mold. He tasted himself on you, and you tasted yourself on him.

Johnny tucked you under his arm, guiding you to rest your head on his chest like before.

You looked up at him, a cheeky smile on your lips. Tapped your fingers over his heaving chest.

“Slow breaths,” you instructed, “Keep the blood pressure low, baby.”

He huffed, “Fuck off, darling.”

You laughed and nuzzled against him. Johnny could only chuckle with you – could only think you were a vision. And when your face lifted to prop your chin on his chest so your eyes could meet, when your smile beamed in his direction, he was sure you were one.

"Now will you," you tapped his nose with your finger, "Cooperate a little more?”

Johnny snorted.

His lips curled into a tiny smirk. His cheeks were flushed as well, a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. His eyes were droopy and a little dreamy when he took you in. You looked so beautiful his heart could’ve stopped, and if that were to be the last thing he saw, he would've died a happy man.

You were proud of him, and for the first time, he was proud of himself, too.

He fell silent and only basked in your glow, reveling in the sunlight you brought. The arm that held you by your waist traveled upwards, and he curled it around your head. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, tangling with some of your hair as well.

And Johnny thought he’d take it. He’d take it any day.

“Get that achievements list,” he whispered, “Wanna cross that shite myself.”

#john mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john 'soap' mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #soap x you #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod mw3 #ao3 #fanfic #cod smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #john soap mactavish x reader

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leeknow-thoughts · 6 months ago

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୨୧ DRAG ME DOWN TO HELL/YOU'LL HOLD MY HAND

𝝑𝝔 cw : silly!mimo, fluff!, one joke about sewerslide, slice of life

𝝑𝝔 a/n : guys I love mimo he's so sweetieful to me

"Jagi, look at it!" Minho teases you as he holds the fish that is flopping around in his hands.

You do your best not to gag at the sight as your face falls in disgust, "that is so... gross."

"Oh hush, you won't be complaining tonight when you're eating it," Minho grumbles at your disgust and puts the fish in the cooler.

"Yeah, I will be, I'll be thinking about that fish and it's family that it could have had before you murdered it," you huff and take a seat in one of the chairs at the campsite.

"You take the girl out of the city not the city out of the girl," Minho supposes as he rebaits the fishing line.

"I'm happy with being a city girl if it means not murdering innocent fish and shit like that," you cross your arms.

"You know we can go back home right, you're the one who wanted to go camping with me," Minho reminds you.

"Yeah, whatever," you roll your eyes, "honestly I'd choose bear."

"What?" he looks at you with disbelief.

"Like being stuck in the woods with a man or a bear," you watch as he walks behind your chair to grab a different type of bait, "I would choose bear for obvious reasons and at least the bear would keep me some what entertained!"

You feel Minho's hands suddenly wrap around you tickling your sides, while you swat at his hands but can't help the smile that breaks across your face, "I'm sure they'd keep you very entertained, jagi," Minho chuckles and lets you go.

"I can't believe you just touched me with lake water! Lee Minho!" you exclaim and sit up as you try to shake the water off you.

You have a new focus as you lunge at Minho, he is faster though, swiftly evading your capture. Which leads to a game of tag as you run around trying to capture him.

You accidentally slip though, no big deal if it wasn't into the lake. Straight into the freezing cold, dirty water.

When your head pops out of the water you watch as Minho stares down at you and you can see that he is doing his best not to laugh, biting his tongue in order to keep himself from laughing. "Ja-Jagi," he almost laughs, before cupping his hand over his mouth, doubling over in laughter.

"Minho!" you shriek, splashing him with lake water.

"I-I'm sorry!" he chuckles, "you look like a s-soaked cat!"

"I feel like one too! Help me out!" you cry and have to bite your tongue to prevent tears from escaping your eyes.

Minho reaches over and helps pull you up, out of the water. "J-jagi, you're shivering," Minho points out.

"No fucking shit!" you exclaim as you try to warm yourself up.

Minho can't help the yelp-like laugh that escapes his lips before he's completely doubling over, practically rolling on the ground with laughter. "Ugh, fuck you!" you huff before marching off to the large tent you both would be sharing.

Luckily the tent had it's own shower, Minho opting for one because you would be joining him. The shower was small though, and there was no hot water, but at least it was something. You stripped off your dirty clothes, throwing them in a plastic bag before stepping under the freezing water.

You can't help but letting tears fall from your eyes as you try to gulp down the uncomfortable feeling that resonates all over your body.

"Little love?" Minho calls out to you, and you hear him step into the shower room.

He pulls back the shower curtain and takes one look at your teary-eyed state before his face falls. "Oh, jagi," Minho sighs, he reaches his hand out to you, "don't cry jagi, I'm sorry I laughed at you earlier," he coos.

"Was mean," you sniffle.

"It was mean," he agrees, gently cupping your face, "let me make it up to you. How can I make it up to you?"

"Go jump in the pond," you request.

"Jagi, I can't swim," he reminds you, "unless you're telling me to kill myself."

"That's so embarrassing, I hope you know," you sigh, shampooing your hair, "not being able to fucking swim."

Minho stifles his laughter before he begins stripping off his clothes, "what are you doing?" you question.

"Jumping in the pond," he answers.

"Naked?"

"It's not like anyone will see me," he hums.

He runs outside before you hear a splash, a moment after that Minho is running into the shower, he smells just like pond water, and he's drenched from head to toe. "Ew, you smell like pond water!" you shriek.

"Yeah," Minho sniffs you, "so do you."

"I can't believe you did that, how did you not drown?"

"Went in the shallow part," he explains as he kisses your shoulder.

You turn around, facing him. The limited shower space means you and Minho are practically pushed right against each other. "You're crazy you know?" you hum as you place a kiss on his lips.

"I'm fully aware, jagi," he hums against your lips, "also when did you get this?" he taps your inner thigh, the scar from a recent incident being what he was talking about.

"Oh, it's nothing," you brush off, "honestly didn't think you'd notice it."

"I know every inch of your body, obviously I'd notice a scar I haven't seen before," he sighs like it's obvious.

"You're sexy like this," you confess.

"Like how? Soaked in lake water?"

"Naked," you giggle, pressing a kiss to his lips.

A kiss that he happily returns.

After the shower you laid in bed while Minho began frying the fish he had caught earlier. "You should wear that shirt more often," you comment from your huddle of blankets on the cozy bed.

"Yeah?" Minho teases without looking at you, "you like it?"

"Yeah," you can't help but bite your lip.

"It's just a black compression shirt, jagi," he taunts.

You look over his form again, baggy jeans paired with a long sleeve black compression shirt with his long brown hair a mess on his head. "Still," you mumble, "looks fucking good."

"I bet it does," Minho agrees, making you whimper in frustration.

"You're confident today," you mumble as you turn over, looking at him.

"It's cause I'm around you," he smirks, looking back at you.

"What's that supposed to mean!?" you slap your forehead, tears of embarrassment threatening to fall.

"It means," he drags out the word while turning back to look at you, he notices your almost teary embarrassed face, "that you're the best," he hums turning back, "and you shouldn't be embarrassed about falling in the lake, or finding me sexy."

"I don't find you sexy!" you shriek.

"That's a fucking lie," Minho muses, "you said it yourself!"

"Shut up!" You slam your face into a pillow.

"You like me this way, jagi," he giggles before turning back to look at you.

"Loud and obnoxious," you raise your eyebrow,

"Yeouch, you're mean today, jagi," Minho hums before turning back to the food.

"Yeah yeah," you murmur before laying your head back down on the pillows.

"It's okay," Minho hums, "I like you a tiny bit mean."

You rise up out of the bed and join him in the small kitchenette area of the tent, wrapping your arms around his middle. Your chest to his back while he stands over a grill, rotating the salmon, making sure it's evenly cooked on both sides. "Your hands look good," you compliment, burying your head into his back with flushed cheeks.

"Mhm," he hums, "thank you, jagi. You know I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me today," he teases.

"I'm sure it is," you agree.

Minho flips around, now facing you, gently cupping your face, pulling you in for a kiss, "I'm glad you decided to come along, jagi," he mumbles through kisses planted on your lips.

"Me too, even if I did fall in the lake," you murmur.

You both eat over a campfire, no words exchanged between the two of you. Always preferring the silence that came with meals over talking with food in your mouths.

"Y'know," Minho starts, cutting through the silence like a knife to butter, "I'd let you drag me to hell if it means you'll hold my hand."

"I hope you know what an off putting thing that is to say over dinner," you tease.

"I'm aware, that's why I said it."

"You're very peculiar, I hope you know," you say through bites of salmon and vegetables.

Minho smirks, "it's okay, you're peculiar, just like me."

"I prefer to be called unique, thank you," you retort.

Later that night the two of you laid in bed together, Minho's fingers tracing that new scar on your thigh while you read a book. "You're perfect," Minho whispers in your ear.

"You're one to talk," you hum, putting your book on the nightstand and running your fingers through Minho's hair.

"Hell yeah I am, I'm the only person who gets the privilege of calling you perfect," he laughs.

"Yes you are, yes you are," you affirm.

#bun.writes #bunwritesskz #skz #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x you #stray kids #lee minho x reader #lee know stray kids #lee know #lee know x reader #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know soft thoughts #lee know soft hours

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shadowcitrine · 7 months ago

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Sunbathing

Before the outbreak there's a girl who keeps teasing Daryl.

Daryl's pov. Angry Daryl. Daryl and named OC. Kind of dirty.

18+ You're responsible for the content you consume.

First post nerves.

Of course she was here! She was everywhere he fuckin’ went. It was like she knew when he needed space and had some sick twisted need to devour what little time he carved out for himself. That stupid fuckin’ Mather's girly is just laying out by the river bank, arms beneath her head like she owns the whole god damned river and the sun is shining down on her over the tree tops like it agrees with her.

Picking up the fishing pole, Daryl's fist tightened around it, his face screwing up in anger makin’ his whole head hurt twice as much. He lets everyone walk all over him, but not anymore, not today. Especially not stupid Mercy who parades around in her dumb tiny shorts and ugly cut off shirts.

Taking the pole over to a shady spot he throws himself down, landing with a grunt. Digging through the little box of feathers he keeps in a tin till he finds a few small ones to tie on. If Mercy is watching him behind those dark glasses of hers he can't tell, not that he was lookin’ anyway. Not that he cares.

He cast the line, sticking the pole in the ground to light a cigarette and wait. She hasn't said a word and it's so unlike her that he thinks she has to be asleep. It's the only time she ain't asking him a million questions or trying to order him around. He stamps out the first butt and lights another. Takes him nearly all of the second one before he can hear the water trickling by beyond the anger pounding around in his head. Takes him even longer to realize his line has too much slack. The reel clicks quietly, a familiar lullaby that usually helps empty his head but not this time, not today.

Mercy still ain't talking. It's the longest they've ever been around each other without her at least sayin’ hi and now it's bothering him. He came out here for peace and now her silence is eating him alive. Not like bein’ around her does him any good. Never has, not even when they were kids. Just to try and take his mind off of her he starts reeling in the line, puffing on the smoke between his teeth but the harder he tries not to think about her the more he does.

That girl sighs and it draws his attention away from his half hearted attempt at fishing. She's still just layin’ there, knees now bent. Her shorts are digging into the upper parts of her thighs making little dips there that make his fingers itch to touch. She's just some annoying girl that he doesn't even like.

Then she moves again, rolling to her knees in the dirt, dead grass clinging to her back she's digging in a small cooler. Picking out some red white and blue ice pop she stuffs the wrapper inside before flopping back down on the ground. Still, not a single word out of her. She sick? High?

The more he looks at her painting her lips with the cherry end of the ice cream the more he's bothered by her silence because he can't help but see something else in his head. The way her tongue swipes across her bottom lip collecting the sticky sweetness there makes him tense in a way he shouldn't be around her but can't seem to help.

“Why ain't you sayin’ nothin’?” He asks. It just sort of bubbled up.

She takes her time answering sucking on the end of it making a soft lewd noise that makes his dick twitch. “Thought I talked too much Dixon?” there isn't even any anger in it. She's acting like she isn't even bothered by him being there watching her suck half the ice cream in to her mouth like she suckin’ cock.

“You do.” He drops the spent butt on the ground, his fishing pole forgotten.

She hums again around her snack, lips making a slurping noise around it like they do on titty channels that come on late at night. “Want me to ask you how you got that shiner?” She turns her head to look at him and if she notices him move his leg to hide his half chub she doesn't say.

Mercy runs a tongue along the underside of it catching drops of it before it can land on her tits and he's silently hoping she misses just one. Then his dick is coming alive thinking of her swearing the melted sugar water across them, swirling the red end over a nipple until it's rock hard. He don't need to be thinking about her like that but he can't look away.

She sits up holding in her mouth, cheeks hollowing around it and he swears she's doing it on purpose. No, she knows what she's doing and this–this tease is secretly eating up the attention. Mercy grabs the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She isn't wearing a bra or even one of her bright colored biking tops, no, she isn't wearing anything at all now ‘cept them frayed shorts of hers.

“Put your shirt back on Mercy!”

She lickin on the end for a moment, watching him watch her. He can't not think about how her ice cream is smaller than his dick. “Stop actin’ all mad.” She drops her head back.

Stop actin’ mad? Stop actin’ mad! She's doing this to fuck with him cause he doesn't wanna talk to her. He can see it in the way she smiles at him before biting off the last of the cherry flavor. Knows it when she leans back on her elbows to push her tits out on full display. She does all this shit just to fuck with him and he can't even figure out why! She treats him like he's nothin’! Tryin’ to push all his god damned buttons! Fuck her and fuck this!

He has to readjust himself as subtly as he can just to stand up. Even being mad at her doesn't stop his cock from throbbing, doesn't stop the ache. Then he's mad all over again because this is Mercy he's thinking about. Bitchy, awful, needy Mercy who comes over and smokes pot with Merle. The same girl who laughs whenever his brother calls him some stupid girl's name. This same girl who tries to lay against him on the couch when Merle leaves to go get more beer because she's lonely.

He's shaking his head. “I ain't in the mood for your shit. ‘M goin’ home.” He hates her. Hates the pink strip of colored hair that falls over her shoulder. Hates the way his brain has already memorized the trail of blue melt that's dripping on the swell of her breast and racing for her dusky nipple.

“If you stay–” she shouts loud enough for him to hear. “I'll let you touch em'.”

He even hates himself at this moment because now his feet are planted in the ground. Needing a distraction he lights a cigarette he doesn't even smoke. “The fuck you think I wanna touch your tits for?”

Mercy shrugs. “You keep staring.”

He snorts a breath of air through his nose. None of it even means anything to her, she's just messing with him. Always messing with him and he was tired of being nice. “You're the one who whipped em’ out to get me to look. What did you expect?”

Her face twists up. “I'm sun bathing asshole! I was the one who was here first!”

“And you ain't pretending to give the world's shittiest blow job with that thing?” He takes a hit off his cigarette nodding to the sweet melting in her hand. Her face is turning red, the tips of her ears are burning in embarrassment. He's turned the tables on her, called her out on her little game and she can't take it. Some distant part of him feels an inkling of pride at that. Her lip curls and he's moving towards her one slow step at a time.

“I changed my mind. Get fucked!” She throws down her ice cream in the grass.

Letting out a soundless laugh he's next to her now. Daryl's looking down his nose at her, the blue melt finally falling off the tip of her breast. “You wanna suck cock? Here it is.” Then he's grabbing himself through his jeans.

He blames the fact that there's no blood left in his head for why he's acting like this. That he needs her good and pissed off and disgusted all so she'd quit trying to get on his nerves all the damn time. He wants her to hate him as much as he hates her. Only, she ain't pushing him away. No, she's licking her sticky lips as she looks up at him behind those big ugly glasses.

“What? Can't figure out how a belt works?” He asks her. He's goading her to yell at him, but she hasn't yet. He sticks the smoke in his lips bending down to grab her hand. He pushes her fingers against the buckle when he stands back up. “C'mon! You want it so bad you're going to have to take it out yourself.”

Mercy bites her bottom lip as she twists to sit on her knees in front of him. His heart stutters in his chest when she begins to tug on the strap and he nearly laughs. She was so desperate she was actually going to suck him off. She's silent for probably the second time in her whole life as she undoes his belt.

#daryl dixon #twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dix pov #daryl x oc #the walking dead #firstpost nerves #i'm working on it #kinda dirty #daryl pov #short

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ladykailitha · 8 months ago

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It's rantin' time! That lovely time when your favorite neighborhood steddie author flies off the handle.

Today I want to talk about the physicality of one Edward Munson and how the fan seems to have veered completely off the map.

The fannish notion that Eddie is weak, uninterested in the outdoors, and is clumsy.

But I've never seen anything that suggests any of that.

As always, headcanon what you want. I'm not say you can't say any of these things are what you think he's like, but this is me expressing my confusion because I haven't seen the evidence myself.

Let's start with the one that confuses me the most. That he's clumsy.

We see him leap onto lunch tables and off again without stumbling. We see him jump down off of Skull Rock and land neatly on his feet. We see him climb up the tree in the Upside Down and then safely get back down. All things that require a certain amount of grace.

The only time we see him stumble is when he's joking around with Chrissy or when the earthquake happens.

Admittedly he does have that weird loping run, but not always.

So where does this come from? My guess is that BTS of Joe Quinn tripping over the vine, and people who have only seen the gifs think that he's like that all the time?

This next point bleeds into the notion that he's weak (noodle arms etc.) and that's when he manages to pull himself up using the rope ladder to get out of the Upside Down.

He flops onto the mattress but it looks like he planned it that way as he grins and says that was fun. But to get to that point, he had to climb up the rope ladder.

Now before you tell me that it was adrenaline, he wasn't in immediate danger. He was motivated, sure. But no amount of motivation would get me up that ladder because I've never had the arm strength for it. But next to Steve he looks like he went up the easiest.

The next piece of evidence that people will blame on adrenaline is pinning Steve to the wall of the boathouse and that he had the element of surprise. Yeah...no. He pushes Steve several feet before they hit the wall.

Then there is the hauling of the metal sheets that him and Dustin use to armor the trailer so the demobats don't get in. They can't have been light.

Or grabbing both Mike AND Dustin by the scruff of their necks and yanking them to their feet. Which the average persons couldn't do. One of them, maybe, but both? Takes some serious strength.

Another nod to his endurance at the very least is how he's sitting, crouched, butt above the ground when he's talking to them at Skull Rock. He sits like that the whole time.

I would say that his strength isn't more or less than Steve's only different with the different muscles that they use.

Finally we have a hatred of the outdoors.

He falls into the lake, swims to shore, survives the cold March night wet, manages to find a new walkie talkie and water canteen, gets to Skull Rock and radios the Party. All without a compass, by the way.

He also knows where War Zone is. None of the rest of the Party knows where to go to stock up, but he does.

I'm betting that Wayne took him hunting and fishing as a kid. Back then those were things that you could do fairly cheaply and often food was brought back with them from such trips.

Eddie knows how to survive in the wilderness. Whether or not he likes it, I suppose is entirely up to you, but the evidence suggests that he doesn't mind it.

#my writing #stranger things #ladykailitha rants #eddie munson

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tarot-archives · 8 months ago

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Wasted Summers— Laios Touden

Mermaid Au. Modern AU. this fic involves drowning.

i. fish out of water

Laios has to take a bike to the market. His house was far from the rest of the village so it was up to him for tonight's dinner. His dad wasn’t home yet while his mom was busy with housework. That leaves the responsibility to him, the eldest Touden son.

On the way, he saw someone or some animal flopping around the asphalt. Laios pulls on the brakes before he can make roadkill then his eyes widen. Despite its bare upper torso which would attract most few, the boy’s eyes land on the half-fish lower end of its body. Mermaids, beings once marveled as legends but had become a local attraction.

Despite its human half, mermaids are labelled as unintelligent creatures by most of scientific society. They lack means of communication, they have the intelligence of a five-year-old and have yet to show other uses than eye candy. Some exotic dealers trade them too. Perhaps as a meal or something far worse in the black market.

Laios picks up a stick and whips it in front of the mermaid, “Get out! Get back to the sea! Shoo!” And like other animals, it tries to get away from him. But it doesn’t return to the sea. Instead, the mermaid waddles itself up the road to the direction of the shrine on top of a mountain, much to Laios’ disappointment.

“I said go back!” Laios stomps in front to scare it off, yet the mermaid persists. The noise it makes as it tries to waddle is a bit cute. He notices that with each noise Laios makes it grumbles, like a reply. It’s similar to a barking dog but looking at it struggle makes it sad. Its human half makes it difficult for him to be scary.

“That’s not the sea” The blonde makes an X with his arms” That’s the shrine. Not your home, a Shrine.”

And from a single word, the mermaid looks at him excitedly, then points to the top. It takes Laios aback from its reaction. Does it understand?

Laios wets his lips, “Are you heading to the Shrine?”

The mermaid nods enthusiastically, making him excited. A mermaid understands his language. A mermaid understands his language.

They can communicate! So it was possible to talk to them. He had read so much about marine animals and his sister took an interest in mermaids before. There were activist groups promoting mermaids' rights, fighting for their independence, and protesting against hunting. He’s seen those people outside of supermarket stores handing out pamphlets for mermaid awareness.

“We should get you— oh right,” he scoops the mermaid up into his arms to clear themselves from any incoming traffic as he heads to the beach. “Let’s talk about it somewhere else.”

Laios abandons his grocery duties as he spends the rest of his day with the mermaid.

ii. a notebook and a handkerchief.

For the past few days, Laios has been by the beach to talk with his mermaid. It made him feel special that some amazing creature like that was friendly towards him. Sure there were reports about mermaids drowning people, but he was careful. These conversations—er uhm— data were discovered on the shoreline. Laios noted that the mermaid had a good memory. And if he wasn’t feeding it with half of his lunch. The mermaid still points towards the shrine.

“Do you have anyone you know?” Laios asks, but the mermaid tilts its head.

“Person? Shrine?” Laios Points to himself and then to the building. Still, the mermaid doesn’t have a new reaction.

“Shrine?” he points to the building, and the mermaid nods once more.

“go?”Laios dropped to the pebbled ground and imitated the waddling mermaid from yesterday.

He sits up and then points to it to, “You?”

Its eyes widen as if it understands then waddles away to swim back into the sea. Maybe it went back home. They don’t have the concept of saying goodbye, after all, he thinks.

Laios waited for a good minute or so before deciding to call it a day. However, as he was about to depart, he heard stones being turned at the shoreline. He looks back and is happy to see his mermaid but with a handkerchief in hand.

“La-os! La-os!” it waves the fabric around proudly.

iii. mermaids are not meant on land.

The following day, Laios takes his father’s wheelbarrow with him and a bucket. He filled it up, bucket by bucket with seawater as he intended to take the mermaid through it. But of course, his mermaid was a curious one. Laios didn’t have to persuade it to come closer and had accepted to be whisked once more in his arms. It sits there snuggly, lucky for him it didn’t thrash around.

It simply points up to its awaited place, “Sha-rine?”

“Yes, Shrine,” Laios lifts the wheelbarrow and rolls upwards to the mountain. It was a cloudy day perfect for a walk and they took breaks here and there. He made sure it stays moist by taking the water from the wheelbarrow and pouring it over its head. When it started to splash around to play, Laios had to scold it to stop. And he noticed that in this journey, the mermaid likes to be held. It kept on pulling his hand over its head for head pats. Laios wanted to indulge in it too, it’s a bonding activity that heightens trust, but maybe for another day.

After an exhausting attempt, Laios has succeeded in bringing it up to the shrine. It splashes around clearly excited to break free.

“Wait, hold on, let me- argh!” The wheelbarrow leans to the side, making the mermaid fall. He urgently went by its side to check for any injuries, and luckily there was none. Laios presses both his palms into her, “Stay. Here.” But as soon as he tries to leave, it waddles again.

“La-os!” it wiggles around. It was displeased with the new terrain. “La-os. mhmm, Sha-rine. Kership.”

Laios tried his best to keep it calm but it was too exciting.

“Who is there?” A voice asks. The loud noise alerted the groundskeeper and he stared at both Laios and the mermaid. The blond noticed the way the groundskeeper gripped his broom upon seeing the mermaid.

In an instant, he shields it, “Wait, don’t be alarmed!”

“Kid, get out of the way,” the groundskeeper raised his weapon, ready to strike. “You have a dangerous animal behind you!”

He doesn’t budge, “Please Listen, it’s harmless!” Laios tries his best to seem friendly. It was a common understanding that churches deemed mermaids as devils luring sailors to death. But that was a stereotype made in bad faith against women.

“Harmless?” The groundskeeper was disgusted at the notion. “That animal attacked me! Don’t be fooled boy. they might appear kind, but they’re just lowering your guard waiting to attack.”

“But it made it all this way to give something,” Laios grabs the broom the throws it to the side. “I know that they’re just no better than animals, but this one is smart. It wants to return something.”

“Get out!” the groundskeeper pushed Laios making him land on his butt. The mermaid rushes to Laios side seeing he was attacked. The mermaid hisses and curl its fingers as if to strike against the offender. But Laios pulled it back, its skin against his chest to make sure it didn’t retaliate.

In the end, he decided to leave the shrine and head back to the sea.

iv. humans are not meant for the sea.

Laios sits by the shoreline with his mermaid friend by his side. He was discouraged by how the groundskeeper reacted. Maybe it was because he was old, acting his mindset from his generation. Younger people like him were more understanding after all (more or less). Mermaids were not like the creatures most people played them out to be.

They were like sharks. Their identities were muddled by years of propaganda against them. Though mermaids were quite new, they still didn’t escape the lies and stereotypes held against them. Here he is, waiting as the golden sun sets before he heads home. Laios likes how the light bounces off its scales in an ethereal glow. Ever since earlier when he had given her head pats, it was now eager to receive more as it nuzzled his side if he stopped.

“you’re not like them are you?” Laios sighed, today was an unfulfilling day. “you’re not like the humans with their biassed judgement.”

The mermaid doesn’t understand, it simply nudges its head against his palm.

“I wish I wasn’t human,” he lets out this foolish idea. Laios had always wanted to be something else. Perhaps, his reasons for helping the mermaid weren’t as altruistic as he thinks. After a moment, the mermaid stops in its movements. “hmm? what’s wrong?”

“La-os!” it cups his cheeks in his palms making Laios fluster. He couldn’t speak, unsure of what to interpret its actions into human behaviors. But its interest changes and it's back down again playing with the bucket he brought. But Laios looks away feeling embarrassed.

All of a sudden, a blunt force hit the top of his head, his vision was blocked, and then he felt talon sharp fingers digging into his skin as something dragged him to the sea. His heart was racing, and by the time he had removed the bucket from his head, more than half of his body was in water.

Laios claws at the grounds of the shoreface. He kicked and thrashed to break free from whatever was grabbing him, but it was a gruelling fight. This creature was strong in the water. Land dwellers like him don’t belong here.

His body needs air. Water enters his lungs as Laios struggles to escape. And with one successful hit, he had managed to escape and limp far away from the shoreline, coughing out the seawater from his chest.

He looks around to search for his mermaid, making sure that it is out of harm's way. He didn’t want the creature that tried to drown him to hurt it too. But with his friend out of the foreshore, Laios gawks at the familiar sets of eyes on the water.

It can’t be, His mermaid couldn’t have drowned him, right?

“Laios?” it tilts its head, not understanding it did something wrong. “Bakit?”

“What? Bucket?” he searched for it on the ground, but it was nowhere to be found. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s too terrified to act after that attempt that almost kill him. Maybe the groundskeeper was right. Mermaids are animals waiting for the moment to attack.

Drenched, Laios takes the wheelbarrow home. He doesn’t return for a while.

v. things to find out

In his journal, he wrote: in the same way as I brought her to the shrine on the wheelbarrow, did it mimic by using the bucket to scoop some air for me to breath in? did it try to show me its home? did it understand when I said I wished I wasn’t human? could joining it make me like it?

AN: It’s mermay! yey my first piece for this prompt. This fic was inspired by Ryoko Kui’s work titled Ryuu No Kawaii Nanatsu No Ko. It’s the second chapter, mermaid sanctuary. It’s a good read if you like dungeon meshi. it makes you understand ryoko ryu’s story telling which enhances the DMeshi experience tbh.

#laios touden x reader #laios x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #torta talks

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tmnt-l0v3rrr · 23 days ago

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Bay! Donatello x Reader

Warnings!

Suicide, Suicide attempt, depression, Reader needs a break, Severe worry, Yandere tendency, Yandere Donatello

Overall, dark content.

818 words

It had been a long week, a long month, a long year even. You were just so tired of it all.

It was the same shit every single goddamn day. Wake up, 6:30 AM, get ready for work, Eat to keep your iron levels up, text donnie you're heading out to work and that you love him, get on the subway at 8 AM, work your ass of until 9 PM, get back on the subway, struggle with your shitty lock cause your landlord refuses to fix it, change into home clothes and pass out. Everyday for the past two years.

You were so sick and tired of getting yelled at by customers, everyday. About the stupidest shit ever too.

At this point you’re just really fucking tired of being alive. You had talked to Donnie about it a couple times, he always said the same thing, that he was here for you and he’ll always help. But after so long that doesn't matter, It gets dilaudid to just words, their meaning being lost a long time ago.

…….

You weren't thinking right, your body moves aimlessly but swiftly, akin to a ghost.

You saunder your way to the bathroom, mind blank and fuzzy, but won’t shut up. Like TV static, Loud and annoying but quiet at the same time. You felt desensitized to your own body and mind. Before you could really think about what you were doing, you were in the bathroom, the medicine drawer open, the bottle of medication taken out and opened on the counter.

You slugged back pill after pill, leaning your head down into the sink to drink from the tap. You take a deep breath and flop down on the bathroom floor, the tiles cold on your flushed skin. It felt nice, cooling.

Your head spun and you gagged and held vomit down every so often. Your hand digs into your pocket, fishing for your phone. Taking out earbuds and some gum before getting to the cold device.

Struggling to work your hands, the phone drops and cracks a little on the tile. You let out a groan of annoyance but pick it up and eventually end up unlocking it.

Opening your missed texts from the last few hours well you were at work. A few from Donnie, nothing important, he had just been asking what you were doing. Ah he must have checked your location.

You struggle to type, but you manage to type what you can. Just a short “I love you, stay safe Donnie.” You let your phone slide off your hands to the ground. You wrap your arms around your torso. You really wished donnie was here… you hadn’t seen him in a couple days due to work and whatnot. Your eyes fill with salty tears and regret. You really missed Donnie.

The pinging of your phone keeps you grounded. Donatello was spamming you. Looks like he got the point of the message…

A few cold, silent minutes pass. You sit slumped against your bathroom wall. You quickly jump from your pretty much passed out state by the sound of the lock of your bedroom window being snapped off.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear Donnie’s footsteps racing to your living room, past the bathroom. “Sweetie? Please- where are you.” Godamnit he sounds like he’s crying. You can hear a small sniffle and his gear shifting along with him. Soon enough your bathroom door swings open with a very worried looking donnie staring down at you.

He sees the empty and discarded pill bottle, His eyes widen and he brings a hand to his mouth. Oh, how such a small thing tells such a gut wrenching story…. He bends down and places a cold hand on your jaw.

“Oh- honey..” He hugs you gently, rubbing your back in slow circles. He picks you up by under your arms, then brings you to lean over the toilet. He lifts the seat and bends you over the water. “Okay… just hold on sweets” He gingerly held the bottom of your jaw, prying it open before shoving two fingers down your throat, hitting your gag reflex pretty hard. Donnie quickly takes his fingers out as you gag and puke into the toilet.

“Good job, keep puking. You got it..” With your puke comes tears, you didn’t know what you were thinking, you were upset and didn’t know what to do.

A couple minutes of puking passes and you slump against Donnie, his cool plastron being nice against your hot and flushed body. He rubbed a hand up and down your forearm with sweet coo’s of reassurance.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His voice was shaky but relieved. “I think I’ve done enough.” You huff and rest against him. Too tired to hear or really care what happens next.

“Let’s get you home.”

#tmnt x reader #donatello x reader #yandere donnie #yandere donnie x reader #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt bayverse

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mirrology · 8 months ago

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— Rowdy .ᐟ ☆

୨୧ rowdy: ( noun) a noisy and disorderly person. (adjective) noisy and disorderly.

Ft. boothill, gender neutral reader. platonic. Wc: 722

Content: short bit of hc's and a small fic at the end, readers age is not specified, boothill being a little shit, he cares abt u tho, typical sibling shenanigans, sibling bonding, cursing, boothill may be ooc.

A/n: first ever platonic boothill fic /j, also this is kinda lazy but whatever.

He would definitely be one of those annoying brothers that come into your room just to look at you, then leave without closing the door.

but he genuinely cares about you and your safety considering his job as a galaxy ranger.

Boothill also definitely calls you runt, squirt, & kid no matter how old you are or no matter how much you complain.

Frequently ruffles your hair as a sign of affection, although this ends in bickering when you do your hair before it.

Definitely can't cook for shit, every time he tries to make something for you out of the kindness of his heart, he absolutely wrecks it.

It ends up burnt and inedible, and a purple aura around in a cartoonish fashion. and oh, the poor kitchen, you can't count how many times you've had to fix something. it has gone through a lot.

The two of you have sleepovers where you do skincare, watch movies and gossip about anything and everything.

you would think that Boothill is more of a horror movie and/or action movies type guy but he has a soft spot for sappy romance movies and the saddest films possible.

and if you feel like it, both of you talk about your love life.

Trains you by sparring in hand-to-hand combat, he usually wins the sparring, but you've gotten close to beating him.

After your training session you flop on the floor like a dead fish and beg him to carry you back inside, he obliges but not before teasing you for falling to the ground.

he picks you up in a princess carry or in a piggy back ride.

Boothill gives you things at the most random times, "oh but it's not a holiday or anything special today!" you can say but he won't care. accept his gift.

If you just as much glance at something in a store for 1 millisecond you'll find said thing in a gift bag with a little note, handwritten by him.

Since he's part robot he can't drink water or even touch it or he will malfunction, even though he's made to sustain the harsh weather of the desert and attacks from the criminals he hunts down.

so if he's being stubborn and does go through with touching water, you're the one who (quite literally) brings him back to life.

and because of this you've become well-versed in technology. you constantly fix anything that is wrong, such as a jammed finger. Although can't seem to get rid of that swear filter that he's unfortunately stuck with.

Overall Boothill is a very fun elder brother who wants to keep you safe.

You woke up to the feeling of being moved from your spot on your desk. you had been working on one of your tech projects, spending hours on end tinkering away in your room. You cracked one eye open, sleep pulling at your eyes, wanting them to close one more. You were met with the familiar face of your brother above you. then you registered the feeling of his hand on your back and underneath your knees.

Boothill noticed your sleepy gaze on him, and he smiled cheekily, "Heya, runt. I see ya' woke up" he chuckled in amusement at your disheveled appearance. He laid you down on your bed and placed the covers over your body, you immediately sank into your mattress and the soft feeling of the blanket on top of you was making you sleepier.

"Jeez, how long have ya' been up?" His smile dropped a little as he noticed a faint outline of dark circles underneath your eyes. "dunno..." you slurred out and turned to your side, facing him. "Hey, big bro?" you quietly said, Boothill raised an eyebrow "yea?" he asked.

You softly grinned, "Love ya'" you said, then suddenly being interrupted by a yawn. there was silence as your eyes drooped and eventually closed as you fell into a deep slumber.

Boothill stared at your sleeping face, it wasn't exactly surprising that you had said that you loved him. It was just that you didn't say it often, it wasn't that you didn't want to. Boothill's schedule is almost always full, so spending time with him can be hard. A rare soft smile graced his features and he reached over to caress your head.

"I love ya' too, kid." He whispered.

#reader insert #x reader #boothill #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #gender neutral reader #hsr x reader platonic #hsr platonic #platonic relationships #boothill hsr #boothill honkai star rail #boothill x reader platonic #boothill x reader #reader input #gn reader #child reader #teen reader

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mamibaddie · 9 months ago

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Warning: panty-stealing, subliminal mention of a threesome, some SMUT 18+ only please!

Imagine Eddie and Charlie being friends with one another. They share a mutual love for horror movies. Eddie, who is more free-spirited and knows (a little bit) more about sex than Charlie, is the one that helps Charlie feel a bit more empowered in his own sexuality. They both tell each other everything, so it surprises Eddie when he comes across a pair of red lace underwear under the bed that definitely isn’t Charlie’s.

“Hey, I couldn’t find the 2012 version of ‘The Thing’ but I found the 1982 one…” Charlie stopped in his tracks. Eddie was holding up the pair of red lace underwear with his index finger.

“Some underwear you got here. And by the looks of it…it seems to be your guilty pleasure.” Eddie said with a smirk. Charlie was flustered, turning a beet red color. He couldn’t believe Eddie found his secret. Then again, he could. He’s always been a little nosy.

Charlie didn’t know what quite to say. He must’ve looked like a fish out of water, his lips closing and opening to get ready to say something. But his brain stopped working.

“So what store did you steal them from this time?” Eddie asked, as he flopped down on Charlie’s bed, laying on his side. You see, Charlie had a knack for stealing women’s underwear from numerous stores. It could be Victoria’s Secret, Target, you name it. But these particular underwear wasn’t stolen from a store.

“They’re…um… I didn’t steal them from a store.”

The silence in the room was loud. You could see Eddie’s gears turning in his mind. Trying to connect the mystery pieces together with what vague information Charlie provided.

“If you didn’t steal them from a store…then that must mean….” Eddie jumped up, wide eyed, sporting a smile.

“You got them from fucking…” Eddie snapped his fingers trying to come up with the name, as if he hasn’t committed it to memory. It took about five seconds before Eddie blurted out your name. Charlie closed his eyes and deeply sighed.

“You fucked her, didn’t you?! Tell me, what was it like?” Eddie sat with his feet firmly planted on the ground. “Was she like, “oh-oh Charlie, fuck you’re sooo good. Fuck me like you do in your fantasies!!’” Eddie did a poor imitation of what your voice might sound like. Though, Charlie wouldn’t know.

“I didn’t fuck her.” He came out and said.

“What do you mean you didn’t fuck her?”

“I mean…” Charlie said snatching the underwear from Eddie’s hand and placing it in his nightstand, “I didn’t fuck her. I just…took it from her drawer..”

Eddie looked at him for a second and then howled with laughter before clapping his hands and placing one of them on his shoulders. “I’m rubbing off on you more and more…. No pun intended by the way.” Charlie moved his shoulder away from him. He felt like a creep. There he was in your dorm, the only reason he was there was because of a group project for class. You had asked him if he needed any water. Charlie said yes please, he did feel a bit thirsty, just not for water. While you were downstairs, he looked around your room. He scanned through the photos that were hung, the many rings that you wear, even the perfume that you had; to which he sprayed some on the inside of his shirt so he can smell you once he gets home. Until he got to your dresser. A little bit of red peeking out. He looked towards the door and turned his ear to hear if you were coming in soon. You weren’t. So, curiosity got the best of him. He opened your drawer and there they were. He didn’t even think twice before quickly grabbing them and stuffing them in his back pocket.

After Charlie told Eddie exactly how he got his hands on them, Eddie wore a wolffish grin. Charlie laughed, “why are you looking like that?”

Eddie replied, “We should try to win her over.”

Charlie went wide-eyed and shook his head “no, no. I don’t think so. She doesn’t roll like that.”

Eddie shrugged, “you never know. We can always just ask her. If she’s not with it, no worries. But if she is….”

Charlie couldn’t help but think about it. It did sound enticing, kissing you, touching you… he can’t say he hasn’t entertained the thought of being inside of you. How he’d loved to feel you wrapped around him. Him moaning and whimpering in your ear about how soft and wet you are. God, it must feel like Heaven.

“I think junior likes the idea too.” Eddie said. Charlie furrowed his brows and looked at him in confusion. Eddie pointed at his pants. Charlie looked down and seen a bulge beginning to form on his pants.

Charlie sighed and mumbled “shut up” before making his way to the bathroom.

“Hey,” Eddie called after him.

“What?!” Charlie replied, frustrated beyond belief.

Eddie went into Charlie’s nightstand and pulled out the infamous underwear. He threw it at Charlie.

“Don’t forget your inspiration.”

#I don’t know what this even is #I just randomly thought of this #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x black!reader #charlie walker #scream fanfic #scream 4 #charlie walker x black!reader #charlie walker x you #rory culkin #joseph quinn character #joseph quinn #charlie walker smut

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amazingmsme · 3 months ago

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Brotherly Antics

AN: day 2, here we go! This has been one of my favorite fics to write so far! It’s just so fun & playful, & I just love these characters so much! If you haven’t already, go watch Blood of Zeus! Now, on to the fic!

The fight was far from over, Heron knew this well. Their victory on the battlefield will be short lived, but for now, they could enjoy the rest and relaxation.

His friends remained on earth while he resided in Olympus for the time being, talking things over with his half siblings and training by their side. Their father would be proud.

Heron sat on the side of the field, drinking water as he watched his brothers spar. In a flash, Hermes ran behind Apollo, hooking both arms under his before slamming him to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Why you little-" Apollo growled, swinging his legs to knock Hermes off his feet. His back hit the hard packed dirt with a pained groan. His eyes flew wide open as he felt an arm wrap around his legs and he began kicking with all his might, the wings at his ankles flapping frantically.

"Apollo don't! That's cheating!" he cried, a smile playing at his lips as he tried to shove him off.

"You cheated first! Attacking from behind like that, really Hermes?" he taunted as he began scribbling against the downy feathers. Hermes shrieked so loudly, it made Heron jump in shock, head snapping up to look at the pair.

"Ohoho plehease, you're just looking for ahan excuse to- NOHO WAHAHAIT!" Hermes cut himself off with a giggly squeal before hysterical cackles burst free from his chest. Heron found himself chuckling along to the infectious, goofy sound, though a blush was quickly spreading and he found he couldn't bear to watch the scene for long. He grabbed a whetstone and began sharpening his sword to appear busy, watching from the corner of his eye.

"Stick around long enough, and you'll be next," a gentle voice warned from behind, startling him enough to turn around. He relaxed slightly; it was only Athena.

"Trying to scare me away so you can have the field all to yourself, sister?" he teased, looking down to hide his blush. She snickered, something sly and knowing behind the sound.

"It was a warning. You're fresh meat for them, and if they see you sitting here..." she trailed off, looking him up and down. He squirmed under her gaze, furrowing his brows. "I'm afraid you'll be serving yourself up on a silver platter."

"That's ridiculous," he hissed, dragging the stone across the blade harshly. "They're all the way other there, and a little busy, if you haven’t noticed," he reasoned, a fair amount of sass entering his voice. "I'll be fine." Right? he didn't say aloud, but looked up at her expectantly, hopefully.

Athena arched a brow at his tone, cocking her head to look at him.

"Do you know what Hermes is the God of?"

"A lot."

Athena snorted and rolled her eyes, resting her hand atop his head and leaning on him like a table. "Be specific."

"Speed, travel-"

"Mischief," she cut him off, and he snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide. "And Apollo is almost as bad, though he may have you fooled. But, I mean, just look at who started this mess?" she nodded to the pair subtly, not keen on drawing their attention by pointing.

Heron followed her gaze, watching the pair roll around and laugh. Hermes was flopping around like a dying fish, cackling and pleading for mercy as Apollo pinched and rubbed the wings between his fingers. He scratched at the base of the wings where they met the ankle and his laughter spiked, surging forward with renewed energy to launch an attack of his own. He buried his hands under Apollo's arms and he jolted, slamming them down to his sides with a bark of laughter. Hermes let out a triumphant, giggly war cry as he fought for the upper hand. Heron smirked as they watched it all play out, but there was the faintest touch of sadness to it. These were brothers, who grew up wrestling and playing with one another, who loved each other wholeheartedly. This was everything he and Seraphim never got to have, and he bit back the vile taste of jealousy.

He wasn't jealous that he wasn't included! That's not what he meant, so don't go putting words in his mouth. He was jealous of the bond that never was; the brother- the best friend he should've had. It was like looking in a twisted mirror of what could have been.

His lip curled in a sneer as he scraped the stone along the sharp edge. "So?"

"Do I really have to spell it out?" she asked, more amused than annoyed. "You're our brother. That makes you just as much fair game as the rest of us," she teased softly. His mouth hung open in shock, but she cut him off before he could speak. "So if I were you, I'd get a head start. Hermes is quite fast."

Heron sat there frozen, looking between her and the wrestling Gods on the ground. He locked his gaze with hers, "Are you being serious?"

Athena chuckled, shaking her head fondly. "Trust me, I'm one of the few who won't pull the wool over your eyes." He nodded before heaving a deep sigh, accepting the truth of the matter. If she's right, he'll be quick work if he sticks around. So he gathered his things as quietly as he could, but by that time, he could hear their fight beginning to wind down. Still, he crept towards the exit, praying they wouldn't notice.

"Just where are you off to?"

Of course they fucking noticed.

"I'm done training," he said curtly, glancing over his shoulder to call out, trying to play it casual. When he looked ahead, he stopped in his tracks with a choked gasp as Hermes stood blocking the exit.

"Actually, I don't think you are."

"Excuse me?" he asked, tossing his things to the side, knowing it's best to ditch them now than while he's running for his life.

"You have to get a full workout. You can't just hit the weights brother, cardio is very important," he practically purred, taking a step towards him. Heron took three steps back.

"I think I'm good-"

"No, he's right brother," Apollo spoke from behind, and he tensed up when he felt a large arm rest over his shoulders. He slipped out of the hold, stepping away and turning so he could keep both of them in his vision.

"Why so jumpy Heron? Did our dear sister warn you about us?" Hermes asked with a smirk. Heron didn't move a muscle, and that was all the confirmation they needed. "She knows us so well," he mused.

"I'd hope so. Otherwise we'd need to give her a little reminder," Apollo piped up.

"I think we should anyway. She did tip him off," Hermes shrugged nonchalantly.

"Guess it's settled then," Apollo agreed. As the pair spoke, Heron took off running across the field. They gave him a few more seconds to believe he had a fighting chance before they gave chase.

Heron came to a screeching halt when Hermes suddenly stood in his path and he turned on his heels. He screamed when he saw Apollo coming up from behind, and he made a B-line for the rows of seats. He jumped over the wall into the stand, heading towards the exit. Apollo paced him on the field while Hermes circled around from behind.

Apollo jumped into the stands with ease, quickly gaining on him. Heron should've known better than to look behind him. It was the same kind of fear as when you're up high, and you look down. A small scream escaped his throat and he ran even faster.

He was grabbed from behind, and panic surged through his body. He shot forward with God-like speed, breaking free of the hold. Hermes cut him off at the last second and he froze, caught between his half brothers.

"You're trying awfully hard to escape. You must be rather ticklish to go through this much trouble to avoid it," Hermes teased, flashing him a smirk. Heron took a step back.

"No, I just know you two are awful together," he justified with a smirk of his own.

"Thank you, you're too kind," Hermes hummed, taking another step towards him, and Heron took that as his cue to start running again.

"Great brother, you let him get away," Apollo rolled his eyes.

"Relax, it's not like he'll get very far," he quipped, dashing off and returning in less than a second with a struggling Heron in tow.

"Noho, let me gooo!" He leaned back as far as he could, running in place as he tugged on his trapped arm.

"Oh dear, laughing already?" Hermes cooed, chuckling at the blush that spread across Heron's face.

"No! Shut up!" he snapped defensively. He landed with a thud on the ground when Hermes let him go, watching Heron launch himself into the dirt with his own momentum.

"Is that any way to speak to your brother?" Apollo asked, crouching down to grab his arms while Hermes straddled his waist.

"I'm sorry! Let me go!" Heron put up a good fight, trying to get away. However, he had a twitchy, nervous smile and the struggling was mostly for show.

"No can do. See, you haven't gone through initiation yet," Hermes drawled, resting his hands on his sides. "I mean, are you really our brother if we haven't tickled you until you cry?"

"What?"

"Oh please, you're scaring him. Don't worry Heron, we'll stop once you beg for mercy. We're not animals."

"No way, I'm not gonna beg from a little tickling," he argued. His defiance was adorable.

"Won't you?" Hermes asked, arching a brow. Heron faltered in his confidence.

"No?"

"Oh my, you sound a bit unsure of yourself," Apollo spoke up smugly. "What's the matter, afraid you'll crack?" he taunted. Heron grunted and strained to pull his arms down, but they were firmly pinned beneath Apollo's knees.

"I won't!" he growled, kicking his legs against the ground. Hermes smirked down at him, leaning in a little closer.

"Let's test it then, shall we?"

Heron's eyes flew wide open and he shook his head. "Wait, that's not what I meant!"

Hermes threw his head back in a shrill, hysterical cackle of his own. "Oh dear, sweet, baby brother, there really is no escape. So you might as well just accept your fate now." As soon as he finished speaking, he began squeezing his sides softly, relishing in the way Heron jumped beneath his touch, yelping before biting down on his lip. Still holding onto the last shreds of his dignity, he shook his head.

"Oh good! I was so hoping you'd go down fighting," Hermes chirped, clawing just beneath his ribs.

Heron grit his teeth together, sealing his lips shut as tight as he could, but muffled giggles and shrieks still managed to make themselves known.

"I just love it when they try to hold it in, don't you?" Apollo teased, walking his fingers down his arms. Heron jerked under the touch, arms straining to come down. His breathing came in quick bursts through his nose, sounding more like laughter by the second.

"It's only one of the best parts," Hermes agreed before clawing at his stomach. Heron immediately crumbled at the touch, allowing loud belly laughs to escape. Hermes couldn't help but giggle at the reaction, "Aww, you really are a ticklish one, aren't you?"

Heron felt a blush rise to his cheeks, and he tried to hide his face in the crook of his arm. "SHUHUT UHUHUP!"

"I didn't hear a no," Apollo pointed out, scratching his bare armpits. Heron shrieked and arched his back before flailing uselessly beneath his half brothers.

"You're one toho tahahalk!" he managed to taunt back.

Apollo gasped loudly before drilling his thumbs in the center of his pits. Heron was thrown into hysterics, and the God had to raise his voice to be heard over frantic laughter, "You little shit! Just for that-" He didn't finish his sentence, instead he brushed Heron's hair away from his neck and took a deep breath.

"Wahahait! W-what ahahare you- AHAHAHAHA OHOH SHIHIHIT!" Heron tried to scrunch his neck to block the feeling as Apollo blew a raspberry on his neck. He pulled away, watching as Heron giggled and rubbed his neck with his shoulder, panting heavily to catch his breath. "Whahahat the hehell was thahat?"

"Oh? Don't tell me you've never had a raspberry before."

Heron scrunched his face, "That's what you call it?"

"Well, that's what humans are calling it," Hermes reasoned.

"Why?"

They both chuckled, and Heron felt his face grow warm. "I don't know. Say, you're half human, why don't you tell us?" Hermes asked with a smirk. Heron whined, tugging on his arms and bucking his hips.

"Just lehet me gooo! You're being mehehean!" he giggled, throwing his head back in defeat. The mischievous pair replied in unison.

"Oh I'll show you mean!"

"What? But we're being so nice!"

Hermes rolled up Heron's shirt, taking a deep breath just as Apollo had moments before. He shook his head, eyes wide with giddy fear as he realized what was coming.

"Nohoho wait! Please, I'm sorRYYYYY!" his pleading dissolved into a shrill squeal as the trickster God blew a raspberry in the center of his stomach. Heron kicked his legs and bucked as much as he could, snorting and cackling when Hermes blew another raspberry, followed by one on each side of his belly, still quivering with laughter.

"Plehehease! You're killing mehehehe!" he squealed, eyes shut tightly and nose scrunched adorably as he laughed.

"What? Come on, you can take a little tickling, can't you?" Apollo asked smugly, scratching behind his ears and earning a choked off giggle in response. "I mean, you're half God, so it would be pretty embarrassing if this was what did you in, after everything-"

"OHOHOKAHAY I GEHET IT! SHUT UP!"

"Oh, he gets angry when he's flustered. Good to know," Hermes noted with a smug smirk, clawing at his sides.

"Noho I dohohon't!" Heron argued, blushing profusely and trying to look at anything else besides the two Gods grinning down at him.

"Agree to disagree," he shrugged smugly. He moved down to squeeze his hips, and Heron bucked with a loud, giggly shriek.

"Ohoho shihihit! Nohot there, plehease!"

"Not there, you say?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. He squeezed his hips, making him thrash with another yelp. "See, when people say that, they usually mean it really tickles. So, is this a bad spot?"

"Ihihhi'll kihihill you!" Heron growled through his laughter. They both rolled their eyes.

"Sure you will. You look quite threatening with that smile plastered on your face," Hermes taunted.

Oh, that was the last straw. Heron summoned what little strength he could and thrust it out through his hands. He latched onto Apollo's knees where they were keeping his arms pinned and let the electricity flow from his fingertips, hoping for the best.

Suddenly, Apollo jumped back with a startled shriek of his own, rubbing his knees frantically. Hermes stared at him quizzically.

"What-"

"He used his damned lightning," he explained in a rush, cutting him off. He turned to look at Heron, hoping for a truce.

"I'll help hold him down if you promise to do that to him-"

"Excuse you, but what the fuck?" Hermes snapped, staring at Apollo with a look of utter betrayal.

Heron nearly choked on the air he was sucking in. He looked at him in bewilderment, furrowing his brows.

"You do know you'll be next, right?"

"Of course, I'm just biding my time, same as you. It's why you ran, is it not?"

"Just stop talking." When they looked up, Hermes was already halfway across the field. Apollo smirked and pointed at him.

"See, if he really wanted to escape, he'd be halfway to earth by now."

"I can still hear you!"

Apollo stood and stretched, "And yet, you don't hear him denying it." He smiled down at Heron and winked, offering a hand to help him up.

"No, you don't," Heron agreed with a genuine grin of his own.

"Well, he's waiting for us to catch up. So? What do you say?"

Heron just smirked and cocked his head before taking off in a sprint.

#tickletober 2024 #tickletober #heron #hermes #apollo #boz #blood of zeus #boz fic #blood of zeus fic #blood of zeus tickle fic #boz tickle fic #ticklish!heron #ticklish!hermes #ticklish!apollo

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yuna542 · 24 days ago

Text

[7.]

~Smokes and Fumes~

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader/Oc

Genre: Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Drama, Action

Warnings: Swearing, Fighting, domestic violence, mentions of blood

Taglist: Open

Word count: 3k

Summary: The Kook princess is back after a year and reignites the war between Pogues and Kooks on Kildare. But she quickly realizes that after this year, nothing is the same as before. Deception, secrets from the past, and dangerous conspiracies sweep across Kildare, leaving her no choice but to work with the Pogues and her personal nemesis to find the truth and maybe even $8 million. A dangerous treasure hunt begins that turns her world upside down.

Soundtrack:

⏯️Play: Hard Times by Paramore

„All that I want

Is a hole in the ground

You can tell me when it's alright

For me to come out“

JJ was already standing by the fire, waving a corrugated iron in front of the glowing wood. Just then John B came out of the house and gave me a quick look before he jumped down the stairs.

"Well, come on! I'll take you home Kook."

With that, he lifted up the keys to the Twinkie and was about to make his way down the stairs when I braced myself to get up off the couch. The Pogues obviously wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible and I too would have preferred to leave immediately, but that wasn't possible.

"Wait! I can't go home yet."

He paused and turned to me on the last stair. Now Pope was standing in the doorway, too, and by now he was wearing a dark blue apron. I could only guess what he was doing in the kitchen.

"Why?" asked John B, looking at me inquiringly.

"There's no one home yet. I wouldn't come in. Rick won't be back until late tonight," I lied, propping myself up against one of the beams. It didn’t sound that stupid in my head.

John B seemed to believe me, which is why he came back up the stairs, tossed the keys on the table, and gave me a friendly smile.

"All right. Then you stay here until then?"

Perplexed, I couldn't answer. I didn't expect such niceness from the Pogues. John B was really insanely naive....

I froze, unable to answer, so Kiara pressed some logs into my hand and gestured to the campfire.

"If you're going to stay, make yourself useful! The fish will be ready soon."

Before I could ask further, she had disappeared into the house, leaving me with a wobbly pile of wood that dug painfully into my arms. So I ran over to the campfire and dropped the whole pile awkwardly next to it.

JJ still had the joint between his lips and set the dirty corrugated metal aside.

"You're staying?" he asked coolly, obviously not very amused.

"Yeah, for now. Don't get too excited," I replied sarcastically and flopped down on one of the chairs.

He just snorted snidely and started adding wood to the fire.

It was strange to sit in a rickety old chair on the overgrown property and watch a primitive campfire gradually devour the wood. I felt like a doll that was thrown into the swamp, trying to keep my cool. John B's house was more like an old barn and even the footbridge to the water looked like it would collapse at any moment.

I felt out of place in addition to feeling unwanted.

JJ held the fire at bay and threw in the joint stub. He didn't hide the fact that my presence was annoying him and gave me disparaging looks every now and then.

It took John B forever to come back out of the house, leaning three sticks with fish on them against the fire. I didn't know what kind of fish they were, nor if you could even eat them like that, but JJ rubbed his hands together in delight and helped him align the sticks on the fire.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that the fish were covered in a marinade that smelled of garlic. It smelled delicious actually.

The smoke from the fire burned my lungs and eyes and I wished I was in my bed with a bowl of spaghetti aglio e olio from the new restaurant around the corner from the Lionelly mansion. Instead, I was now sitting outside a dump with freaking JJ Maybank, stinking of smoke and forced to watch them having fun.

Pope brought two more sticks of fish and speared them into the ground next to the others. He gave me a suspicious look, as if I were a wild dog that hadn't been leashed tight enough.

John B dropped into the chair to my right and clasped his hands behind his head.

"We made a good catch today. We should go out again in the morning. We might even catch some bass," John B said with his eyes closed, enjoying the last rays of sunlight reflecting reddish off the surface of the water.

"I have to help my dad at the dock tomorrow," JJ muttered, flipping the fish in the flames. It was like I wasn't even here.

Kiara joined them now with Pope and sat down on the floor with a can of beer. Pope tossed a can to JJ and put one in John B's lap, for which he did open his eyes.

He visibly hesitated before offering one to me as well.

Directly I shook my head, whereupon he took it himself and sat down beside John B.

"You know you shouldn't do that," came from Kiara, but JJ just smirked and took the cap off his head, only to put it back on backwards.

"I shouldn't do a lot of things..."

"I'm serious, JJ!" added Kiara emphatically, turning to face him. But he just shrugged his shoulders.

"What else am I going to do?"

Kiara pressed her lips together dejectedly and Pope crossed his arms uncomfortably.

I didn't know what it was about, but suspected that JJ's father was still conducting business that wasn't particularly clean.

By now, the horizon had turned a lush orange and the whitecaps on the water glistened like amber.

"Since when do you surf?", JJ suddenly snapped me out of my thoughts and I needed a moment to process the question. Now the eyes of the others were also curiously on me.

"Actually, always... My mom taught me," I explained curtly. After all, there was no point in lying anymore. And the soft breeze, the cracking of the fire and the warm atmosphere let me put my guard down a little bit.

Just talking about my mom stung, but at the same time it felt good. Like a nice memory of her that I could hold on to.

JJ raised his eyebrows and laughed softly, as if I had told a joke. That he didn't take me seriously made me angry.

"What?", I asked him irritably, and for the first time he really looked me in the eye. The intensity of the blue sapphires took my breath away for a second.

"It's just that I've never seen a kook surf really well," he replied, and you could clearly hear the provocation in his tone.

"What are you trying to say?", I echoed.

"It's that you arrogant Kook assholes would rather be playing golf or taking a walk on your big ass mansions, right?"

His derogatory tone and look brought the anger inside me to a boil, so I stared stubbornly back.

"So Kooks can't surf, cause they’re Kooks? Sound logical.“

Pope was obviously uncomfortable with the whole thing, but John B and Kiara followed the conversation intently.

"Yeah, I don't think you'll be able to stay on the board for more than a few seconds. But hey, I'm sure you have enough other qualities and talents," he said, gesturing to my body.

He grinned spitefully, which made anger boil over in me. How dare he speak to me like that?

"You don't know anything about me!", I hissed, suppressing the need to claw his eyes out. This whole bunch of pogue-losers was getting on my nerves so much that I angrily clenched my hands into fists.

"I know enough about you, Princess," he replied, fixing me with his gaze. If he didn't stop looking at me with that crooked grin soon, I was definitely going to punch him in the face.

"Now I'm curious."

Challengingly, I leaned back and suppressed a gasp at the burning sensation on my back.

"I know you've never had to worry about anything in your life and you've gotten everything you wanted. You're an arrogant rich doll and you're always dutifully playing lapdog to your friend Rafe Cameron, who's an even bigger asshole than all the other Figure Eigth snoots put together. But you’re obeying him like the little lapdog you are.“

His words hit me hard, even though I would never have admitted it. After all, he had no idea.

Chillingly, I just stared at him for a few seconds and then stood up.

"And you're just a miserable and pathetic son of a bitch who can't get his life together. Seems to run in the family huh?," I finally replied, obviously hitting the nail on the head.

He got up from his seat and gradually I recognized anger flaring in his eyes. So I was driving him up the wall as much as he was driving me up the wall. That was a satisfaction that somewhat assuaged my anger.

"Say that again!" he murmured menacingly, and I had to push back the urge to flee.

"What do you mean? Pathetic or son of a bitch?", I asked provocatively, putting on a cocky grin. Gradually, his eyes brimmed with sparks of anger and I had to force myself not to take a step back.

"How about you disappear back to your fairy tale castle and your perfect life?" he shot back and before he could say anything else, I turned to John B.

"Do you have a phone in this shithole?"

He looked back and forth between JJ and me uncertainly, but then nodded.

"Inside. In the living room."

Without a word I turned around and ran into the house. There I also found the phone directly and dialed Rafe's number, which I still knew by heart from a year ago. Fortunately, he had never changed it and answered after the second ring.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hi, Rafe. It's Sky. Can you pick me up, please?", I asked directly, hearing the crackle on the other end of the line as if he was running a few steps.

"Sky? Uh yeah sure. Where are you? What‘s this number?"

He sounded surprised but equally pleased that I was asking for his help.

"I'm at the Cut."

"What, why? What are you doing at the Cut?" he asked directly.

"I was walking on the beach and misjudged the time," I lied, looking around the house for the first time. It was chaos and there were pillows and clothes everywhere.

It seemed like a messy dorm and I took a curious look down the hall.

"Okay...," Rafe mumbled in wonder.

"Just pick me up at the main road, okay?"

I heard the rattle of a set of keys and guessed he was just heading out the door.

"All right. I'll be right there."

Relieved, I hung up and put the phone back. Then I ran back out onto the porch, hoping it was dark enough that Rafe might not notice the bandages.

I gave the Pogues one last look and got a strange feeling when I saw them eating and laughing together. It seemed as if I had never been here.

Without saying goodbye I walked around the house and saw JJ giving me a strange look before I disappeared behind the house.

I stood by the road for a while until I heard Rafe's motorcycle and breathed a sigh of relief when he stopped next to me and handed me his helmet.

By now it was so dark you could see the stars.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

His hair was a mess, which was out of character. He seemed to have jumped head over heels on the bike to get me.

"Yes, please."

Before he could get a closer look at me, I put on my helmet and got on behind him.

When we finally arrived at Lionelly Ville, I've never been more grateful to be back at the property.

Hastily, I dismounted and was about to run to the front door when he held me back by the arm.

I looked at him questioningly, then he put his hands on my hips and looked me in the eye.

"We're having a big party Saturday night. The whole Island Club will be there. Also Heyward will be there working with his son, as will Maybank and John B, and the Carreras are invited anyway."

Surprised, I tilted my head.

"So all the Pogues will be there?"

He nodded.

"That's why you have to come. Dad wants us to behave and not provoke a fight. He won't let me out of his sight unless you're there. You're the one he trusts."

His gaze almost pierced me.

"You want to get back at them?", I spoke the obvious. There was this gleam in his eyes that I didn't know from before. That anger that lurked incessantly within him.

"That's right. But not until the adults are gone. We'll throw an after-party where everyone's invited. That's where we'll catch these assholes."

A wicked smile flitted across his face, and since I was incredibly angry myself right now, I quite liked the idea. I especially wanted to see JJ's stupid face when Rafe and the other Kooks gave them hell.

"Sounds good," I agreed, returning his satisfied smile.

"But the after party is at my place. Rick's going out of town Saturday night. I'll have the house to myself then."

"How are you going to get the Pogues there?" he asked in wonder, seemingly unintentionally stroking his fingers across my back.

"I'll figure something out. They're yours while we're still at Tanney Hill. With me, I'll take care of them."

He didn't seem quite comfortable with that, but he didn't dare contradict me. He was too afraid that I would again reject his advances.

However, I was beginning to like the attention and maybe something really could develop between us?

"Then I'll see you on Saturday," he said goodbye and I nodded. It was still three days until then, when hopefully my wounds would be barely visible.

"Thank you for coming to get me," I murmured, placing my hands gently on his chest. It was strange to be so close to him again after all this time. We knew each other for forever, but at the same time we were not the same persons anymore.

"For you, always."

His eyes fastened on my lips and I got a strange premonition. I quickly gave him a fleeting kiss on the cheek so he wouldn't get any other ideas and ran up the stairs.

Rafe disappeared into the darkness shortly after, while I searched for my key under the flowerpot. When I found it, I prayed that Rick really was already asleep and opened the door as quietly as possible, deactivated the alarm system, and locked it again.

Tiptoeing down the hall, I was about to disappear into my room without him noticing, when I was pulled back hard by the shoulder and the light came on. Startled, I staggered and it took time for my eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.

"Where have you been?" boomed Rick's menacing voice through the hallway, and he looked down at me angrily. My heart instantly hammered so loudly that I barely understood what he was saying.

"At Sarah and Rafe," I quickly replied, feeling fear digging deep into my bones.

Already a blow caught me with his backhand and my head was thrown to the side. Immediately I saw stars and my eyes went black. When I slowly opened my eyes again, I looked into a hateful face.

In my mouth it tasted like copper and I froze.

"Don't lie to me, you little bitch! I called there and Ward said they cleaned up the Pogues’ mess. I went to the Cut today to pick up a delivery from Heyward. That's when I saw you on that pogue's moped. I told you to stay away from scum like that!" he yelled at me and my hands were shaking so badly I pressed them against my thighs.

"They helped me!"

My voice sounded firmer than I thought it would.

"With what?.... Where were you?"

His questions cracked like whip lashes and I feared another blow, so I didn't get a word out. That's when he violently hit the wall next to my head. I could clearly smell the alcohol on his breath and winced violently as he screamed in my face:

"Answer me, dammit!"

"I was out with the board," I admitted meekly now, trying to avoid his menacing gaze. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest and I felt tears running down my cheeks without actually crying.

"I can’t believe it. You're not one of them! I should have thrown that damn board away."

He finally let go of me and ruffled his hair.

"That's Mom's board!", I yelled back now, trying to meet his gaze. He had thrown away everything that reminded me of her. Only the board had remained and right now I was glad as hell that it was with JJ where he wouldn't find it. The anger in my belly almost overshadowed my fear, when he reared back in front of me.

"I don't want you to see that scum again, do you understand?"

Still, I refused to give in. But the fear gnawed at me until I finally did avert my eyes.

"Do you understand me?" he repeated emphatically, shaking me by the shoulder until it hurt. His paws gripped so tightly that I tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"You're hurting me!", I hissed, managing to fight off his hand.

It would surely leave a bruise next to the marks of his nails.

"I'm waiting for an answer!" he yelled at me again.

"Yes! I get it!", I screeched back to finally make it all stop.

"Good, now get out of here!"

I didn't need to be told twice. Hastily, I ran up the stairs and slammed the door behind me. Panting, I threw myself on my bed and buried my tear-streaked face in my pillow.

The darkness stretched out its claws and tugged at me until I only sobbed quietly into the pillow and finally fell asleep, exhausted.

⬇️

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asunsetgrace16 · 6 months ago

Text

✧ 18 ⎥ 𝗠𝗧19

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk x fem!reader

Summary: Matt and Y/N's relationship chronicled by a One Direction song

Warnings: none

Notes: based off of 18 by One Direction

masterlist ⎥ navigation

Word Count: 1.2k

We made a start be it a false one I know

Baby I don’t want to feel alone

“You want me to what?” Y/N asks incredulously. Her voice is shrill and her eyes are wide, staring at Matthew, “Please tell me I heard you wrong.”

Matthew cringes, hating himself for asking this of her, “I need a fake girlfriend to take the heat off, just for a while, then we can go our separate ways, decided we are better off as friends, y’know. I hate that I have to ask you, but there isn’t anyone else I’d wanna ask.”

Y/N sighs, rubbing a hand across her forehead. She can’t believe what she’s hearing. Of course Matt would ask her, they have been friends forever, but this kinda crosses the friendship line.

“I don’t know, Matt. I’m not used to that life, the people. I also don’t really want to move my entire life from here to Calgary, for what, three months max.”

“Just think about it, please.”

One Month Later

Y/N walks through the Calgary airport with a carry-on. Matt is waiting by baggage claim. He looks up from his phone, an electric smile moves onto his face. He jogs over to hug her, picking her up off the ground.

“I can’t thank you enough, Y/N.” Matt whispers in her ear.

“You better be glad that I can work remotely.” Y/N teases, unconsciously hugging him tighter.

“C’mon, let's get your bags and get you home. The boys can’t wait to meet you, so be prepared for an ambush in a few hours.

Five Months Later

The whole night was charged, something shifting in their relationship. Maybe she was reading too much into the lingering glances Matt sent her way, or how his fingertips trailed in her hand once they made it to Johnny’s. She shook it off and chalked it up to Matt simply wanting to keep their ruse believable.

Matt and Y/N are giggly and warm as they walk through the door. They are holding onto each other, a little more than tipsy after the New Year’s party. Y/N squints at the clock on the wall that says three in the morning.

“We should eat something.” Y/N murmurs, watching Matt move through the kitchen. She grabs two glasses and fills them with water, fishing out a bottle of Advil before she forgets.

“How do some cheesy eggs sound?” Matt asks, pulling the eggs from the fridge.

“Amazing.”

A comfortable quiet falls over the kitchen. Matt cracks the eggs, Y/N grates the cheese. She walks around the island to the stove and sets the plate down and wraps her arms around Matt’s waist. One of his hands comes to cover her own, warm and gentle. He turns in her arms, pulling her tight to his chest. They stand in silence before Y/N backs away enough to look at his face. This moment feels inevitable, something that was a long time coming. Y/N’s eyes trace every detail on Matt’s face. He looks at her just as intently, a dreamy look on his face. Her breaking quickens, noticeable enough that Matt’s heart starts racing.

“You know, I never got my real New Year’s kiss.” Y/N says softly. He slowly brings his hand to cradle her face, as if giving her time to change her mind. Her chin dips in subtle nod, and then Matt is there. His lips on hers, her hands in his hair. They kiss like they need it more than oxygen, and everything finally, finally, falls into place. It’s passionate and messy, a testament to both their not-sober state and the feeling of needing to make up for lost time. Y/N smiles into the kiss, nothing has felt more right. Y/N is content to stay here kissing Matt forever, but the not-so-romantic smell of smoke pulls her out of her head.

“Matt! The eggs!”

So kiss me where I lay down

My hands pressed to your cheeks

A long way from the playground

“Matty, just come and kiss me already.” Y/N whines playfully from their bed. Matt smiles that cheeky smile from where he stands, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. She groans, flopping back into the copious amount of pillows.

“It’s not fair,” She says, “you standing over there, leaning all sexy against the door, looking like that, and leaving me all alone over here.”

With that, Matt pushes off the doorframe and walks over to the bed. He flops down in a similar manner to Y/N, and right on top of her. She laughs, trying fruitlessly to push him off, but Matt just holds on tighter. He sneakily tickles her ribs, so she tries even more to squirm away from him.

“Matt! That tickles!” She half-shouts, almost out of his grip. Breathless, she wiggles out of his grasp and leans against the headboard. Matt lays on his side and props his head up on one hand, gazing at Y/N with a smile on his face. The soft, genuine one that he saves specially for her.

“You are such a child. It’s like we are five years old and you are chasing me around the playground again.” She chides, no bite to her words at all. Matt sits up, tugging her ankles so she slides down the bed and he hovers overtop of her. His hand moves to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, cradling her cheek. She bites her lip before taking his face in her hands and kisses him with such a passion it takes his breath away. With her hands pressed to his cheeks, they kiss until they are breathless, barely breaking apart enough to be able to breathe.

“We’ve come a long way, baby. It’s been a long time since we were on the playground together.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I have loved you since we were 18

Long before we both thought the same thing

To be loved and to be in love

“And Matt, your vows.” Sasha, the officiant, says to Matt. Y/N’s vows have nearly reduced him to a puddle of mush, but her thumbs softly stroking across the backs of his hands keep him grounded.

“Y/N, you are my best friend, my partner in crime, my better half. You, you are my world, and there is no one I’d rather do life with than you.” Matt pauses, voice thick with emotion, “I promise to stand by you, love you completely, and always spray you with whipped cream.” Their guests and Y/N laugh, remembering that photo from sophomore year. “I have loved you since we were 18, and I promise to love you for the rest of my life.”

Y/N wipes a tear off her cheek, smiling and absolutely radiant.

Sasha starts, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. Matt you may kiss your–” He is cut off by Matt moving towards you, leaning you backwards into a saucy dip, not wasting a second more. “–bride.”

All the guests clap and cheer and laugh at Matt’s antics, and he stands them upright. Hands clasped, they make their way down the aisle, pausing for another kiss.

“Since we were 18, or how long before?” Y/N whispers against his lips. Matt simply grins and kisses her again.

#‣ ✦ ‣ sunset works ＞ fics #〈 matthew tkachuk 〉#nhl #florida panthers #matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk x reader #hockey imagine #nhl x reader #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl fluff

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passionateseadruid · 1 month ago

Text

Dusk 2 of 5

Notes:

Admittedly, I started writing this a while before mastermind came out, and I’m surprised at how many details of leviathan I got right, (especially of the serpent head)

Her strength abound in flames of might,

Of this I am sure.

Her sword and sword and shield lay by my side.

They lay here forevermore…

Her words of wit and words of kind,

Rock me to my core.

Her boundless love is true and steep

And is forevermore…

Her loving eyes are soft and clear

That look I do adore.

When she looks at me, I’m her one and only

And I am forevermore…

Her loyal acts hold me safe and loved

Apart, we’ll never be tore.

She’s mine to keep and mine to hold

And she will be forevermore…

She just laid there on the ground reciting the poem he wrote for her in her head and continuously watching the other angels falling.

“Royal blue: there goes Ozzie; Vermillion: Sat; Lime green: And there’s Mam; Burgundy? Paimon? I didn’t think you would have it in you…; Silver: Beleth, unsurprising; Woah…” She looked up to the heavens to see a great purple comet soaring across the sky; falling not from heaven but just adjacent to it… from earth.

“Levi…?” She pulled herself up onto her feet (despite the fact that every second she put pressure on them it felt like she was walking across broken glass, rusty nails, and legos), and she stalked towards the poor creature who’d fallen from the sky.

Levi was an ill tempered creature but one she loved dearly. Levi was once able to roam the ocean and there were many times Luci would take her surfing on Levi’s back. She had grown an appreciation for him. She feared what might have happened to him now.

“LEVI!!” She called out. “HANG ON FOR ME! I'M COMING FOR YOU LEVI!!” Every cry pierced through the air. Since the fall she had regained some magic that had left her, but it was strange… it was different. It wasn’t nearly enough to heal her to her old self but maybe… maybe it could heal Levi. She saw him wounded, bleeding out from his right side. Something in her snapped and she ran to him despite the pain that she knew she would feel. It didn’t matter in that moment. She just needed to get to him. His mate, Peony, was curled around him trying to stop the bleeding.

The poor beast whimpered as she placed her hands on his wound and pushed him onto his back. She bit her lip to stop her screams of pain as she planted herself on the ground to fully push Levi onto his back. She feared that she might never walk again, and without her wings to get around what would she do? She would be better off dead at that point.

“Shh… I’m here Levi.” She knelt at his side. She started to pour everything she had into Levi. Her hands turned as black as ink, something that frightened her to her core. Her magic… it’s like it was being corrupted or something!

Instead of healing him his form started to shift. He shrunk from a giant water serpent to a more humaniod figure. His mate fused herself into him causing them to become more of a feminine hermaphrodite. They still had fish-like features. Namely a long fin that flopped to one side of Levi’s serpent head like hair. His skin was a dark purple and… admittedly rather slimy. His mate on the other hand had White skin and the same fin hair. They were undressed (Obviously, fish doesn’t normally wear clothes), so the Gester ripped her skirt and tied it around their waist like a loin cloth. As they covered their new bosom.

“What… What are you doing?” The serpent head’s new voice was raspy. The words felt foreign to all of them but she quickly recovered.

“I’m saving you.” She responded frantically. I had to look for something to save him… I… have… to…

She fell next to them with a thud. She barely heard what he said against the ringing of her ears. Was this how she’d go out? Living her life as a servant for others? No. No one could take this moment from her. It was her moment, her choice. This was her first act of free will.

She barely remembers what happened next. All she could seem to recall was a cold metallic taste passing her lips and flowing down her throat. The next thing she knew she was at some place under a great big body of water.

“Where am I?” She tried to sit up but Levi- (no um, Levi and Peony… Levy?) emerged from the shadows to hold her down on the bed.

“Shh… you’re safe now. Just get some rest.” Levi calmed her down and placed her back on a stone slab covered in seaweed. Out of the two of them it seemed like Levi was the only one who wanted to talk to her.

“Levi? How long have I been out?” She asked raspily. Her head was killing her.

“About 2… years.” He responded sheepishly.

“WHAT?!” She started to panic.

“Yeah. I’m surprised you’re still alive. I’m surprised I’m still alive.”

“What… happened?” She rubbed her head trying to remember anything.

“It’s a long and complicated story…”

…

Lucifer smiled and gathered all of his general around the slab of debris they were using as a makeshift table. “Okay everyone!” He started in his usual chipper tone, though they all knew it was fake. “I know that things are a bit hectic, and our situation isn’t ideal… but I appreciate all of your support… so to show my gratitude I am willing to give each of you a ring.”

“Aren’t you already married?” Mammon asked. Everyone stared at him like, “wtf are you dumb?”

“…of hell mam. Okay so I’ll take the top ring because it’s red and right under heaven. I want them to look at me and be reminded of their mistakes.” Lucifer glanced up at the glowing, ringed orb hanging above them.

Satan slammed his hands on the table. “YOU BITCH I WANTED RED!! Fine, I call dibs on Orange then cause it’s the closest thing.” He crossed his arms and huffed.

Mammon waved his arm around like a small child raising their hand. “I get green! I’m all about those fat stacks of green.”

Asmodeus interject before Leviathan could. “Could I get Blue? Is that okay with you Levi?”

Leviathan clenched his fists. “…oh yeah fine. I’m… fine… with purple. But I get a beach and I’m not sharing with anyone.” Levi crossed his arms and turned away.

Mammon objected. “Wait, no! Fuck you! I want a beach!”

“No! Fuck you beaches are my thing!!” Leviathan protested.

Mammon scoffed. “You can’t gate-keep beaches!”

“I’m literally a fish and the sin of Envy! I’ll gate-keep whatever I want.” Leviathan retorted.

Beelzebub tried to diffuse the situation. “Guys let’s stop fighting! Levi, how about we give Mammon a small beach and you get a whole ocean.”

Leviathan begrudgingly accepted “…fine. But step off my shit Mammon!” Mammon blew a raspberry in retaliation.

Beelzebub sighed in relief now that that was over. “Okay so I’ll take Yellow! It’s just giving me such good energy!” She twirled.

“Is that it?” Mammon asked, in a bored tone.

Satan shrugged. “I think so.”

“Wait! What about Belphegor?” Asmodeus protested.

Beelzebub concurred. “Yeah! We can’t just leave Belphy here!”

Everyone looked around for Belphegor. Lucifer finally had the idea to ask, “Uh, where is-”

Belphegor’s snores from under the debris table caught everyone off guard.

Lucifer moved the rubble and shook her. “Bel. Belphy! BELPHEGOR!!”

Belphegor, startled by the noise, flailed her limbs as she awoke. “Ah! What…” her voice was sleepy.

Lucifer sighed as pinched the bridge of his nose. “You get the bottom ring of hell.”

Belphegor smiled sleepily. “…yay…” she then curled up like a cat again.

Lucifer smiled. “Alright everyone! I think we’re done here! Meeting adjourned!”

…

“So… he doesn’t care about me?” Her eyes filled with tears and the horrifying realization. “He didn’t even mention me? …A-and him and Lilith are already married?”

Levi looks away. “...I’m sorry.”

“...It’s fine!” She wiped her tears away and forced a smile on his face. “They won’t be together for too long. She’s little more than another mistake I’ll have to fix.”

Levi looked at her skeptically. He knew that even she didn’t fully believe her words. “Are you sure? They looked pretty in love at the meeting.”

She scoffs. “Oh I’m sure he loves her now. But that’s it. She’s just a phase. Him and I have history. He’ll see that I’ve been loyal and trustworthy and devoted! But her? She gave up her duty at the first sign something didn’t go her way!”

“Uh huh.”

“Trust me Levi. If she was willing to leave her first husband there’s no reason to worry that she’ll be sticking around Lucifer all that long.” She smiles smuggly. “Actually… could I ask you a question? How did I survive? I remember a metallic taste but then it’s blank.”

“I had to give you some of my blood from my right side.” He told you sheepishly. Long story short… You spent the rest of the day sick in the bathroom.

…

The days turned into weeks; the weeks turned into months; the months turned into years; and the years turned into several decades. Nevertheless he still held hope in her heart that someday Luci would see the error of his ways, kick Lilith to the curb, and come find her. She knew that it was selfish but she just couldn’t bear the thought of him being with her. Why should she get to kiss his sweet lips, or hold his soft hands or feel his small and tender body wrapped around hers at night?

Lilith would never appreciate him the way I would. She thought to herself as she finally took flight again for the first time in 50 years. Why isn’t he here? He should be the one helping me fly again. Not them… Not Levy.

She loved Levy, don't get her wrong, but their pressence, she feared, was rubbing off on her. Thoughts of Lilith have always hurt, but she’s never been so outwardly mean. She needed to get away from them. At least for a little while. She could also sense that they wanted to be alone to adjust to being in their new body. They had been so kind to her for the fast five decades as to help rehabilitate her to get her back to standing and eventually now flying. The three of them were like a family… but she needed to repay them by letting them be alone. It hurt them to see her go but they understood. She wandered through the other 6 rings for what seemed like eons.

Belphy’s ring, sloth, left her alone due to all the people there being so far gone that they could hardly recognize her much less form coherent memories of her. It also didn’t quite help that she couldn’t exactly talk to Belphegor as her schedule was always hectic as she had no idea when she would be awake or asleep. This caused Belphy to unintentionally bail on all of their hangouts. However, the ring itself was beautiful (she wouldn’t have spent 8 centuries there if it wasn’t) and she definitely wouldn’t mind moving there if she found someone to accompany her.

Next she headed up to Ozzie’s ring, where she spent about 2 centuries. It was disgusting! The sky was so dark that there had to be artificial lights everywhere! It was either too dark or too blindingly bright. Not to mention the people… they were all constantly on top of and or inside of each other… As for the big man of the hour Ozzie himself, he was constantly surrounded by a harem of men, Women, and even some inbetween. He had someone new constantly hanging off his arm or fiddling with his clothes every time Ozzie and her would hang out! She neer got a moment alone with him.

There was one notable thing that sticks out to her about that ring though. It’s what she told Ozzie as she left. “You cannot find happiness through physical intimacy. Only through genuine emotional connection will you find inner peace.”

With that bridge burnt she moved on to Beelzebub’s ring. She definitely hated this one the most. Whereas the other rings like Mammon’s, and Satan’s rings did little to hide the suffering their sins brought to them, Bee’s was like a mix of the rest. Loud and vile like Ozzie’s, empty and without meaningful connection like Belphy’s, and Bee’s desires overshadowed the needs and suffering of her people. Even though she spent the most time there (1 millennium) than any other ring, (not counting Envy because her wonderful Levy was there) she was only there so long as to drown out her sorrows in the honey and refuge Bee gave her.

Levy eventually got a hold of her and brought her back to their home in the deep darkness of the ocean they called a home. She spent a little over 3 millenniums just getting her back to where she used to be. She would have loved to stay in Levy’s ring but it was a dark pit at the bottom of an ocean. She needed to breath air, unfortunately.

She then moved on to the Wrath ring. She spent less than a decade in that monstrosity. People were constantly fighting. Everyone was horrible to each other. And things were constantly catching on fire! Not to mention that she couldn’t stand Satan talking shit about Lucifer. And finally she spent 9 decades laying low in greed. It was a wasteland, a pile of sewage and filth and death but Mammon didn’t know she was there. People were constantly lying to her and trying to scam her but at least they were (semi)good sports about it when they were called out for it. She finally Left when Mammon found out she was there and wouldn’t stop hitting on her despite the fact that he was not actually into her. Finally she spent the next 9 centuries bouncing from one circle of the Pride ring to the next. She became something akin to a cryptid. She was known as The Shadow. It was a nice. People would leave food out to appease her. She got to hear funny legends and bedtime stories being passed around about “The Shadow eating children who didn’t listen to their parents.” And even some Good Samaritans would let her stay under their roof for a few days. It was a good, humble life. One she quite enjoyed. Until one day she was given a letter with the royal seal. She had no idea how they found her but she quickly found out why. Lucifer had sent her a letter. She quickly raced to the palace. All her doubts washing away. Thousands of years being apart crumbling at the hands of the saccharin words on that scroll.

After all those years he called her back into his life. He wanted to see her.

He does love me!

But what she saw would forever rock her world. A small angelic little baby sleeping sweetly in a bassinet. She looked exactly like him. Except for her eyes. Her eyes… were Lilith's…

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