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joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

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“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind.

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later.

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words.

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?”

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out.

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture.

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them.

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable.

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position.

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes.

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know.

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell. It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more. He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration.

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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nhaaauyen · 3 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART IV: TONIGHT, I WALK AWAY

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part III // part V

wc: 7.8k cw: violence, angst, major character death author's note: Honestly I'm starting to get why TWD writers do what they do after writing this chapter... I also apologize for taking so long for this chapter, my classes are starting now so updates will be a bit a slower </3 **also some eastereggs but the sonnet 73 quote I have is mentioned in the scene where Grayson talks about love. It's pretty much the translated modern English definition of the quote! The make a wish dialogue is also from the movie Dangerously Yours (1937), that scene always gets me so I had to include it haha

You drift in and out of consciousness, the world around you a hazy blur of pain and disjointed voices. Through the fog, you catch glimpses of three figures engaged in intense discussion.

Sevika's there, her face etched with worry. Beside her stands a tall, bald gaunt man and a mask covering the lower half of his face. His eyes are sunken, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. The third figure is shorter, with slicked-back dark hair and a prominent scar running down one side of his face, his right eye a striking shade of green.

Their voices filter through your muddled thoughts:

"...low on medical supplies for a procedure like this," the masked man says, his voice muffled and clinical. "There's no sure chance she can make it."

"I'll go to the hospital."

"It’s too dangerous." The scarred man's voice is sharp and skeptical.

"We've been low on supplies for too long," Sevika argues. "It's time we do it now. We cannot lose any more people."

Their words fade as you slip back into darkness, only to resurface again as you're being moved. You have no idea how much time has passed, but you're on some kind of gurney, the ceiling passing by overhead. You try to move, but your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. Glancing down, you see your wrists are handcuffed to the sides of the bed.

Panic surges through you as you realize you're being rolled into what looks like a makeshift operating room. The masked man and the scarred one are there, now wearing blood-stained surgical gowns. You try to fight, to call out, but your body won't cooperate.

The scarred man leans over you, his mismatched eyes boring into yours. "It will be over soon," he says, his voice oddly soothing despite the circumstances. Then he's lowering a gas mask over your face, and the world fades to black.

When you wake again, your mind is clearer, though your body feels like it's been run over by a truck. The scarred man is sitting in a chair beside your bed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Ah, you're awake," he says, leaning forward. "Good. I was beginning to wonder if we'd miscalculated."

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, raw. He holds up a hand, silencing you.

"No need to strain yourself. I just wanted to... observe you.” He pauses. "It's been a long time since I've had to perform a procedure like that. It’s quite a reminder of what still lurks beyond these walls. How we’ve grown complacent."

Your eyes drift to his face, lingering on the scar that runs down the right side, bisecting his eye. The eye itself is a startling shade of green, almost luminescent against his pale skin. You must have been staring, because the man chuckles, a dry, humorless sound.

"Curious, aren’t you?" A sardonic smile twists his features. "It’s only natural - people always wonder. But few ever ask. It’s a souvenir from when Zaun was still crawling out of the muck. When men I called brothers tried to drag me back down for a piece of land."

His finger traces the scar slowly, almost lovingly. "This... this was their parting gift." He trails off, then continues in a near-whisper. "Have you ever felt pain so exquisite it becomes transcendent? For days, I danced on the knife's edge between genius and madness."

His gaze refocuses on you, sharp and penetrating. "But pain, you see, can be transformative. It stripped away my naivety, my weakness. It forged me into something stronger, something capable of truly leading Zaun."

“I think I understand why Sevika is so fond of you." His lips curl into something that might be a smile but doesn't reach his eyes. "There's something in you, just like her. That part that's willing to sacrifice."

You furrow your brow, confusion, and wariness warring inside you.

"Some sacrifices are necessary to be made. But they're also weaknesses," He stands, smoothing down his shirt. "Something to consider."

With those cryptic words, he turns and leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. You're left alone, your mind racing with questions. Who were those men? What exactly happened to you? And how much time had gone by?

The weight of uncertainty presses down on you, and exhaustion soon follows. Despite your churning thoughts, your eyelids grow heavy, and you drift into an uneasy sleep.

When you wake again, its by the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of a door opening. The haze of sleep still clings to your mind as you slowly become aware of your surroundings.

Sevika enters, holding a plate of food. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

"Hey," she says finally, her voice softer than you've ever heard it.

"Hey yourself," you reply, unable to keep a slight tremor from your voice.

Sevika sets the plate on your bedside table, then stands awkwardly, as if unsure what to do with her hands. "Thought you might be hungry," she mumbles.

You nod, a thousand questions bubbling up inside you. Where has she been? Why didn't she visit sooner? What happened after the surgery? But looking at her now, seeing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she holds herself - tense, guarded - you decide those questions can wait.

Instead, you pat the bed beside you. "Sit with me?"

Sevika hesitates for a moment, then complies. As she settles beside you, you feel the warmth of her presence, so familiar yet somehow changed.

"I missed you," you say simply.

Sevika's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before she schools it back to neutrality. "I... I'm glad you're okay," she replies, her voice gruff but sincere.

As you and Sevika sit together, you try to maintain a casual conversation, but there's an undercurrent of tension you can't ignore. Sevika's responses are clipped, her gaze never quite meeting yours. It's like she's looking through you, not at you.

"Hey," you say softly, reaching out to touch her arm. "What's going on?"

She turns slowly, her eyes finally meeting yours. But there’s something different in them, something that makes your heart clench. It’s infuriating, this distance she’s putting between you, this wall she’s building brick by brick.

“Sevika,” you say, trying to break through that wall. “Talk to me.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Nothing can happen between us again,” she says, the words falling heavy between you like a death sentence.

You stare at her, disbelief mingling with hurt. “What?”

Her gaze flickers, something like pain flashing in her eyes before she steels herself again. “We can’t do this,” she says, her voice low and strained. “We can’t keep pretending this… whatever this is… can last.”

You feel the ground shift beneath you like the world is falling away, leaving you teetering on the edge of a precipice. “You’re really going to say that after everything?” Your voice cracks, the hurt seeping through despite your best efforts to keep it at bay. “How do you kiss someone, make them believe there’s something real, and then just—throw it away?”

Sevika’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, as if unable to bear the sight of your pain. “You can be mad at me, hate me if you want,” she says. “But it has to be this way.”

“I’m not mad,” you reply, your heart breaking with every word. “I’m hurt, Sevika. I’m hurt because I care about you, and you’re pushing me away like none of it matters.”

“I know,” she whispers, her voice so soft it’s almost lost in the hum of the machines.

“Then why?” you demand, your voice wavering as you struggle to understand. “Why are you doing this?”

She finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the anguish in her eyes is like a punch to the gut. “Because if I let myself love you,” she says, her voice breaking on the word, “I know we’d never have enough time. ”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, drowning you in the despair that’s been brewing in your chest. “But isn't some time better than none at all? I'd rather have a handful of precious moments with you than spend the rest of my life wondering 'what if.'” The tears you’ve been holding back now streaming down your face.

“Even if it hurts, even if it's brief – at least it would be real.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression a storm of anger and fear. Her words come out in a rush, like she can't hold them back any longer.

"You don't understand. I was okay before you. I was okay with the idea of dying, of existing day after day without purpose until my time ran out. But now?" Her voice hardens. "Now I'm terrified. I'm not okay with losing you. I'm not okay with the thought that you could walk out that door and never come back."

“I didn't need this. I didn't need you to come along and give me a reason to call this godforsaken place home. I didn't need you to make me want to survive instead of just exist.” She’s practically pleading now. “Don't you see what you've done to me? Needing you means I have something to lose."

The weight of her confession crushes you, the finality of it sinking in. She’s not just pushing you away—she’s tearing herself apart to do it, ripping out the very thing that might make her feel alive, all because she’s so afraid of the pain it could bring.

“I’d shatter every bone in my body again if it meant keeping you safe,” you say, your voice trembling. “I’d do anything for you, Sevika, and it hurts so bad that you won’t let me.”

She turns her head away. “You’re too stubborn,” she whispers, her voice resigned. “You won’t stop, and neither will I, and it’ll kill us both in the end.”

“You look at me like I’m already dead,” you say, your voice cracking with the weight of your grief. “Like I’m a ghost you’ve been carrying around, waiting for the right moment to bury me.”

She flinches, the words cutting deep. “Because that’s what it feels like,” she confesses. “I feel like I’ve already lost you, and it’s killing me. I’d rather lose you now when we still have a chance to walk away than lose you out there, where I can’t protect you.”

The following silence is deafening, the air thick with everything neither of you can bring yourselves to say. You reach out, your hand trembling as you gently caress her cheek, trying to offer comfort in the only way you know how. She leans into your touch for a moment, her eyes closing as if she’s trying to savor it, to hold onto it before it’s gone.

“Are you doing this to protect me, or are you protecting yourself?” you ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline, offering her one last chance to admit the truth.

She opens her eyes, and the pain you see there nearly undoes you. “Both,” she admits. “I’m protecting both of us. I’ll never survive the day I lose you. And I can’t—” Her voice breaks, and she swallows hard, her eyes pleading with you to understand. “I can’t live.”

Your heart shatters as the reality of her words sinks in. She’s already decided, already convinced herself that this is the only way to keep you both safe, even if it means tearing herself apart in the process.

“Can I be alone?” you ask, your voice small and broken, the words barely escaping your lips.

Sevika nods, her expression tightening as she takes a step back. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll go.”

She turns to leave, but before she can take another step, you reach out. “Sevika, wait,” you say, your voice filled with desperation. “Can you hand me my bag?”

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to the bag and then back to you. After a moment, she nods and hands it to you, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments, sending a jolt of longing through you. You rummage through the bag, your heart pounding as you pull out the familiar fabric of her shawl.

You hold it out to her. “This belongs to you.”

Sevika stares at the shawl, her eyes widening as she realizes what it means. For a moment, she just stands there, looking at it like it’s a lifeline she’s too afraid to grasp. Then, she takes it from you.

She looks at you, and in her eyes, you see all the things she wants to say, all the things she’s too scared to admit. And then, without another word, she turns and walks out of the room, the door closing quietly behind her, leaving you alone with nothing but the ghost of her touch and the scent of her shawl lingering in the air.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

You didn’t accept any visitors for days, under the guise that you were too tired and needed the rest to recover. But as tempting as curling in bed and crying over a woman that you never even had a proper relationship with was, you knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

Blinking, you see a group of people piling into your room.

Vander's deep voice rumbles, "Easy now, let's not overwhelm her."

Caitlyn is standing over you. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"

Before you can answer, Powder chimes in, "Bet you feel like you've been hit by a truck. Am I right?"

"Something like that," you croak.

Your attention is drawn to the doorway where Grayson stands, little Ren in her arms. The child is clutching Grayson's yellow armband tightly.

Grayson sets Ren down gently. "Go on, little one," she says softly.

Ren doesn't need to be told twice. She rushes to your bedside, her small hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Miss, are you okay?" she asks, her voice shakes slightly. "Will you be like Sevika?"

The innocence in her question tugs at your heart. You reach out, ignoring the twinge of pain from the movement and the mention of Sevika, to pat her hand. "No, darling," you reply softly. "Sevika is unique. I'll be just fine."

Grayson moves closer, her stern expression softening slightly. "That was brave," she says. "But also very idiotic of you."

You frown at the comment, the words too similar to Sevika’s at the prison.

Vander's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "You gave us quite a scare," he says. "But you're tough. You'll pull through."

Caitlyn nods in agreement. "We've managed to replenish some of our medical supplies thanks to the hospital mission." she informs you.

Vi adds with a smirk, "And don't even think about trying to get up and be a hero again anytime soon."

“Yeah… I wouldn’t dream of it,” you respond hoarsely.

Over the next week, your family comes and goes, their visits being the highlight of your monotonous days. Grayson usually stopped by with Ren, the two were closer than you expected but Marcus had flitted in and out of Ren’s life so often that Grayson stepped up as a parental figure. You offered to take care of the kid while you were still bed-bound, and Grayson only reluctantly agreed when you assured her it wouldn’t obstruct your healing process.

You find yourself sitting up in bed, Ren cross-legged beside you. Math worksheets are spread out between you.

"If an apple cost three dollars and you needed to buy five apples, how much would that cost?"

Ren's brow furrows in concentration. "Um... fifteen dollars?"

You beam at her. "That's right! You're getting good at this."

A knock at the door interrupts your math lesson and Vi pokes her head in, her red hair slightly disheveled.

"Hey, time to get moving," she says with a grin.

You turn to Ren, giving her a warm smile. "Let's do this again tomorrow, sweetie?"

Ren nods enthusiastically, gathering her papers. "Alright! Bye-bye, miss! I hope you feel better!"

As Ren scampers out, Vi approaches, offering her arm for support. You wince as you stand, your body still protesting the movement.

“Easy,” she murmurs, her tone softening as she watches your struggle. “Take it slow.”

You grit your teeth, focusing on her voice, on the feel of her arm supporting you. Slowly, you manage a few steps, each one a little less painful than the last.

“How’s it feel?” Vi asks, keeping pace with you, her gaze never leaving your face.

“Like hell,” you admit with a shaky laugh, though there’s a small sense of victory in the simple act of standing on your own two feet again. “But better than yesterday.”

Vi nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Progress,” she says. “You’re getting stronger.”

As you slowly make your way down the hallway, Vi starts chatting about her day. "You wouldn't believe the shit from yesterday. We were chasing some survivors that tried to steal our shit through an alley, and then Sevika shows up out of nowhere and--"

The moment the words are out, Vi winces, realizing her mistake too late. You feel a sharp pang in your chest at the mention of Sevika's name.

"Uh, anyway, we got the guy in the end.” she says.

“She… was?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Vi looks away, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s good,” you say, though the words feel like a lie even as they leave your lips. “It’s good that she caught them.”

Vi nods. “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “It’s okay. It’s just… I miss her. It’s stupid, we weren’t anything.”

“I know,” she says. “But it’s not stupid.”

There’s a long silence, the kind that’s filled with all the words neither of you know how to say. “If you didn’t have Caitlyn, would you be okay with all of this? Would you be able to live with everything we do?”

She’s quiet for a moment as she considers your words. “Do I have a choice?” she finally says, her voice tinged with a sadness you’ve rarely heard from her. “I have Powder. I have you, Vander… my family. I’d feel incomplete, sure, but I don’t have a choice. I have to keep going.”

“We’ll keep going, together.” She adds.

“Thanks, Vi.” Despite your gratefulness, her words feel like they’re coming from a distance, muffled by the grief you’re still trying to process.

Your family helps you through it all, they talk to you about everything and nothing, filling the silence with stories. The days pass, and slowly, you begin to reclaim small pieces of yourself. You walk more, the physical therapy sessions become less of a struggle and more of a routine.

And each night, when the room is quiet and you’re alone with your thoughts, you think of Sevika. It’s not easy. Some days, the weight of it all feels unbearable, like you’re drowning in a sea of what-ifs and lost chances. But you keep going, step by step, knowing that it’s all you can do.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting session, you lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts drift. You think about Sevika, about the last time you saw her, the pain in her eyes as she walked away. And you wonder if she feels the same weight, if she’s struggling just as much to move on.

You close your eyes, and for a moment, you imagine her here, standing by your side. And as you drift off to sleep, you could swear you hear her voice, soft and broken, whispering in the dark.

“I failed you.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The pantry is filled with the scent of canned goods and the faint rustle of paper bags. You’re focused on stacking cans of beans when your grip falters, and one slips from your fingers.

Before it can hit the ground, a hand darts out and catches it. You look up to see a man with a cocky grin. He’s tall and lean, with slicked-back hair and piercing teal eyes. You don’t know why, but he looked oddly familiar.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing down here? Are we that understaffed that we’re making the injured work now?”

You snatch the can back from him. “Not that it’s any of your business,” you reply curtly, setting the can back on the shelf, “but I wanted to do this.”

He chuckles, leaning against the shelf with a casual arrogance. “Looks like supplies are running a bit thin,” he comments slyly, his eyes flicking to the half-empty shelves. “Maybe you should take it easy before you use up what little energy we have left.”

You narrow your eyes at him, your patience wearing thin. “I’m not interested in your opinion.”

Before he can retort, the door to the pantry swings open with a loud creak, and Sevika steps inside. The air changes instantly when her gaze zeroes in on the man.

“Finn,” she growls. “What are you doing here?”

Finn straightens up and raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just making sure our friend here isn’t overworking herself,” he says innocently.

“Get lost,” Sevika snaps. “Now.”

With a lazy shrug, Finn backs off, giving you a final, lingering look before sauntering out of the pantry. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone with Sevika.

Sevika turns to you. “I was told you’re working here again,” she says, her voice sharp with disapproval. “Are you stupid? You’re barely healed.”

You bristle at her tone. "I needed to do something."

"Yeah, like babysitting Ren," she snaps. “Not this.”

"Why does it matter what I do?" you challenge, your voice rising.

For a moment, Sevika doesn’t answer, but then her eyes widen.

“You’re bleeding.”

You blink, confused. “What?”

You look down and see a trickle of blood seeping through the bandages on your side. The pain hits you a second later, sharp and burning, but you grit your teeth, refusing to show weakness in front of her.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to downplay it. “I can bandage it myself.”

But Sevika is already moving toward you, her expression darkening with worry. “You’re not going back to your place like this,” she mutters. “Come on. My place is closer.”

Before you can protest, she’s already scooping you up into her arms. The world blurs around you as she carries you through the streets and you’re too shocked to resist.

When you reach her place, she sets you down on the edge of her bed, her touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before she pulls away.

“Just sit,” she instructs as she moves to grab a first aid kit from a nearby drawer.

“I can do it.”

Sevika shakes her head, her expression set in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I have experience with this,” she says quietly. “Let me.”

You watch in silence as she works. Her hands, usually so strong and rough, are gentle as they press a fresh bandage against your skin. There’s a tenderness in the way she handles you, in the way she refuses to meet your gaze as she focuses on the wound, that makes your chest ache.

Finally, Sevika finishes. She stands, the distance between you growing once more as she busies herself with putting away the first aid kit, her movements stiff and mechanical.

“Thanks.” You want to leave, not to be any more inconvenient than you already were but Sevika replies before you can say anything.

“You should rest,” she says, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth that was there just moments ago. “Don’t push yourself like that again.”

You reluctantly agree to stay and the tension in Sevika's shoulders eases slightly. She mumbles something about bringing dinner later and leaves you to rest.

Left alone, you take in your surroundings. The room is sparse, almost impersonal. Unlike the chaos in the other rooms, this space feels hollow. There are no personal belongings, no knick-knacks, nothing to suggest that she even uses this bed. It's as if the room itself is holding its breath, existing in a state of perpetual temporariness.

Exhaustion soon overtakes you, and you drift off to sleep. But you soon wake again at the sound of muffled voices. Through the haze of half-consciousness, you hear one of Sevika's people inviting her to a party, but she declines.

"Nah, I'm staying in today," you hear her say.

The voices fade, and you slowly wake up, disoriented. You stumble to the doorway of the living room, blinking sleep from your eyes. Sevika is there, dressed in casual clothes – a grey tank top and worn jeans with her hair down, falling in messy waves around her face. She's cleaning up, a pile of bottles in her arms when she notices you.

"You're awake," she says, startled. "Shit, did I wake you up?"

You shake your head, your voice still rough with sleep. "No, you're good... Do you need help with that?"

"No. Fuck, sit down. What are you doing walking around?"

Still groggy, you comply without argument, sinking into the couch. Sevika dumps the bottles in a bag and turns back to you.

"I'm making dinner," she says, washing her hands at the sink. "You're okay with instant noodles and spam?"

The domesticity of the moment catches you off guard. "Sounds delicious," you manage to say.

Sevika nods and turns to the small kitchenette. You watch her move around the space. It's surreal, seeing her like this – relaxed, casual, making dinner for you both. For a moment, you can almost pretend things are different between you.

Sevika settles on the far arm of the couch next to you, the small distance between you both feeling more like a chasm.

"Chopsticks or fork?" she asks, holding out both options.

"Chopsticks," you reply, and a ghost of a smile flickers across her face.

"Good choice," she murmurs, handing them to you.

You eat in comfortable silence, stealing glances at her when you think she's not looking. When you finish, Sevika collects the empty bowls.

"Want dessert?"

"Sure," you nod, watching as she retrieves an apple from the kitchen.

She settles back on the arm of the couch, peeling the apple with a small knife. "How's the physical therapy going?" Sevika asks, breaking the silence.

You shrug. "It's... going. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless."

She nods, placing slices onto a plate. "That's good. Don't push yourself too hard."

"Says the woman who never knows when to quit," you tease gently.

A wry smile tugs at her lips. "Do as I say, not as I do."

As you reach for the last slice, Sevika’s hand brushes your cheek. You freeze, the touch unexpected, and you look up at her, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest.

“There’s an eyelash,” she says softly, her voice gentle as she carefully removes it from your face. She holds it up for you to see, the tiny, delicate lash resting on her fingertip. “Make a wish.”

You stare at the eyelash, your mind racing with all the things you could wish for, should wish for. But the words stick in your throat, and you find yourself frozen, unable to think of anything that could possibly fix what’s been broken.

“Did you wish?”

You shake your head slightly, the corners of your mouth turning up in a sad smile. “I... I didn't get the chance.”

She raises an eyebrow, her gaze piercing as she studies you. “And there’s something you wish for?”

“Yes,” You hesitate, the words coming slowly, painfully, like pulling them from some deep, hidden place inside you. “I was wishing… that we were two other people. Two people who didn’t have to say goodbye.”

The silence that follows is thick, charged with the tension of emotions neither of you can afford to express. Sevika’s expression tightens, her jaw clenching as she absorbs your words.

“You know, if you say it out loud, it doesn’t come true,” she says, her voice rough, like she’s fighting against the vulnerability of the moment.

“Do you believe that?”

She looks down at the eyelash, still resting on her finger, before blowing it away into the air. Her gaze follows it for a moment before she looks back at you. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unmovable, like a finality neither of you can escape.

“We should sleep,” Sevika says finally. “It’s late.”

You nod, knowing she’s right. There’s nothing more to be said, nothing that can change the way things are.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

Sevika looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nods, just once, and steps back, letting you go. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, your heart heavy as you turn and walk away.

As you reach the end of the hallway, you glance back, just once. Sevika is still standing in the doorway, watching you, her figure framed by the dim light. There’s something in her posture, something in the way she’s holding herself that makes you think she might be wishing too—wishing for something that neither of you can have.

But then she steps back, closing the door behind her, and you’re left standing in the cold, empty hallway, the echoes of what could have been ringing in your ears.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the makeshift shooting range. You and Grayson stand side by side, both of you facing a row of targets at the far end of the field. You’ve been practicing your aim for a while now, but your focus has been off, your shots missing the mark more often than not.

“You haven’t said anything about my shit shot,” you mutter, glancing sideways at Grayson, expecting some form of criticism.

She shrugs, her eyes on the distant targets. "You're injured. Why would I?"

You snort. "Liar. Weeks ago, you'd have torn me apart. What's different now?"

Grayson doesn't answer, instead gesturing to a nearby bench overlooking the community below. You follow her, settling onto the worn wood with a sigh.The elevated view makes the world seem vast and small all at once.

Grayson passes you a canteen, and you take a long drink before speaking again. "You snitched to Sevika about me working."

Grayson raises an eyebrow. "Snitching? Are we ten?"

"She didn't need to know," you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

"You were going hurt yourself," Grayson says softly. "And you needed to see her. For closure, at least."

You fall silent, not wanting to delve into the complicated mess of emotions surrounding Sevika. Instead, you change the subject. "How's Ren?"

“Ren’s sleeping in today. She’s been up late these past few nights, working on that puzzle I gave her.” Grayson’s face immediately brightens at the mention of Ren.

“She’s got that stubborn streak. Wonder where she gets it.”

“Must be the company she keeps,” Grayson replies, her voice laced with affection. “Marcus is at the walls today, keeping an eye on things. It’s been quiet, for the most part.”

You nod, your gaze drifting back to the field. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” you muse. “Every day is the same. We do the same things, see the same faces… What makes it worth living?”

Grayson leans back on the bench, her eyes scanning the horizon as she considers her answer. “You make your own reasons,” she says finally, her tone thoughtful. “For me, it’s taking care of Ren. Making sure she has something to hold onto, something good in this world.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Grayson is choosing her words carefully. “I never thought of myself as the maternal type,” she continues, sounding almost wistful. “But with Ren… It’s different. She’s taught me more about love than I ever knew. In whatever time I got left here, I want to continue it with her, to see her grow up and prove there’s still something more for us here.”

You feel a pang in your chest, suddenly remembering Sevika and her belief that there would never be enough time for the two of you. But where Grayson found strength in loving deeply despite that, Sevika chose to close herself off, to protect herself from the inevitable pain.

Grayson looks at you, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “Sometimes, the hardest thing is to keep loving, even when you know it won’t last. But that’s what makes it worth it. Knowing that you made the most of the time you had, that you loved fully, even if it hurts in the end.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, the truth of them resonating with a painful clarity.

“It’s hard,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “When you know it’s not going to last.”

Grayson nods, her expression gentle. “It is. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. You have to find your own reason to keep going, to keep loving, even when it seems like everything is falling apart.”

The conversation settles into a quiet lull, the words lingering between you as the sun dips lower in the sky. You take another sip from the flask, the burn of the alcohol doing little to numb the ache in your chest.

“You’re always looking out for us, making sure we’re okay.” you say after a moment, your voice tinged with admiration.

“I’m satisfied – knowing that I’ve done what I can to make this place a little better, to take care of the people who matter.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replies gently. “We’re all in this together. And besides,” she adds with a small, teasing smile, “someone has to keep you in line.”

You chuckle, the sound lightening the heavy atmosphere just a bit.

But the peaceful moment on the hill was brief, the tranquility shattered by the sound of rapid footsteps and panicked crying. You and Grayson turn to see Ren running towards you, her face streaked with tears and her small body shaking with sobs.

Grayson immediately drops to her knees, catching Ren in her arms. "What happened, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice calm but laced with urgency.

Ren tries to speak through her tears, her words coming out in broken gasps. "Daddy said... we were going on a trip... but the monsters... they blocked us and he couldn’t close the gate... now they're coming to get us!"

As if on cue, screams erupt from the direction of the community. You and Grayson exchange a quick glance, both reaching for your weapons without hesitation.

Ren clings to Grayson's yellow armband, her eyes wide with terror. "I want to go with you!" she cries.

Grayson cups Ren's face gently, her voice soft but firm. "Darling, listen to me. I will come back, I promise. But right now, you need to get to safety. Can you be brave for me?"

Ren nods, her lower lip trembling. You know without words what needs to be done - get everyone to safety.

You both sprint down the hill, Grayson carrying Ren. As you near the community, the chaos becomes more apparent. Gunshots ring out, mixing with screams of panic and pain. People are running in all directions, fear etched on their faces.

Vi appears beside you, her red hair wild and her eyes blazing. "We're seriously underarmed right now!" she shouts over the noise. "Sevika's crew is out!"

"We have to make do," you yell back, scanning the area. You spot Caitlyn and a few others on the walls, their snipers picking off threats in the distance.

You, Vi, and the handful of armed residents form a protective line, herding panicked civilians towards their homes. "Get inside! Lock your doors!" you shout, your voice hoarse from the effort.

Children cry for their parents, the elderly struggle to move quickly enough. You see a young mother stumble, her baby wailing in her arms. You rush to her side, helping her to her feet and guiding her to safety.

Everywhere you look, there's movement – people running, fighting, falling.

The air is thick with the stench of death and the deafening cacophony of gunfire. You're shoulder to shoulder with VI, both of you firing relentlessly at the endless wave of walkers. Sweat stings your eyes as you shout, "Vi! On your left!"

She pivots, taking down three walkers in quick succession. But for every one you drop, two more seem to take its place. The situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, and a sinking feeling in your gut tells you you're fighting a losing battle.

But suddenly, powerful headlights cut through the darkness as a convoy of trucks roars onto the scene. Your heart leaps – you'd recognize that cavalry anywhere.

As if materializing from thin air, more trucks appear, effortlessly mowing down walkers and clearing streets. One screeches to a halt in front of you, and then there she is.

A familiar figure vaults from the truck bed – Sevika, her red shawl billowing behind her. She swiftly unslings a shotgun from her back and starts blasting walkers left and right. Her face is composed, every feature carefully controlled, but when her eyes find yours, a fleeting shadow passes over them—a trace of fear and concern.

"You okay?" she shouts over the din, closing the distance between you.

You nod, breathless. "A lot are injured. I don't know, there's too many – I think they're coming from the west gate. Ren said something about Marcus not being able to close it."

Sevika's jaw tightens. She yanks out a radio, barking orders to dispatch teams to the west gate. In seconds, she's handing out weapons, her voice ringing with authority. "Split up! I want a team grabbing as many injured as possible. Anyone bitten, take them out."

As you move to join the fray, Sevika's hand clamps on your arm. "No," she growls. "What the hell are you doing? Get to safety with the others. You're still injured."

"Fine," you concede. "But I'm finding Grayson first."

Sevika gives a curt nod before sprinting back into action. You catch a glimpse of Vi, her red hair unmistakable as she leaps into a truck bed.

You weave through the chaos, dodging walkers and searching for Grayson. Gunfire echoes off buildings, punctuated by the revving of engines and the sounds of walkers being dispatched.

A scream to your left – you spin, firing instinctively. A walker drops, inches from a couple. You quickly wave to them to follow and you sprint to the safe house together. Your leg protests, but adrenaline keeps you moving.

Your heart pounds as you finally spot Grayson, but she's going the opposite direction.

"Grayson!" you shout. "Sevika and her team are here. We need to get everyone to safety!"

She doesn't slow down. "There's someone stuck in a car!"

That's when you see it - a vehicle surrounded by a writhing mass of walkers, their decaying hands clawing at the windows. Inside, you catch a glimpse of a terrified face.

Without hesitation, you sprint after Grayson. The two of you work in tandem, picking off walkers. When you reach the car, Grayson covers you as you wrench the door open. A young boy, no older than seven, practically leaps into her arms.

"We've got to move!" Grayson shouts.

You guys run, the child clinging to her as you lead the way. You’re clearing the path, and you’re halfway to the safehouse when you hear the dreaded click of an empty chamber.

"I'm out!" you yell.

Grayson turns, her eyes flashing with a decision you can see forming before she even speaks. "Take the kid. Go!"

"Wait, we can make it together!"

She shakes her head, placing the boy into your arms. "Sevika's crew is here, remember? I'll be okay. Get everyone to safety!"

Before you can protest, she's shoving you toward safety, using her body as a shield for the child. You run, every step feeling like a betrayal, but knowing you have to trust her.

You make it to a house, handing off the child to waiting arms. Your lungs burn as you gasp for air, eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of Grayson.

Suddenly, Sevika's there, her face smeared with grime and blood but her eyes alight with fierce triumph. "We closed the gate. Got them all."

Relief floods you for a moment, but then reality crashes back. "Wait, where's Grayson?"

Confusion flickers across Sevika's face, but before she can respond, a heart-wrenching wail cuts through the air. You both rush outside, joining a growing crowd.

The scene that greets you turns your blood to ice. Caitlyn is on the ground, her body wracked with sobs. Vi kneels beside her, arms wrapped around her shaking form. "I couldn't save her," Caitlyn chokes out between gasps. "I couldn't shoot them fast enough."

Her sniper lies discarded in the dirt, and that's when you see her. Grayson.

The world seems to tilt on its axis. You stumble forward, unable to process what you're seeing. Grayson, who was just beside you moments ago. Grayson, who sacrificed herself to save a child. Grayson, whose quiet strength held your community together.

She now lies on the ground, her body wracked with violent coughs, blood staining her lips. Her breaths had grown shallow, each one more of a struggle than the last, and when she reached for Sevika’s hand, you knew what she was asking for. Sevika’s fingers trembled as she grasped Grayson’s hand, and when Grayson whispered, “Do it,” you saw a flash of something break inside Sevika.

She obeyed.

The gunshot echoed in your ears, louder than the chaos around you, but it was the sight of Sevika gently closing Grayson’s eyes that broke you. Sevika had always been unbreakable, she seemed immune to the horrors of this world. But as she knelt beside Grayson, you saw the cracks forming. She closed Grayson’s eyes, her hand trembling just for a second before she stood up, towering over the body like a stone sentinel.

You could barely breathe, the grief suffocating you, making it impossible to think about anything other than how many bodies that needs burying tomorrow. How many families would be broken by the news? How many children would cry for family and friends who would never come home?

“Grayson?” Ren’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with innocence and confusion. The kid was supposed to be inside the safe house but instead, she stood there, eyes wide and uncomprehending, staring at the lifeless form on the ground. “Why is Grayson sleeping? Tell her to wake up… We won, didn’t we?”

You wanted to tell her something—anything—but the words choked in your throat. Ren dropped to her knees beside Grayson, her tiny hands shaking as they touched the cold, lifeless body.

Sevika finally moved, her expression unreadable, her walls up higher than ever. Without a word, she reached into her pocket and pulled out Grayson’s yellow band. She knelt down, her massive frame suddenly so small beside Ren, and gently placed the band in the child’s trembling hands.

Ren looked up at Sevika, eyes full of questions. But before anything could be said, Silco emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. He was flanked by his men, their faces grim and cold, and at the center of it all was Marcus.

He was barely recognizable—his face a mangled mess of bruises and blood. He was dragged forward, forced to his knees in the dirt where Grayson had fallen. The sight of him brought Sevika to her feet, her fists clenched tight. You could see the battle raging inside her, the desire to end him right then and there, but she held back.

"Look at him," he began, his tone soft, almost conversational, as if he were discussing something trivial. "A man who betrayed the very community that kept him protected him fed and protected. Who left nothing but the ashes of his own cowardice."

He walked slowly around Marcus, like a predator circling its prey. "This is the price of betrayal, the cost of thinking you can stand in the way of what must be done. You all know him," Silco continued, addressing the crowd that had gathered, their eyes fixed on the broken man at his feet. "You know his face, his uniform, his lies. But you must also know this: in a world where there are no second chances, there are no second thoughts."

Silco’s voice grew harder, colder, as he leaned down close to Marcus’s ear. "Your cowardice, your betrayal, a mistake that cost how many lives today? And now, you will pay the price for that."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final, and Marcus’s body shuddered, knowing what was coming. Silco straightened, his eyes scanning the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to all who would think to cross us, to cross me. There is no forgiveness in this world, only retribution."

You don’t know what happened next, because you’re taking Ren into your arms and you’re moving – away from the crowd, away from the punishment that you know her father will face.

Ren clings to you, burying her face in your chest, and you hold her close, wishing you could shield her from all of this. "What’s happening to Daddy?" she asks, her voice muffled by your shirt. "And Grayson?"

You didn’t have an answer. The only thing you could do was hold her tighter, trying to block out the screams, the fire, the blood.

Time passes, the night dragging on in a blur of grief. Inside the house, the silence was deafening. You had scrubbed the blood from Ren’s skin, but it still lingered in the air, the scent of death refusing to leave. Grayson’s face kept flashing before your eyes, her last breath, her last words, the way her body crumpled in Sevika’s arms.

And now, as you stared out the window, you saw them—Silco’s men, forming a straight, omnious line as they marched out into the night. At the center of it all was a giant wooden cross, and tied to it was Marcus. His head hung low, his body limp, but he was still alive.

Your breath caught in your throat when Sevika looked up at the window. For a moment, your eyes locked, and you saw nothing in her gaze but a cold, empty challenge. The Sevika you knew wasn’t there, but replaced by someone who had buried whatever was left of her soul beneath layers of survival and duty. She turns away, breaking the gaze as she climbed into the backseat of a vehicle. You watch as the trucks disappeared into the night until the only thing you could see was the small form of the cross.

The night presses in around you, heavy with loss, and you wonder if anything would ever feel whole again.

taglist:

@mirconreadzztuff22 @lils-1979 @veoomvroom @schmoni

@poxismind @kittykatz1227 @archangeldyke-all @abbyssgf @ivorydevil

@lez-zuha @iamastar @jellyfishrnice @anemoxlys @l0vel3tterl0ver

@lavendersgirl @h0pe-scotch @lia-winther @kittykatz1227 @dontknowwhenispawned

@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp @cewl-casper @crying-lighting443

@sodavrr @sweet-lover-girl @love-sevikalove @pinkyykisses @glass-apothecary

@mulan-but-gay @lesbnrock @hyuckiesoftie

#arcane sevika #sevika #sevika imagine #arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #grayson arcane #wlw fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #sevika x female reader

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ns-imagines · 1 year ago

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Nikto никто

Nikto Character Introduction

If you find yourself drooling over possessive and obsessive!Ghost or König lemme introduce you to Nikto…

SFW [ all cannon information ]

Word Count: TBA its a lot

Warnings: Disorder mention; Torture mention; dissociative disorder mentioned;

A/N: Lemme talk to you for a moment…

My new masked crush. Heart and coochie go brrrrrrrrrrrrr

Post has not been checked for grammar corrections / Not requested :D

Cannon Information:

Nikto (Neeek-toe) is a Operator in Spetsnaz for the Allegiance faction which is within the KorTac Organization. Basically hes a contractor for the contractors. Its cannon that he has facial scarring which is why he wears a mask. Not a turn off for me ah ha ha

So he isn’t necessarily a good guy like the 141 guys (even though now they’re considered war criminals I suppose) but he’s also not a bad guy. In summary, man does what he gets hired to do.

Anyways, after going AWOL in October 2022 from the Russian contracting military group he resurfaced in June 2023 (also the introduction of his character in the game). He resurfaced being the leader of a military group which was overtaking the Dutch city of Vondel.

On the Official Wiki he is only given two paragraphs of biography. You can read it here -> https://callofduty.fandom.com/wiki/Nikto

Also mentioned on the page [ for the COD Mobile universe ] is that theres cannon beef between Ghost and Nikto!! Yes, you heard me right. So on the wiki it is mentioned that Nikto was working for a guy named Templar. Whom is betrayed and killed by Ghost. Then when Ghost went after everyone else in the helicopter he shot Nikto. It was thought that Nikto died from the shot but he didnt….

Nikto reappears when he takes a group of people hostage and records a video explaining that the world has failed them and has left people like (Nikto) to beg and then fight over the scraps. Price (yes Price) tries to convince Nikto to let the hostages go and to basically chill out but Nikto wins by blowing up the building. With the hostages inside.

Okay maybe he has beef with all of 141… and is kinda a bad guy I can change him

SO then time passes and Nikto reappears again seeking a gun deal with a dude named Gunzo. Gunzo asks Nikto “why a man wanted on every continent, doesnt have guns” this pisses Nikto off. Nikto replies with “i dont need guns” then proceeds to buy the guns from Gunzo. Then Nikto gasses the fuck out of Gunzo and his men with Nova Gas. Nikto explains to Gunzo that the world is failing blah blah. He then goes on to brag about how he doesnt need a gas mask to breath like everyone else because hes that edgy and then he just executes Gunzo. We can fix him

Nikto disappears again only to reappear flying a F-85B Bullshark and leading a military riot. He then orders a attack on Prices convoy (video below) and basically down their helicopter. In the video below you can see small arms fire, an RPG, and then a finishing shot. Which was shot by Nikto’s aircraft. Okay maybe he is bad, we can fix him ?

Which you can watch here -> https://youtu.be/dDaCTCu82t0

youtube

In game bio from MW, CODM, and MW2

It is referenced in his bio MW and CODM that he has acute dissociative disorder. Which according to WebMD

“Dissociative disorders involve problems with memory, identity, emotion, perception, behavior and sense of self. Dissociative symptoms can potentially disrupt every area of mental functioning. Dissociation is a disconnection between a person’s thoughts, memories, feelings, actions or sense of who he or she is.”

Which is explained to be from when he was tortured by Mr. Z. That event is also where he got his facial scarring from. Although he is Russian; in current MW2 timeline his nationality and language is [ REDACTED ]. I was looking around on the internet for why and Reddit believes its due to current world current events/tension. Rewording to: we can accept and love him. I dont think we can fix him.

I don’t expect this post to get a lot of attention but for those who like it my requests are fully open ❤️

i will definitely be posting more Nikto content and what I think Nikto looks like and how he acts.

Thank you for reading! -Kiv

#cod nikto #nikto x reader #call of duty x reader #character introduction #ghost x reader #konig x reader #simon ghost riley #konig mw2

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

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𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Other Joel Fics: Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years ago

Text

Danny covered his nose with his hand. Where ever he landed smelled absolutely foul, like rotten fruit and burning tires mixed with chem lab.

"Remind me to bring a face mask the next time I explore the Infinite Realms." He muttered, before kicking a soda can down the alley he was in and being repulsed by the squelch sound it made when it came into contact with a very questionable looking puddle, "Better yet, a gas mask." He glanced at the puddle again, "Or I could go full Hazmat." Clockwork had told him this world was full of superheros and villians and to steer clear of it, but once he learned there were aliens in this world he couldn't help himself. Danny had always been weak to his curiosity, but he liked to believe he was cautious, and chose to stay in his Phantom for for added protection.

Turning on his heel he exited onto a deserted street lined on one side by a chain-link fence. The sky above him was filled with clouds so ominous and dark that Danny honestly couldn't tell you if it was night or day, all he knew was that it was going to rain soon and hopefully these awful smells would be drowned out by the downpour.

Danny got his wish only minutes later. Thankfully Phantom was unbothered by the cold and could just bask in the rain as it fell apon him. A lesser known fact about ghosts is that thier clothes are made from thier ectoplasm and are part of thier bodies, much like a second layer of skin, so one would be able to feel things on thier clothes as easily as they would with thier bare skin. The level of sensitivity varies with the type of clothing however. All this to say Danny loved the feeling of the rivulets of rainwater traveling down his ghostly hazmat suit.

He was so preoccupied with enjoying the sensation that he didn't notice anything was wrong until he was jolted forward from the weight of someone landing on his back. The person was quick and precise, taking no time at all to have his wrists pinned behind his back and- weirdly enough- thier teeth digging into the material around his neck.

His parents designed the Hazmat suit Danny was wearing not only to deal with dangerous chemicals, but to fight supernatural foes. The area around the neck was reinforced with the intention of protecting against fatal gunshots and decapitations so naturally someone's jaw wasn't going to be enough to break through to his neck.

Danny let out a laugh as the person kept chewing on his neck like a confused puppy. Oh, Danny thought, they've gone feral. It was odd for someone to go feral but it could occur when a person has gone through something traumatic recently or through extreme stress. It made sense since the person ridding piggy back on him was dressed like a superhero. Danny wondered if that was why the person didn't have a scent. Danny learns facepalmed when he remembered that scentblockers existed and not everyone's scent dramatically changed whenever they went out as a hero. The scent change was probably one of the few things that have kept him alive up to this point to be honest.

"So, I guess you're not going to tell me why you're chewing on my neck like the worlds most pathetic vampire, are you?" No one deserves that title more than the fruitloop to be honest. He made a mental note to use that one against Vlad the next time he saw him.

Chewy whined at this, seeming to slump a bit from the apparent failure to bite him. What was that about? Was this actually a vampire? How would a vampire even react to Dannys ecto-blood combo meal anyway? Would it be like food poisoning? Or would it taste amazing from one undead to another. "I'm not exactly human, are you sure you wanna bite me? I might not taste so good." Danny warned, but the moment he mentioned letting the person bite him they were eager again.

Danny chuckled and unzipped the material only a bit before it was loose enough to move out of the way. The vampires bite came with a sharp pain like he expected but there was no suction. No drinking of blood. Just some weirdo biting Danny on the neck. Huh.

Danny hoped he didn't get rabies from this.

He must have accidentally said that out loud as there was a small laugh from the rooftops above them. There stood another person in a superhero outfit with some really tall dude dressed as a giant bat, and that was when Danny decided to bail. It was one thing to let a maybe vampire bite you in a random street in the middle of the night but more of them? And ones a big scary furry? Hard pass.

Phantom did as Phantoms do and went invisible and intangible, escaping from Biteys jaws and startling the heros. He ignored the distressed whine Munchy let out after loosing their spookyest chew toy and quickly rubbed the scent gland near dannys jaw on the top of thier head as an act of comfort before bolting.

----

Danny poked at the bite mark on his neck. Screw rabies, he better not get turned into a werewolf. He didn't need that on top of his ghostly crap. Sam seemed fascinated by the mark, after all, it wasn't every day that Danny got a scar, especially one so obvious. Most injuries heal quickly and leave no trace of him ever being injured in the first place which helped a lot in keeping his secret identity.

Luckily Danny hadn't needed to lie to mom and dad. He truthfully told them about some wierdo jumping off of a nearby rooftop and plunging thier teeth into his neck and that two other people had tried to corner him during this. He assured his mom that he had gotten away quickly but was a little shaken by it and his dad praised him for being brave and managing to escape.

That was nice. But he still had to figure out what was up with this bite...and why he felt so compelled to go back to that city.

Back to that hero.

-----

Aka an A/B/O au where in Danny's universe all the Alphas are extinct and the betas followed soon after and the DC universe all the Omegas went extinct and betas followed after . Not like a "they finally went extinct in the 1700s after centuries of thier numbers dwindling" thing and became a myth/fairytale (tho I like that too) but a "this might be the missing link between cave men and modern humans" kinda thing.

Its up to you which bat bit Danny and exactly what that means. I love abo aus without smut cause there's so much potential for chaos and I am very much ace.

#dp x dc #fanfiction prompts #prompts #abo #everyone is confused and no one has answers #i would however like some slowburn romance #whichever bat you choose is going to get teased forever for running up to some random meta and biting the crap outta them #i tricked yall into reading an abo prompt didnt i?#i slept little over an hour last night so i woke up choosing violence #its been a very bad day #the store didnt have a lot of the stuff i needed to buy and on the walk home i saw an older kitten that looked kinda like my cat get hit #the car didnt even stop. poor thing got hit by the next car too and i just stared and it started raining like a freaking movie moment #tw: animal death #tw for the tags #so i got new trauma today #gonna make that everyone elses problem #a/b/o dynamics #kinda #just wanted to add the tag incase yall have it filtered

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blockgamepirate · 1 year ago

Text

Eggza isn't here for the lore, only octopuses

[Video description: Fit and Pac get threatened by corrupted Federation workers with the giant eye of the Purgatory entity on their faces. Phil just walks by, wearing a gas mask, with a swarm of octopuses named "DON'T DESPAWN" trailing behind him. Later he shows up to help with the fight by deploying one of his tactical whales but the Purgatory guys teleported away already. Pac gives Phil a photo of the visitors and he throws it back at him and runs away. Then when Pac yells after him he briefly runs back, writes "AAAAAAAAAAA" on a sign and runs again.]

#ph1lza #philza #fitmc #pactw #qsmp #im trying to remember that videos also need visual descriptions

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moonlight-tmd · 3 months ago

Note

Blitzbee

Pre-relationship, but crushing hard.

During a battle, they get stuck in a cave together.

i aM SO SORRY- i went on hiatus with tumblr post and completely forgot about the inbox! i will alnswer every single ask i have in there, dw-

For this one, I actually had a similar idea, perhaps even better than the original prompt.

So, imagine this; some mission involving a cave system happens and Lugnut does his thing and causes a cave in. Bee and Blitz were too busy taunt-teasing one another to pay attention to the evacuation screams. They got locked in and had to cease fighting for the time being.

The entrance wasn't very far but there was a lot of rubble in the way and scattered in the cavern, dust was still floating in the air and the two were talking. It was a moment that Bee noticed he was feeling odd, Blitzwing wasn't doing any better. Somethign was up with the air here....

They tried to shut their ventilation systems but it didn't work for long, the cavern itself was pretty warm and the fighting earlier left them running hot. Everything was starting to get blurry, speaking was beginning to be sloppy... but their worry quickly faded and they just sat there looking at one another- ever since Bee saw Blitzwing he developed a tiny bit of a crush on him. Blitz was big and strong, his frame proved to be quite attractive as odd as it was. Bee was accustomed to the human culture and its quirks, so hearing Blitzwing adapt the german accent to his speech was a cherry on top.

But it wasn't only Bee who felt like that; Blitzwing had more than needed fights with Bee and never one of them was the same as teh last one. Bee was fast and agile, his fast reaction and critical thinking alongside the sharp glossa have proven to give a challange to Blitz. The minibot himself wasn't bad-looking, he was quite cute actually and had that mischevious charm to him. Blitzwing found himself looking forward to encountering Bee whenever he was out.

Bee didn't know he slipped and started speaking, only after Blitzwing replied with a similar compliment he realized they were having a conversation. Nonetheless he continues saying how he likes Blitzwing, his manners and frame. Only for Blitzwing to return the adoration with the same if not bigger affection.

They were starting to feel more dizzy and the feeling inside bloomed the longer they heard one another speak their love. Blitz picked Bee up and place him on his lap for cuddles and they went on with their confessions...

Meanwhile Team Prime has been busy desperately clearing up the entrance. Turns out the gas condensed within few of he chambers near the cave system have chemichal composition similar to cybertronian drugs- the chambers have opened when Lugnut caused the cave in and began to spill outside thru the cracks. They only found that out when Bulkhead who worked in the front started swaying and collapsed halfway into the clearing, Optimus and Prowl had to wear masks and shut their vents to work while Ratchet took care of Bulk some distance away.

Eventually they dug thru to the large cave chamber, the dust was thick but htey could still hear things shuffling around. They feared Bee might have gotten seriously injured or even killed as they looked around and saw a giant figure somewhere in the back. They heard a voice- no, two voices as they neared...

But they didn't find what they were expecting to find. If fact, it was quite the opposite.

Blitzwing was sitting on the ground, holding Bee close while the scout snuggled in and murmured sweet nothings to him. At some point the two must have noticed the other two's presence and Blitz growled at them.

Bee said something nearly incoherent and instead showered Blitz with affection. They just stood there watching as Bee blabbered words of love and showered his inky face with kisses. Blitz only purred and made little trilling noises, eventually moving his face so the glossa that's been hanging out of his intake for primus knows how long dragged itself across Bee's face in a form of a big lick-kiss. It was then the Bee grabbed his helm and started making out with him.

Optimus and Prowl stepped in just in time to pull the two away from one another. It wasn't much trouble cuffing Blitz and both were dragged out of the cave. Thankfully Bulkhead was almost good to drive when the 4 came out.

Blitzwing had been completely disarmed by the gas and his ability to speak was reduced to whines, growls and other animalistic sounds. Bee one the other hand- he was still somewhat comprehensible and would not shut up about adoring Blitzwing. While Blitz was left nearby the cave cuffed for hte other cons to find him, Bee was blabbering about how much he loves Blitz and how sweet, gentle and attractive he is and so on. He was completely drunk on love even after returning to base. His drugged love blabbering were turning into lust blabbering- Optimus had to hold him down while Ratchet plugged the cables to initiate the forced stasis protocol... Let's just say, the comment Bee made thinking it was Blitzwing holding him down made Op a little more than awkward.

When Bee finally came back to his senses he was having a hard time staying online- it was all so dizzy and he couldn't get anything down his throat, the head ache that literally spilled to the rest of his frame was not helping. Once he was mostly back to normal he asked what has happened. All of them seemed to not wanna tell him... well, all of them except Ratchet, who for all he knew told him how insufferable he's been with his drug-induced love for Blitzwing... and if that wasn't bad enough apparently they were kissing in that cave, from that Op told him... Yup, it was time to die.

Jokes aside, he felt so incredibly embarrased. Him- kissing Blitzwing?? The Enemy?!? Part of him refused to believe it was real, there was just no way. He didn't even remember what happened after they entered the cave!

But then the same night it all- well, most of it, returned to him. He saw the flashbacks and heard the words of love coming out of Blitzwing's derma. Him caressing Bee so gently and lovingly... When Bee woke up he couldn't have been more of a blushing mess.

And so was Blitzwing apparently, Lugnut found him a little more over 24h cuffed at the cave, he was somewhat conscious but still incomprehensible in speech, only mumbling something about a "hummel" while ocassionally giggling a little. Lugnut took him back to base, reported the situation to Megatron and left Blitz uncuffed in his own room. Blitzwing woke up with a headache and some nausea but was still forced to work, even if it meant data and monitor duty. His other personalities were arguing over his frame status until the flashes of the previous day slowly flooded back to him. He was just sitting there frozen and flustered as frag as he recalled what he did- what Bumblebee did. What they both did!

...Megatron decided to send him off to get better in his room seeing how slow and unefficient he was being at the work station. That certainly added to the sheer embarrasment and intrusive thoughts when he was left all alone in his nook in the mine. What stuck to him in particular were the love confessions that the minibot whispered to him when they were back there... did Bee really mean that? How long has he been hiding his feeelings? Did he know Blitzwing liked him back? All the questions were buzzing in his mind and not a single answer arose... at least until he bumped into said minibot on one of his patrols.

ever since the cave accident they both seemed to avoid one another, that however didn't last long as they quite literally walked into one another while hanging around one of the parks further away from the city at twilight.

It was so fragging awkward- both of them didn't know what to say- IF they should say anything but none of them wanted the other to leave without getting answers... For once, Bee took the logical approach to the situation. He managed to explain what happened in that cave and that the actions that ensued were effect of the drug-gas.

For a moment it seemed like Blitzwing was disappointed for the answer... Bee thought they would leave it at that, but then Blitz brought up what Bee said in that cave and that he liked him. It... wow.

Bee system literaly froze when Blitz said that, it took an awful bit of time to unfreeze it but when he did he was a stuttering blushy mess. It was hard to form a proper sentence but from what snippets of phrases he said Blitzwing managed to hear he liked him back.

It didn't take long at all for random to pop out and pick up Bee to spin around and hug tightly and also maybe leave kisses on his helm. Yep, Bee was definitely gonna faint if Blitz didn't stop when he did.

So i guess, this is yet another way to start their romance added to the collection. Idk what's with the stuck somewhere while drugged scenarios, they just work. Hope you had fun reading and sorry again for the delay!

#maccadam #tfa #ask box #blitzbee

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raythekiller · 1 year ago

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Weird question, but how would the creeps and Lane be affected by a reader who has obsessive pheromones. Ex. Any person they spend enough time with, the person (or people) surrounding them gets obsessed with the reader. I kinda imagine everyone putting on a gas mask once they snap out of it lol

I wonder if Lane would be affected, would they stay the same or be worse?

Please and thank you for serving us. I bid you a good day. Take care 🩷🩷🩷

🗒 ❛ Reader With Obsessive Pheromones ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie, Lane The Lurker

#Notes: this was such a fun concept to write

pronouns used: none, gn! reader

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

Absolutely falls for it. And it's so difficult to snap him out of it because he will not leave your side unless he's being forcefully dragged away, and that while still putting up a fight. Gets super touchy with you and actually treats you decently. He's just going on and on about how attractive you are and wow is that a new perfume? Once Masky manages to pull him away he'll refuse to come near you or even look you in the face, embarrassed about his own behavior. Avoids you like the plague.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

My God he's already horny normally, imagine now. Hits on you nonstop in a very suggestive manner and is another one that refuses to leave your side. Will probably try to kiss you once or twice before being dragged away. To everyone's surprise, he doesn't seem to mind the fact that he was only obsessed with you because of the pheromones and still hits on you while wearing a gas mask. He's just funky like that.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

He gets super flustered around you and stutters twice as much. Doesn't really try to flirt or make any moves, he just stands there awkwardly. Actually doesn't take him long to snap out of it since he gets overwhelmed with his own feelings and scurries away from you himself, without much needed intervention. He didn't like the feeling so he only talks to you while wearing a mask.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

Oof... Well, you see, obsession kind of triggers something... demonic inside of him, pretty similar to how I describe him in my NSFW posts. He's unable to speak and just kind of circles around you, acting like a guard dog. Will actually roar and claw and bite at anyone who tries to approach you or take him away from you, so he's the hardest to snap out of it. If he manages, though, he'll apologize for his behavior and ask you to please be more careful with this... power of yours.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Look, I'm trying to keep this post SFW, but it's getting a little difficult. He doesn't really show any change in behavior, to the point you might think he's immune somehow. That is, until he corners you against a wall, demanding you help him with the... Uhm, problem you've created. You'll have to get him out of it yourself. Once he's back to normal, he'll threaten you to not say a word about what he said to you to anyone else, his face flushing lightly underneath the mask.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

Extremely similar to Masky. Doesn't show any sings of being affected until he makes a move, running a hand up your thigh and kissing your neck. You have to be lucky enough for someone to walk by or else things might escalate. Once he's normal again, he'll chuckle at you like it's no big deal, writing something on a piece of paper and handing it to you. It reads "Played a dangerous game there, doll".

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Lane The Lurker

Oh boy. It's gonna be pretty impossible to get them out of it because they don't want to go back to normal. They enjoy the feeling of obsession. Follows you around like a lost puppy and does literally anything you ask them to, but asks for kisses and such as compensation. Can and will threaten to kill anyone that approaches you, being another creep or family member or anything else. They want every last bit of your attention and they plan to get it.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta x reader #jeff the killer #jeff the killer x reader #ben drowned #ben drowned x reader #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby #eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #masky #masky x reader #hoodie #hoodie x reader #ray.writes

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moonlight0934 · 1 month ago

Text

Crocodile Tears

Damian punches the last goon in the face before turning back to his brothers. Tim and Dick are both done dealing with their goons too which means the only target left is Joker himself, and Bruce went after him a while ago. Tim drops his staff, causing Dick and Damian to just stare at him.

“Sorry, my hand seized up,” Tim says, his face red.

Damian laughs.

“That’s ridiculous. You’re a vigilante, and you just dropped your weapon?”

Tim grumbles something as he grabs his staff.

“Shut up.”

Damian huffs, and turns away.

“We should go give Batman backup,” he says after a quiet second.

“You know that he doesn’t want us going after Joker,” Dick says.

“So what? He’s not that much better. He could die,” Damian replies, folding his arms.

“As much as I want to trust him, he doesn’t have the best track record,” Tim says.

“Fine, let’s go find him.”

Damian nods.

“He turned his tracker off when he went to find Joker. So, we should split up and look for him,” Tim says, pulling up a map of the city. “Nightwing, you take this area, while Robin can take the other one. I’ll go over to the harbor.”

“Are you alright with that?” Dick asks.

Damian nods again.

“That sounds acceptable. I will radio if I find anything.”

They disperse, and Damian heads to his area of the city. There’s an abandoned apartment building that has a few lights on. At first, Damian thinks he’s found the fight between Batman and Joker. However, as he gets closer, he realizes that there’s no way. It’s far too quiet, and there isn’t much noticeable movement from inside. Damian still walks into the building, and he takes the stairs since he doesn’t know for sure that anything is happening.

Damian slips into the apartment with the lights on, and sees the weirdest scene in front of him. Jason, who hadn’t been responding to their attempts at communication since Joker started attacking, is sitting across the table from Scarecrow. Damian immediately holds his breath as they both turn to look at him. Damian slips his filtered mask on his face as Jason smiles.

“Hey Baby Bat, what are you doing here?”

“Hood what are you doing?”

Damian types out an SOS message on his communicator. It explains that he’s with Scarecrow, and he doesn’t know the situation.

That should warn them to wear a mask. Who knows what I’ve already been exposed to. It might be in the whole building.

“What do you mean? I’m talking with one of the people that lost their homes in the recent arson cases. I’m going to help him if I have the opportunity.”

Damian narrows his eyes.

“No, you’re not. That’s Scarecrow.”

Scarecrow smiles at Damian.

“Well, it seems that you didn’t breathe in the gas that’s coating this room. That was very smart of you. I guess I’m just going to have to give you a shot of it so you can tell whatever backup you have that it was a false alarm.”

“What?” Jason asks, his eyes slightly glassed over.

“Can you give this to him?” Scarecrow asks, holding a syringe out to Jason. “It’s a vaccine for something that’s been going around this area. You wouldn’t want your brother to catch it, would you?”

Jason takes it, shaking his head.

“Come here.”

Damian shakes his head.

“Hood, snap out of it.”

Jason continues walking towards him. Damian takes a step back, his eyes trained on Scarecrow.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. It’s just a shot. You’ve never thrown a tantrum about a shot before.”

“I don’t throw tantrums!” Damian cries, obviously offended.

Jason grabs his arm, but Damian kneecaps him. He twists his arm away from Jason, and storms over to Scarecrow. Damian grabs Scarecrow’s collar, but Jason tackles him before he can do anything.

“What is wrong with you? Attacking a civilian?” Jason demands, anger coloring his tone.

“Shut up, and get off of me!” Damian cries, trying to push Jason off of him.

Jason is about to stick the needle into his arm when the door slams open. Dick comes in, and stares at both of them.

“Get off of him!” Dick says, his tone hard. Dick’s eyes start to glass over slightly.

“Put your mask on,” Damian demands, then drives his knee into Jason’s stomach.

Jason stumbles, leaning against the wall, and Damian climbs out from underneath him.

“Why would I need a mask? You and Hood need to stop fighting, and get along.”

“Because of Scarecrow!”

“Scarecrow isn’t here, Da-”

Damian is across the room in an instant, and he presses his hand against Dick’s mouth.

“Were you just about to say my name in costume?” Damian hisses, his eyes dark.

“Calm down. It’s just us, Hood, and some civilian. I’m sure he won’t say anything.”

“That’s not a random civilian, that’s Scarecrow. Either way, you shouldn’t be saying my name in front of civilians.”

“Did you hit your head?”

Jason climbs to his feet, but he looks confused.

“What was I doing?”

“You were just about to sedate Robin because he attacked me,” Scarecrow says, putting on his best scared voice. He sniffles, and a single tear rolls down his face.

“Can you just put the burlap sack back on your head, because you are the ugliest crier I’ve ever seen,” Damian snaps before turning back to Dick.

“Robin, you can’t talk to people like that. Is that true, Hood? Did Robin attack him, and were you trying to sedate him?”

Jason looks down at the syringe in his hand, and then nods. Scarecrow continues fake crying in the background.

They’re both really high by now, so I have to figure out how to restrain both of them, and not let Scarecrow get away. This is going to be difficult, but I have to figure something out before someone else shows up without a mask.

Dick grabs Damian by the shoulders.

“You have to calm down, Robin.”

Damian glares at him, then slams his elbow into Dick’s face as hard as he can. Dick stumbles back into the wall while Jason rushes forward to grab Damian. Damian ducks, throwing a batarang at Scarecrow, who is trying to move closer to the window. It doesn’t seem like he’s actively trying to sneak away, just trying to make it easier to do if Damian does get the upper hand. The batarang hits him square in the jaw, knocking him off of his feet.

Jason goes crazy at that, and grabs Damian like he’s a rag doll. Damian almost snaps his neck, but then remembers exactly who he’s fighting. Jason slams him against the wall hard enough to crack a few of his ribs. Damian gasps.

“You just assaulted a civilian!” Jason forces Damian’s face up to lock eyes with him. “Do you understand how serious this is? I thought we were past this? You can’t keep acting like that!”

Damian blinks, all of the rational thoughts leaving his brain. Scarecrow is getting up now, wiping the tear tracks off of his face. Damian bites his lip.

“Yeah, you should be upset. You’re acting just like your grandfather.”

Jason drops Damian, and hits the floor a second later. Tim is standing behind him, a mask in place. Dick is also unconscious exactly where Damian left him. Tim knocks Scarecrow out too before turning back to Damian.

“Hey, are you ok? Did he hurt you?”

Damian shakes his head even though his ribs and back are screaming.

“Ok, well we need to get them out of here. Batman had Joker handled already. I assume that Scarecrow was trying to use the distraction to get a hold of Hood. What he planned to do after that, I’m not sure. For now though, we just need to get them home. Can you help me get Nightwing to the car?”

Damian nods again, almost mechanically at this point. Tim looks concerned, but doesn’t say anything. Once they get Jason and Dick to the infirmary, Damian doesn’t wait to hear if they’re ok, or if Bruce found out what Scarecrow wanted. He just changes, and goes straight to his room. He locks the door behind himself, and throws himself into bed. He ends up crying alone until he falls asleep, unable to get his brother’s words out of his head.

Tim drops into a chair, his whole body aching.

“Do you know what’s going on with Damian?” Bruce asks as he checks both Jason and Dick’s IVs.

“No, I got there right as Jason was pushing Damian against a wall. I have no idea what happened before that. I’m worried about him though, because he completely shut down earlier. I know something happened, but I’m not sure what it was.”

“Ok, well, can you stay with them while I go check on him? There probably wasn’t any surveillance in the area, so all we can do is see if we can get him to talk.”

Tim nods, turning his attention to his other two brothers. Bruce walks up the stairs, leaving the cave in complete silence. Bruce is gone for almost fifteen minutes, and he doesn’t look happy when he walks back in.

“How’d it go?”

“He was asleep when I went in there. Of course I accidentally woke him up, but he kept insisting that everything was fine. That it was just a long day, and that he was tired. I asked if he was sure that he wasn’t exposed to anything, and he said yes. That was when he kicked me out. He wasn’t standing weird, or wincing, so it probably wasn’t an injury that he’s hiding. I’ll see if I can talk him into an X-ray later, just to be sure.”

Tim nods, his gaze distant. “What do you think happened?” he asks after Bruce is settled in between Jason Dick’s beds.

“I don’t know. They were under the influence of Scarecrow’s newest concoction, so it could be anything. That’s more what I’m worried about. There’s no way we’re going to guess what it was, and I’m not sure exactly where to start.”

“Well, you are the greatest detective, so I’m sure between the two of us we can figure it out,” Tim offers, trying to be uplifting.

“Yeah, I’m just so tired. I know that we should figure this out now, but I’m so exhausted I can barely think.”

“That makes sense. You just fought Joker by yourself, then immediately got a call saying that something had happened with three of your sons. That definitely makes for a stressful evening.”

Bruce hums, but his eyes are still sad. “How do you think he got Jason there in the first place?”

“Probably some kind of bait, or trap. Maybe he set up a meeting, then gassed the whole place? I’m not sure, but it definitely could be that.”

Bruce nods. “That makes sense. We’ll talk to him later, and see what he remembers.”

Tim forces himself to his feet, aching muscles protesting immediately.

“Alright, well, I’m heading to bed. Let me know when they wake up.”

He walks up the stairs, stopping by Damian’s door for a second, but ultimately deciding against knocking. He changes before flopping into bed to get some sleep.

Damian wakes up to his ribs burning. The pain has extended from his back to his hip, and he winces as he shifts.

I’m getting weak. I was barely able to hide my pain from Father when he came in here earlier. I can’t let myself get complacent.

He starts stretching lightly, and the pain in his back and hip doesn’t get any better. It’s still dark outside, but that doesn’t really mean anything, so he checks his phone for the time. It’s almost seven a.m., so he gently climbs back into bed. His ribs shift with the movement, and he has to bite his lip to keep himself quiet. Damian reaches out to grab his phone, then dials Jon’s number.

He answers on the last ring, “Hey, Damian. It’s kind of early for you to be calling me on a Sunday. Is everything ok?”

“Yes, everything is fine. I just needed someone to speak to. I know you’re busy though, so it’s ok if you don’t have time to talk.”

“You’re just like your grandfather. You can’t keep acting like this.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’m not busy at all. What did you want to talk about?”

“Anything. Can you just tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“Yeah, but, Damian, are you sure you’re ok? I know that whatever happened, you don’t want to talk about it, but you sound like you’re in pain.”

“It’s just a few broken ribs. It’s not a big deal.”

“I guess there isn’t much you can do for broken ribs. Anyway, you want to know what I’ve been up to… I’ve been working with the cows. One of them kicked me the other day, and I crashed into a wall. I was fine though. It was wild. How are your friends?”

“They’re fine. Titus is sitting outside of my door right now begging to be let in.”

“Aw, poor guy.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t understand the concept of broken ribs, and he’s too big for me to trust him not to hurt me.”

“Oh, yeah. You should definitely keep him out then. I didn’t even think about that.” Jon keeps chattering, and Damian lets his head drop back. He listens to what Jon is saying even though he’s barely processing it. He’s starting to fall asleep by the time Jon says, “Hey, I gotta go. Mom is heading up the stairs to tell me that it’s time to get ready for church. Do you want me to call you back afterwards?”

“No, that’s alright. I’m going to get some more sleep, and then check on my family. We had an incident with Joker and Scarecrow yesterday.”

“Is that how you got hurt?”

“I thought we were past this?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. I got hurt during a run in with Scarecrow. Anyway, thank you for talking with me.”

“Yeah, anytime. Just take it easy until you’re feeling better.”

“I will, goodbye Jonathan.”

“Bye, Damian.”

Damian hangs up, then shifts as slowly as he can onto his side to take pressure off of his back. He falls asleep again quickly after changing positions. He doesn’t wake up again until light is streaming into his room, which is only a couple of hours later. It’s ten by then, so Damian forces himself out of bed. He walks into the bathroom with clothes so he can get a shower. His back is purple, and his chest has a thick black line across it from Jason’s arm slamming into him. Damian winces at it, but continues what he’s doing. Once he finishes his shower, he heads down the stairs to find Tim curled up on the couch.

“Hey, Baby Bat. Come sit with me?”

“I was going to check on Grayson and Todd.”

“Jason already left. He was angry and confused about yesterday. Apparently one of his people betrayed him, and he went to deal with it as soon as he woke up. You actually just missed Dick. He’s heading to the store with Bruce. I think Bruce just wanted an excuse to talk to him about something, but that just leaves us. So, come sit with me. You can talk to Dick when he gets back.”

Damian walks over, and sits down besides Tim. Tim pulls Damian a little closer, and Damian bites his cheek to stop himself from crying out.

“Are you alright?” he says softly.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“What happened yesterday before I got there? Jason and Dick don’t remember anything after being put under the influence of that drug.”

Damian huffs, looking away. “Was it Scarecrow? Did he do something? Was it one of the other two? I didn’t see most of it, but it did not look like Jason was being too gentle with you.”

“He wasn’t, but I’m not a baby. I don’t need someone to coddle me, because Todd was a little aggressive. I can handle some bruises, especially since it wasn’t his fault.” The words sound hollow even to Damian’s ears. Especially the last comment, but he lets the silence continue instead of trying harder with the situation.

“It’s ok if something did happen, buddy. You’re safe here, and you can be honest with us.”

“I know that I can be honest with you, Timothy.”

You’re not the problem. I could still be the same person I was when I got here, and you’d still love me. I can’t ruin whatever Todd and Father have right now. I know that they probably won’t ever kick me out, but I don’t want to ruin anything else, especially since I’m a bad person.

“You have your thinking face on. Whatcha thinking about?” Tim asks, putting his cheek on top of Damian’s head.

Damian lets himself relax against Tim. “Nothing. There’s a lot of thoughts running through my head, but not a lot of coherence. Can we watch something?”

“Of course. What do you want to watch?”

He’s letting it go for now, but I know that he’s just trying to let me come to him. What do I do now? I’m going to pretend like nothing ever happened.

“We can just turn on whatever anime you’re currently watching.”

Tim smirks. “Yeah, I’m sure you want to do that.”

He grabs the remote, and turns on one of Damian’s documentaries before settling back down against the couch. He keeps an arm around Damian’s shoulders, but it’s loose now. Damian finds himself falling asleep again even as he tries to force his eyes open. Tim laughs as he runs a hand through Damian’s hair.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Damian complains, scrunching up his nose.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you just seem like you need some sleep. It was a very long day yesterday.”

Damian rolls his eyes, but lets them drop closed after that. The door opens, startling Damian awake. He sits up, pulling away from Tim. Tim stands up, stretching.

“That’s probably Bruce and Dick.”

He walks to the doorway, and Dick hugs him.

“Hey, Timmy. How’s Damian? Was he hurt last night?”

Damian stands up as Tim answers, “No, he’s fine. He’s right behind me by the couch.”

Dick turns away from Tim to Damian. He walks over, and wraps his arms around Damian.

“I am so sorry about yesterday.”

Pain flares through Damian’s body, and he has to disguise it with a frown. He doesn’t move to hug Dick back, because the thought of moving his arms feels like torture.

“What are you referring to?”

“When you sent out that message last night. I don’t know what was wrong with my communicator, but it didn’t give me any words. I was told that you added a message to your SOS, but I didn’t get it. That’s why I came without a mask on. I had no way of knowing that it was Scarecrow specifically.”

“Things happen. It’s not like you broke your communicator on purpose, or something. Either way, it’s fine. This actually makes a lot more sense than you just showing up unprepared.”

Dick smiles. “Yeah, I try not to do that. I didn’t know. I just got an SOS, and pulled up your tracker to see where you were. You’re sure that you’re alright?”

“I will be.”

Dick frowns, obviously a little confused.

“I’m heading down to the cave. I have some reports to write, and it’s quiet down there.”

He walks past them even as Bruce follows him. “Damian, can we talk?”

“Why?” Damian asks quietly as he sits down in front of the computer.

“You know that you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Hm.”

“That’s not an answer. I need you to know that I’m here for you Damian.”

Damian’s eyes are burning now, because even if he is, Damian will never be as important as the sons he picked. The ones that are good for things other than killing, and that were raised for better things.

“Yeah, whatever,” Damian bitterly replies, knowing how badly that he would get punished for that if he were anywhere else.

Bruce doesn’t scold him though, he just leaves him to work. He ends up staying down there for the rest of the day avoiding his family, which means he’s exhausted by the time Tim and Bruce come down the stairs for patrol.

“Are you heading out?” Damian asks, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to come. You can just rest tonight,” Bruce says, then kisses Damian on the top of the head.

“I’m going to be staying here and working comms tonight. If you need anything at all, just let me know,” Tim says, giving Damian a thin smile.

Damian returns it, then stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed now. I have school in the morning, and would like to be adequately rested.”

He heads up the stairs, but he can hear Bruce say, “He’s not actually going to sleep at nine thirty, is he?”

“Probably not. He’s probably going to read, draw, or find something else to do,” Tim replies.

Damian doesn’t stick around for the rest of the conversation, too tired to really care. He goes up the stairs in a haze, not really paying attention to what he’s doing. Alfred is the only one in the manor right now anyway, and he’s cleaning in the living room. He still can’t completely relax, his training kicking in. However, he’s tired enough that he isn’t hyper aware of everything around him. Damian opens his door, and steps inside. He goes to take another step, but Alfred the cat walks directly underneath his foot. He pulls back fast enough not to step on him, but he also loses his balance. Something in his chest shifts again when he hits the ground, and pain overcomes all of his senses before he can even make a sound.

Tim shifts, an uncomfortable feeling spiking his anxiety. It’s only ten, and Bruce isn’t due back for another three hours at least. Also, he’s been checking in every fifteen minutes, just like he’s supposed to. So, it can’t be him, and Tim can hear Alfred upstairs. He’s gotten quieter, but he’s obviously doing something in the kitchen.

I really shouldn’t have expected to hear from Damian. He’s only been upstairs for half an hour, and he’s probably unwinding. I’m sure something happened, and pushing him isn’t going to make him tell me. However, I don’t normally feel like this, and this really doesn’t feel right. Something is wrong, and checking on him isn’t bad, right? I’m not going to be pushing too hard? I won’t even ask anything, I’ll just make sure that he’s ok.

Tim stands up. “B, I’ll be right back. I’m going to check on something, and then I’ll be back.”

“Alright.”

He walks up the stairs, poking his head into the kitchen. Alfred is making tea.

“Hello.”

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I was just making sure that Damian wasn’t in here with you.”

He heads up to Damian’s room, pausing at the top of the stairs. There’s an odd sound drawing his attention. It sounds kind of like a mix between gasping and gurgling. Tim jogs to Damian’s room. His door is open, and he’s on the floor. There’s blood on the floor too, a lot of it. Tim kneels down, his mind racing.

Damian doesn’t have any obvious injuries, but there’s blood covering Damian’s face. It takes Tim a few seconds longer than it normally would to figure out what’s going on. Damian has gone quiet by then, and Tim gently picks him up. He can’t tell if Damian’s chest is rising and falling anymore. He races back down the stairs, barely pausing by the kitchen to ask Alfred to come down to the cave with him. He puts Damian down on a bed before racing over to flip off all the comms. Alfred is standing beside the bed when Tim gets back over there.

“Call Leslie,” he says, grabbing something from a table nearby.

Tim doesn’t look at it, think about what it is, or wait around to see what Alfred does with it. He walks back over to the computer to call Leslie. She gets there less than ten minutes after they get off the phone, and Tim is left alone in the main area of the cave.

“Red? Are you still there?” Bruce asks, sounding confused and concerned.

Tim reaches over to flip the comms back on from his end. “Yeah, I’m still here. You need to come home.”

“Why, what happened?”

“I’m not sure. I found Damian passed out upstairs. He was choking on blood, but I have no idea what actually happened.”

“Is he alright?” Bruce asks, sounding slightly panicked.

Tim sighs. He knows that Bruce doesn’t mean alright, he’s asking if Damian is going to be alright.

“I don’t know. Just come back please.”

“I’m on my way back right now,” Bruce says, and Tim drops into his chair. “Can you call Dick? He should still be in town, and he’ll want to know what’s going on,” Bruce says as Tim hears his car roar to life.

“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll see you when you get here.”

He flips the comms back off, switching off the noise from Bruce’s end too. He has to take a minute to compose himself before he can call Dick. Surprisingly, Bruce and Dick get there around the same time, and it’s only fifteen minutes later.

“Where’s Damian?” Dick asks as they both jog over.

“He’s with Leslie and Alfred. I haven’t heard anything since they left with him earlier.”

“Do we know what happened?”

“No, we don’t,” Bruce says, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “It’ll be ok, but we have to stay calm. We have to figure out what could have happened. Was there any sign of a break in?”

“No, there wasn’t, and I think we all know what happened. He had to have gotten hurt yesterday during the fight with Scarecrow. He’s been lethargic, and slept most of today. He also hasn’t gone anywhere since then,” Tim says, folding his arms.

“He would have said something,” Dick argues.

“Not if something else happened while he was there. Speaking of which, I figured out how we can see what happened. Do you guys remember the cameras in the dominos? I was thinking that we could access that. I checked, and Damian keeps his on almost all the time, just like he was told to. It’s surprising, but we can watch what was happening through his mask camera,” Tim says, motioning to the computer where he had already pulled up the footage.

Bruce nods, and the three of them walk over. Tim starts the footage, and it begins with the end of the fight against Joker’s goons. So, Tim fast forwards until Damian walks into the apartment building. They’re quiet as they watch Damian enter the apartment to find Jason and Scarecrow sitting together. They watch all the way until Jason slams Damian into the wall. They see Damian’s right hand go for Jason’s neck only to pull back at the last second. Then they hear a crack when he actually hits the wall, and Jason starts yelling at Damian. Damian doesn’t do anything to get away from Jason, and then Tim shows up. Tim pauses the video at that point, pinching his nose hard.

“I’m going to call Jason. He needs to get down here.”

He walks away as Dick says something softly. He can’t hear what it is, nor does he care. He calls Jason, putting the phone up to his ear.

“What do you want, Tim?”

“You need to come back to the cave. Now, before you protest, or argue, I’m going to remind you what I am capable of. I can make your life a living hell, starting with posting all of the pictures from my blackmail file on every social media platform around. Now, I don’t want to hear any questions, or arguments. You’re going to come here, and I’ll explain when you get here, ok?”

Jason is quiet for a few seconds before saying, “I don’t like you threatening me, but yeah. I can be there in half an hour.”

“Good.”

Tim hangs up, leaning heavily against the wall. He stays there for a while, letting Dick and Bruce talk. He waits until Jason gets there to head back to the computer.

“Jay,” Dick says, his eyes red.

“What’s he crying about?”

“We found Damian passed out from a punctured lung. We haven’t gotten any word on that yet, but we did find this,” Tim says, pulling up the footage again.

He lets it play from the beginning until the end again, keeping his eyes trained on the screen instead of letting them drift towards Jason.

“Shit, I hit the kid pretty hard, didn’t I? That was really rough of me to say. Do you think he…”

“Took it seriously? Yeah, he did. We need to do something about this. Have some kind of conversation about this.”

“Damn, I know that I was drugged, but I can’t believe I said that. Like, who am I to talk? He’s trying, and I think he’s trying too hard.”

“Yes, but he’s been trying that hard to get away from his heritage. You didn’t have anything to prove, and he’s always felt like he does. I think he was quiet about his ribs because he thought it would be fine, and he was scared of what would happen between you and Bruce,” Tim says, leaning against the computer.

Jason scrubs a hand across his face. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

The room gets quiet after that, and no one talks for a long while. Eventually Alfred comes back in. He looks tired.

“How is Damian?” Bruce asks softly as Alfred approaches them.

“He’ll be alright. He won’t wake up for a few hours though. He has seven broken ribs, and a fractured spine.”

Damian wakes up in significantly less pain than he passed out in. He barely remembers tripping over his cat, but he can tell that he’s in the infirmary now. There’s machines recording his vitals, and an IV in his hand. Tim is sitting next to him, his head resting in his palm. Damian can hear people talking outside of the room, but he can’t tell what they’re saying. Tim blinks slowly, his eyes coming back into focus.

“Dames, hey. How are you feeling?”

“I’m… I’m fine, I think. What happened?”

“Your ribs punctured your lung. I found you upstairs. The others are talking outside about what happened with Scarecrow. You had your mask camera on, so we were able to look back at everything.”

Damian feels his face start to burn, and he looks away.

“I’m sorry, Timothy. I failed badly.”

Tim leans forward, putting his face into his hands.

“No, I’m sorry. We have failed you so badly, Damian. We love you so much, and we all know that you’ve… I won’t even say changed, because it’s not accurate. You are sweet, kind, helpful, and empathetic. All of those bad habits weren’t your fault at all. The murder, anger, and violence were choices made for you. The choices you’ve made since being given any options are so different. You’re vegetarian, you rescue animals, you volunteer at multiple spots in town, and you help people every night.

You are one of the kindest children that I’ve ever met, and people have hurt you more than any of us can understand. I know that Jason didn’t mean a word that came out of his mouth, and you need to know that too. We all have seen who you are, and we love you for it.”

Damian sniffles, his eyes filling with tears. “Timothy.”

“No, I need to know that you’re hearing me.” Tim grabs Damian’s hand, and Damian squeezes his eyes closed.

“I do, but…”

The door opens before he can continue, and Jason, Dick, and Bruce all come in. Bruce’s eyes soften upon seeing Damian.

“Hey, we heard you talking. Good thing you woke up,” Jason says, clutching the edges of his jacket hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.

“Todd, Grayson… Father.”

Damian’s eyes drift back to his lap. Dick elbows Jason and he grunts.

“Damian, I’m sorry. I know what I said, and it was completely ridiculous. I know how much our opinions mean to you, and how scared you are of turning out like your grandfather. I know that sometimes it feels like we’re stuck on a train hurtling towards something that we want to get away from so desperately. That there’s no stopping what we’ve been told we’re going to turn into, but that’s not the case.”

“You’ve decided who you’re going to be, Damian, and I am incredibly proud of that person. I’m incredibly proud of you,�� Bruce says, putting a hand on Damian’s knee.

That’s enough to draw Damian’s gaze. “Really?” he asks, close to tears again.

“Yes, really. I’m so proud of you, and I love you so much. You’re my child, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

“But you didn’t want-”

Bruce flinches. “I do want you. I was shocked when you first showed up, but I do want you. I’m not always the best at telling you how I feel, but you are extremely important to me.”

“You’re important to all of us. Which is why you need to tell us if something happens in the future. You could have died, Damian. You can’t hide injuries just because you think it’s going to get someone in trouble. Also, Jason wasn’t in control of himself. He’s not going to get in trouble for something he can’t help. He’s going to beat himself up about it for the rest of eternity, but no one else will,” Dick says, and Jason elbows him this time.

“He’s right though. Not just when you get injured, but you can’t hide any of it. You need to tell us when you’re not feeling good,” Bruce says seriously.

Damian nods. “I understand. I know I shouldn’t have lied, but I don’t want to be a problem anymore.”

“You are not a problem, and you never have been. You’re a child who needs the love and support of his family. That’s what we’re here for.”

Damian turns to Tim, who gives him a supportive smile.

“Ok, I won’t hide anything anymore. Thank you.” He doesn’t look at anyone when he says it, but his eyes soften.

“Also, I’m sorry that I laid hands on you. I know that what I said was the more important part, but those were some pretty nasty injuries you got,” Jason says, frowning deeply.

“Stop moping, you’re annoying me. It wasn’t your fault anyway. I’m glad that neither you nor Grayson had any long term effects from the drugs.”

Jason smirks. “Of course that was what you were worried about.”

Damian also smiles. Recovery is going to be a long road, but maybe it won’t be as hard as Damian thought it was going to be.

#angstober 2024 #angstober #no.22 #crocodile tears #batman #batfamily #damian wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #scarecrow #emotional angst #whump writing #writing challenge

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fatkish · 7 months ago

Note

Hiya. How are you?

I wanted to request a Aizawa headcannon in which he has a daughter and they are both kidnapped by a daengeorus villain, so he do everything to protect her and escape. With happy ending please hshshs

Thanks you. Hope you have a great week 🧡🧡

Aizawa x Daughter Reader: Kidnap

(Trigger Warning: this is a Dark fanfic and involves mentionings of kidnapping, abusive relationships, allusions to rape and may be uncomfortable for certain audiences. Please be advised)

You are an underground pro hero. You are 22 years old and have your old man’s quirk of Erasure and your mother’s quirk of Spy Eye

Basically your mother’s quirk allows for her to summon floating eyes that she can remotely control and see with. (Kinda like Gaara’s sand eye technique from Naruto) her quirk mixed with Aizawa’s and gave you the ability to summon eyes that had special effects like quirk erasure, x-ray vision, infrared (heat detection) vision, laser eyes, foresight and night vision

Your drawbacks are dry eye as well as migraines from eye strain

Aizawa is retired, at age 48 and lives in a nice apartment.

You had a boyfriend that you tried to break up with after you discovered his abusive tendencies

That didn’t go over too well. After a fight, he managed to get away and since you didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him and get him put away, you had to collect evidence

What you didn’t know, was that he had learned about Aizawa and decided to kidnap him not knowing that he was a retired pro hero

Your ex had a similar quirk to Midnight’s, he could emit an anesthetic gas that put people to sleep. Thus his job as an anesthesiologist in the hospital

He used his quirk on Aizawa and tied him up with quirk restraining cuffs and blindfolded him. He brought him to an abandoned warehouse to use as bait and texted you his picture saying if you didn’t come alone, then he’d kill him

Of course you tried to save him, but the moment you entered the building, even though you were wearing a gas mask, he managed to get behind you and a fight broke out

In the struggle, he managed to cut the strap on your mask, allowing you to breathe in the gas and fall asleep

After you were caught, your ex had you restrained in quirk restraining cuffs. He then put you both in a car and drove to an abandoned cabin in the woods.

After waking up, you see your Ex with a scalpel about to kill your dad. You beg him not to and that you’ll do anything, just please don’t kill him

Aizawa has tape over his mouth and despite his struggles and attempts to protest, your ex eventually agrees

He then takes you into another room where he begins to beat you up, punching, kicking and cutting you with the scalpel

Aizawa is struggling as he can hear your cries of pain and the thuds from your body being hit.

After beating you into unconsciousness, your ex was planning on forcing you to have his children so that you couldn’t leave.

As he is with you, beating you, Aizawa uses a hidden compartment in his prosthetic leg that holds a utility knife. He manages to break the restraints on himself and breaks down the door as the your ex is about to force himself on you

Aizawa beats him up and uses his skills revealing his identity as Eraserhead. He ties the Ex up and carries his daughter to the car outside.

He drives you both to the hospital where you’re treated and he calls the police to arrest the ex

When you wake up, he tells you that your Ex has a history of this kind of behavior with previous partners and that he won’t be out anytime soon.

Hizashi comes and drops off new clothes for you as well as get well cards

Aizawa asks how long you had been in that situation, he fears that his mistakes as a father had lead to you being with an abusive partner.

You reveal to him that you had no idea about who your Ex really was and that he only acted this way in the last 2 and 1/2 months of their year long relationship

After this, Aizawa has you move back in with him until you get better

(Hope you enjoyed this.)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x daughter reader #aizawa x reader platonic #aizawa shouta x reader

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seva-over · 2 months ago

Text

RECOVERING

Batfam x reader (platonic)

Warnings: light descriptions of Scarecrow’s fear gas induced nightmares (but nothing drastic, mostly pure comfort), reader wears glasses. Divider made by me!

Being a teen wasn’t easy. Aside from the noisy classmates, angry teachers, and overall difficulties growing through that age, there was work. If asked, you'd always tell everyone that you worked in a coffee shop or a library, but the truth was… you were a Robin. The second Robin, to be exact. Which really wasn’t easier.

Sure, you weren’t as experienced as Dick was in ‘the Robin-ing’, as you called it, but you were quick to learn and, most importantly, enthusiastic. The small nods you got from Bruce and the wide smiles Dick gave you told you everything you needed to know: you were great at your job. Those were the moments that made you feel like you could defeat any villain.

Like that night. You, Bruce, and Dick were all on top of a rooftop, fighting Scarecrow. You managed to land a good punch and turned to Dick for appreciation with a spark in your eyes. Scarecrow recoiled from the hit, his eyes widened under the mask. Then, as you turned to Dick, the rogue smiled. You saw Dick flashing you a thumbs up, then his mouth opening to warn you as his face paled. You heard a soft hiss, your lungs filling with the fear gas, and that was when the nightmares began.

The world around you crumbled, images of Bruce and Dick and all your other friends and family, all distorted to the point of barely remaining recognizable. All shouting at you, taking off their masks and hoods to reveal their horrifying faces. It was too much. A gasp, two, three – you felt yourself passing out.

When you woke up in your bed, it was raining outside. Groaning, you put a hand on your aching head and stood up. You tried to remember what had happened to make you so dizzy, keeping your eyes closed to shield them from the light. That was when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, pushing you back on the bed. You finally opened your eyes to see…

"Selina?" you questioned, a light blush tainting your ears as you realized your mistake. You were so used to calling her by her first name when she wasn't around – Bruce always did – that you forgot about your own unfamiliarity with her. "I mean, ms.Kyle. What are you doing here?"

Selina’s eyes twinkled as you called her by her name. Knowing the reason for it, she smiled slyly to herself. She was wearing a rather casual outfit compared to her usual ones, consisting only of high heels, dress pants, and a sweater. Selina leaned back in her armchair – your armchair – and replied.

"Why, I came to check on you," she said, putting her arms on the armrests gracefully.

Her attitude didn’t impress you. You were sure by then: Bruce had definitely invited her to watch over you. But why her? Why not Alfred? Why not Dick? Why not a doctor, for god’s sake?! You rubbed your tired eyes, reaching for your glasses. That’s not a good explanation, you wanted to say.

"I see," you said instead, fixing the glasses on your face. "Where’s Bruce?"

Selina chuckled.

"He’s downstairs," she said, toying with a strand of her blonde hair. "He asked me to tell him when you wake up. But… I suppose you can tell him yourself."

You furrowed your brows, trying to guess what she meant, when you heard a soft call of your name from the doorway. Turning your head, you saw Bruce. His usually stoic expression had a mixture of relief and worry in it as he looked down at you.

"Hey, Bruce," you said, waving your hand lazily.

Bruce nodded, and you could see his face relaxing again. He approached the bed and sat down on the edge.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his black eyes scanning your face for any injury that he may not have noticed before.

"I’m fine," you replied, attempting to sit up again. "What happened?"

Bruce sighed. A spark of melancholy flashed in his eyes before disappearing again. He was about to speak when the door opened again, revealing a very worried Dick. The first Robin's eyes lit up the moment he saw that you were awake, and he dropped his backpack onto the nearest chair, running up to you as he exclaimed your name.

"Are you alright?" the teen questioned, kneeling down next to your bed. "How’s your head? Do you see me clearly? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Dick," Bruce interrupted him with a rare smile. "Let her speak."

Dick’s ears turned a light shade of pink. He averted his eyes.

“Right…” he muttered, glancing up at you again. He seemed to not mind Selina sitting in your room at all.

You leaned back against the headboard, gathering your thoughts.

"I don’t think I remember what happened," you said slowly, running a hand through your hair (neatly brushed, to your surprise). "We were fighting Scarecrow and then… oh, god." You covered your face with your hands, realizing just what had happened. "Oh god, I'm so sorry..." you muttered in a resigned tone. "I messed up..."

The image of Crane’s masked face flooded your mind once more. He was laughing at you, pitying you, studying you like a fascinating specimen, all the while you were crying and struggling to breathe. You could almost feel the fear gas on your face, instinctively reaching to scratch it. It was horrible. But the worst feeling was shame. You couldn't believe that you'd been so reckless. You were desperate enough for validation to let yourself be fear gassed.

"You did," Bruce mumbled solemnly, making you shudder. "You got distracted. You could have gotten yourself or the civilians hurt."

Each word was like a stab to the heart. God, you knew you messed up. Why did he have to say it like that?

"You’d been screaming for an hour before passing out," Dick said, looking up at you with a worried gaze. "But... Scarecrow was fascinated by your reaction. He was so focused on you that he didn't notice us approaching until it was too late."

An hour? Well, that was one way to make you feel better.

"I'm sorry," you managed to say eventually, looking up at the three people in your room with guilty eyes.

Bruce’s gaze softened a bit, and he placed a gentle hand on top of yours. Dick let out a quiet breath – you didn’t know if it was one of disappointment or relief, but it sounded like both. Selina, who had been keeping quiet for the last few minutes, spoke once more.

"I believe we should let the little Robin rest," she said, and you could read a hint of concern in her bright green eyes.

Bruce nodded, leaning back a bit. He let his shoulders relax a little, closing his eyes.

"I suppose we should," he said slowly, nodding.

Dick smiled, ruffling your hair. Selina crossed her arms.

"Careful, boy, I brushed that," she warned, though there was no real bite to her words.

The boy chuckled quietly, a gleam in his eyes. You felt yourself letting out a sigh. Your surroundings felt like home. Your family was with you, you could hear Alfred cooking something downstairs, you were in a nice, warm bed… Your eyelids felt heavy, your body relaxing…

"Wait, you brushed my hair?"

Just like I promised, here is a Batman fic! I hope you liked it, comments are greatly appreciated.

#seva over #seva's spaceship #batman #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batman the animated series #btas #selina kyle #selina x bruce #<- kinda #dick grayson #batman x reader #selina kyle x reader #dick grayson x reader #dc scarecrow

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justawriterofstuff · 2 months ago

Text

I don't want to lose you

(A/N: Trigger warning for slight abuse, hair loss, sexual content, angst, and so yeah, MDNI)

There's a slight bald patch on the right side of your hair. Your fingers brush over it, feeling the strange lack of hair, and you sigh.

The stinging went away at least, but your nerves are frazzled.

After all, it was Jason Todd, your boyfriend of a year and a half that pulled it out.

You weren't expecting it, doing some chores around the shared apartment you had with Jason over a week ago. You were cooking dinner when he came in through the front door, slamming it open.

That should have been your first warning, but you had gotten a little tipsy on the wine, and thought everything was louder than it usually was.

In your tipsy stupor, you greeted Jason, not noticing that he looked roughed up from patrol, his gear in shreds on him, his mask missing bits and pieces.

This was your second warning, but you'd gotten use to Jason coming back from patrol a little worse for wear now and then.

It was when you tried to hug him that Jason flipped out, his large hands grasping the side of your head where your hair was loose and yanking it with full force. Him doing that made you stumble back on the couch, a huge chunk of your hair in his fist.

Your scalp stung, and for the first time, fear entered your system.

You raised your hands up in case he tried to swing on you, but you heard a man cry out first.

Looking back up, you saw Nightwing forcing Jason back, Timothy following after.

Damian, the youngest brother, slipped in, and guided you out of the apartment, wincing at the sight of your hair.

"W...what happened?" you asked, looking back. Nightwing, and Tim were busy hoisting Jason out of the apartment, a girl in dark blue cloak, almost purple, opening a portal for them.

"Jason got into a fight with my father, and I think he brainwashed Jason. Jason was panicking and trying to get back to his senses but it's not that easy. We're hoping that Raven, a fellow member of the Teen Titans, can undo it." Damian explained, getting in the elevator, and motioning for you to follow him.

"But since Jason's gone, I should be able to go back until he returns-" you tried to say, but Damian shook his head, still clad in his Robin suit.

"That's a bad idea. Jason could escape and come back here in a state that's not his own. We're relocating you to a safehouse that only I, Tim, and Grayson are aware of. Please, this is just for your safety." Damian replied, and you looked back at your home, before nodding and following after him.

Present day...

So here you were, in a town over of Gotham, staying in a one-story house that was quant and cute but not home.

You weren't sure how long you were going to stay here, using two weeks of vacation in case the process took longer.

Dick and Tim, and Damian had stopped updating you after the fourth day. They just made sure groceries were delivered almost every day, and your car "mysteriously" filled with gas.

One morning, you were lying in bed, thinking of what to do for the day, when a gentle knock on the bedroom door caught your attention.

Strange. You hadn't invited anyone over.

It could be the cleaning crew.

As you opened the door, you froze.

"Jason..." you breathed.

#justasmut26 #jason todd x you #writerscommunity #red hood x you

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crabonfire · 2 years ago

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Stupid and dumb tf2 headcannons cause I somebody do these on tiktok and they rile me up

Pyro regularly goes to strip clubs and he would fucking clap at the strippers like "😊👏👏" because he's a weirdo and I love it, demoman and Soldier would go too, both wanting to have a good time but soldier would probably be more impressed at how flexible they can be instead of everything else

They have movie nights where they vote and scout chooses action every single time while most mercs would want something else, they accuse him of being scared because he never ever chooses horror and he's like "pfft, no! Horror is just...lame to me." And engie snorts and was like "Yeah okay buddy." So they watched horror that night to prove it to him and surprisingly he was composed during it, but he didn't sleep that night, or the coming nights until he finally convinced himself it was just a movie and nobody was living in his closets.

Spy is a little too into weapons. One time when they all got a crate of weapons they had all been wanting when it came to his crate bro was practically SAVORING the knives and guns he was holding, he was sputtering French compliments while he was CARESSING those weapons. Everybody was so weirded out Sniper had to tell him to cut it out. He simply said that he was "impressed" by the refined beauty of said weapons. (if he starts moaning over those guns don't be surprised)

They also have game nights, it was scouts idea. Usually only Pyro, Engineer, Demoman, Soldier would join, while others would be spectating. They always go the same way, the game starts out simple, Engineer starts arguing with Soldier because he's not playing right, they start fighting and it turns into a bet to see who will win this time. Pyro and demoman will continue the game with Scout because they are so used to this, while Medic will cheer and egg them on. Spy would be like, "Look at you two, fighting like a bunch of children." But he finds it sooo entertaining.

Barbecue nights with engie!

Sniper smells like ASS. Anytime he's at the base, somebody has to remind him to shower, and he gets so embarrassed he's like, "Shit. Sorry." And just speedwalks to the shower rooms. When he comes back, he uses an insane amount of shampoo and cologne, so he actually smells really good afterwards. He's used to his own bad smell so he never actually notices.

Spy has greasy fucking hair. Like seriously, does he even wash that baklava? I don't think so (that voice line from Ms pauling proves me right) he's a man thay takes care of his physical attributes yes, but he doesn't ever find a need for his hair because he never takes that damn thing off, only when he showers and sleeps, that's it.

If for example, your dating him and after a while you want to see him without it, he's handsome yeah omggg so cute but GOD FUCKING DAMNNN THAT FUCKING HAIR MASHAALLAHHH brother wtfffff you have to shower with him and clean out his hair from him. He's like "it's not that big of a deal seriously" but after you wash it and it becomes soft and conditioned he becomes embarrassed realising how bad it really was. (Also, he probably has mask lines if it's been hot and he's been wearing it for too long)

Engineer has a shameful addiction of sweets. Like, I feel like he stress eats especially when his inventions go wrong and I have a headcannon back in uni when he was studying, since he was already so smart the MOMENT something was not perfect he would freak the fuck out and start eating chocolate so aggressively like

"What's wrong with this damn thing om nom mommmfh fuckin- mmmomom"

After he graduated and became a merc, since he got better and perfected his craft (for the most part) this rarely occurred, when it does tho, just know he's stepping out of his workshop, going to a gas station and buying so much candy. (This only happens when it's REALLY bad though.)

Heavy actually really likes American food. He thought he'd hate it, but he doesn't find it that bad. He likes cheeseburgers and steaks, very yummy. Medic doesn't like it when he eats them because they can be a tad bit unhealthy, but he's happy that it makes him happy.

Medic got into birds when he was young, feel like he had a bird feeder as a kid outside his house and would like to observe them from his window, when it got cold he'd offer them a place inside and ended up having bonds with them. Archimedes and his doves reminds him of childhood, a simpler time.

#tf2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 x reader #tf2 scout #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier #tf2 demoman #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #silly #hehe #i love them #bht theyre sooo gross #but i love them

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the-unknown-void · 12 days ago

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!!UPDATED!! Murder Drones/Half-Life AU character bios

Welcome, welcome to City 9, one of our finest urban centers on Copper 17!

~ Citizens ~

Any worker drone that is not part of the resistance, and is not conscripted into the Combine. Live openly in the city under the harsh rule of the Combine, disassembly drones watching their every step, scanning for even the slightest sign of disobedience.

~ The Combine ~

Disassembly drones, basically. Except for metropolice who are worker drones who choose to work for them. All drones converted into DDs have their memories wiped entirely. The only exceptions to this are J, V, and N for who still have their memories but they are suppressed.

Design- They still have most of the canonical built-in weapons like claws, SMGs, blades, missiles, and B E A M. And they still adorn their signature “X” on their visors while fighting but they also have it while working in general, they mainly turn it off in casual situations. (Metrocops will adorn the “X” as well) Disassembly drones now come in different color schemes depending on their rank and role. (Look at Humanoid Combine Units for references) And they all(including metrocops) wear partial gas masks over their mouths(these are removable)!

Air Defense - Bigger and reinforced wings, stakes attached to the backs of their ankles that they can protrude downwards for anchoring to trees n such. In exchange for being able to fly for long periods of time, their bodies are not as armored so that they are lighter, making flight require less energy.

Land Defense - Digitigrade legs with goat hooves for agility and optimal ability to traverse varying terrain(and because I said so.) Smaller wings and their bodies are very reinforced for close-combat. Can only fly for short periods of time but they can glide.

Tessa James Elliott - Puppet Leader - Role: Dr. Breen The only known human left alive after the destruction of Earth and the Copper 17 core collapse. She managed to negotiate with the Absolute Solver to keep the worker drones alive and was appointed leader of the Combine on this planet. She remains in the Citadel and communicates with Cyn who tells her what to do whenever necessary.

Weapons/Tools: - Revolver - Sword - Wrench

Serial Designation J - Combine Operative(Commander) Relays orders to large groups of disassembly drones, can operate most Combine machinery, makes sure things are running smoothly, and speaks directly with Tessa. She mainly sticks around guarding the Citadel, if something(such as an uprising) threatens it and Combine control she will come to strike them down in nearly an instant. She isn’t as built for close-combat battle, she is able to fly very quickly but not for as long as air defense. Can drive APCs and pilot Hunter Choppers.

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly Drone Stuff (Some listed weapons may be built-in) - Revolver - Grenades - Tau Cannon - Laser tripmines

Serial Designation N - Elite of Combine Air Defense He follows/leads hunter choppers or he can pilot hunter choppers. He is specifically designed for long flights and in-flight combat. Despite his higher position, he’s not very respected due to lacking intelligence and frequent hesitation causing more trouble than usually necessary.

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly Drone Stuff (Some listed weapons may be built-in) - Pulse Rifle - Can deploy manhacks

Serial Designation V - Soldier of Combine Land Defense She guards the borders of Combine territories, making sure no unwelcome creatures from the outlands get inside the city.. Also sometimes deployed to guard places like Nova Prospekt. She is mainly designed to be able to traverse various terrain, she is still able to fly in short bursts and gliding. She can also drive APCs, set up mounted guns and turrets.

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly Drone Stuff (Some listed weapons may be built-in) - Shotgun - Crossbow - Grenades - Hoppers - Can deploy roller mines

~ The Resistance ~

Worker drones who have decided to rebel against the Combine, refusing to submit to their abuse. However, since the death of their previous leader, Nori Doorman, their movement has been dormant. As Khan decided that everyone should go into hiding in the bunker for the sake of their daughter(him and Nori's).

Yeva - Deceased Was almost just as important to the resistance as Nori, playing a large role in getting them out of the city. Unfortunately she was killed by V along with her husband not long after the uprising fell.

Weapons/Tools: - Absolute Solver powers - Revolver - Pulse Rifle - Can hack roller mines

Nori Doorman - Former Leader(dead?) - Role: Gordon Freeman The initial starter of the resistance movement, which actually got pretty far. But it came to an abrupt end when she reached the Citadel walls and alerted J to the scene, killing Nori and many of those by her side just before they could make their final push.. At least everyone is pretty sure she’s dead?

Weapons/Tools: - Absolute Solver powers - Uzi (the gun, not her daughter) - Crowbar - S.L.A.Ms

Khan Doorman - Current Leader - Role: Eli Vance After Nori's death, he decided it was best to go into hiding with his daughter, fearing the Combine would begin hunting for them even more aggressively than they did before. He is also developing a patch for the absolute solver in secret, originally for his wife but now he hopes he can save his daughter.

Weapons/Tools: - Wrench - Pistol - Shotgun

Uzi Doorman - Role: Alyx Vance + Gordon Freeman Infuriated by her father’s cowardice for stalling the resistance movement, believing it nullifies everything her mother worked for. She wants to finish the job her mother started, and she will end up doing just that with the help of an unusual disassembly drone named N.

Weapons/Tools: - Crowbar (Nori’s) - Railgun (From the show) - Alyx’s gun (Modified Pistol) - RPG (Rocket Launcher) - Gravity Gun - S.L.A.Ms - EMP Tool - Absolute Solver powers (acquired much later)

Thad - Metrocop - Role: Barney Calhoun He’s another metrocop but he’s not in on Doll’s scheme. He’s just a metrocop for spying and it’s just useful to have rebel drones who can use Combine tech. But.. no one’s seen him in a while..

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly drone headband (A headband with the 5 small extra eyes that disassembly drones have. Unlike actual DDs tho, the headband is only wired into the head instead of welded) - Gloves with retractable blades (Wolverine hands basically, when the user makes a fist, 3 blades protrude from their knuckles) - Booster Boots (Increase user’s agility and jump height, also protect the user from fall-related injury) - Extra arm & Leg armor (To look more like the disassembly drones and protect those limbs as they will NOT regenerate) - Partial Gasmask (same as DD’s) - Stun Baton - Pistol - SMG - Baseball Bat

~ Ambiguous Alliance ~

Who these drones are allied with or what they stand for isn't quite known.

Alice - Role: Father Grigori ??????

Doll - Double agent, Spy on the Resistance - Role: Dr. Mossman (Mitchell HDTF) Lives in the bunker with the resistance. She seems to have some kind of deal going with J to provide information and in return protection from the Combine. Promising to retrieve the patch from Khan, in exchange for protection and being able to avenge her parents by killing V.

Weapons/Tools: - Absolute Solver powers - Metal Pipe - Revolver

Lizzy - Triple agent, Metrocop Works for Doll, doesn’t know her entire scheme but she goes along with whatever Doll tells her anyways. Like joining the metropolice under the guise of being a spy on the Combine, but to the Combine she claims to be a spy on the resistance and giving them information to back it up. Can set up turrets and mounted guns.

Weapons/Tools: - Disassembly drone headband - Gloves with retractable blades - Booster Boots - Extra arm & Leg armor - Partial Gasmask - Stun baton - Pistol - Sniper Rifle

Cyn - True leader of the Combine - Role: G-Man + Overwatch No one but J knows there is someone above Tessa pulling all the strings. She let Tessa live, making her leader and assigned J, N, and V their ranks, allowing them all keep their memories as long as they stayed in line.

Weapons/Tools: - Absolute Solver

~ Outland Creatures ~

Eldritchs - Disassembly drones who’ve been damaged beyond what their regeneration is capable of fixing, requiring material from outside sources. Sometimes this is viable, but usually it is advised to just destroy eldritchs immediately as they will violently massacre and destroy anything that contains the material it needs, even other disassembly drones. These beings take on many forms and can create very convincing holograms of those they kill to lure prey, so one should never approach random figures in the outlands.

Note: because of this, disassembly drones have a fail-safe trigger that disables regeneration if it detects a certain amount of weight lost. (indicating severe damage that could lead to becoming eldritch.) Of course this fail-safe can fail to trigger or trigger unnecessarily(falsely detecting significant weight loss) sometimes.

Heartcrabs - The cores of disassembly drones and solver-afflicted drones that can no longer return to their bodies(likely entirely destroyed). Similar to the eldritchs, they may start looking for a new body by attacking living drones; this doesn’t work well and creates aggressive zombie-like drones.

Anti-Drone Sentinels - Quick, aggressive robotic raptors that emit bright flashes of light to boot-loop any drone who looks at it, rendering them immobile until a reboot can be done. They move in packs in the outlands, it’s rumored a few drones have learned how to tame them.

Do not be afraid to send questions my way about this AU! I am always itching to ramble :D

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lifewithdavefarts · 11 months ago

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DaveFarts - Episode 28 “Ass Kisser, Ass Sniffer” [Episode List] Thanks to Dave and his farting skills, a certain ass-kisser learns the hard way that some asses can be quite dangerous.

POV: Dave

Ass Kisser, Ass Sniffer

It was late night, around 2:30 AM.

I parked the car in the middle of a big parking lot just out of town, lots of trees and bushes hiding the whole place from the busier streets only a few blocks from us. I admit I felt a bit nervous for a moment, but overall I was quite confident everything’s was gonna go according to plan.

A co-worker from Dana (my girlfriend)’s law firm, a 30-something guy, is being, well, kind of a big asshole and, ironically enough, a big kiss ass too.

Now, I know my girl can fight her own battles, but I kind of had to step in once we found out that this guy was a slicker, selling confidential data to other law firms, basically hijacking every case for money. Also, he’s being a nuisance to Dana and other co-workers, going as far as framing them (including her) for whatever scam (or other bullshit) he was doing.

I’m not a vigilante nor I like the idea of being one, but come on, this guy needs to be taught a lesson. And since he always gets away with everything because he’s an ass-kisser, well… I thought it’d be fun giving him a fitting punishment.

Yes, I’m going there. You know what I’m talking about.

And you know what I’m capable of.

Also, I’m aware this is a very stupid and irresponsible thing to do… so it’s fun, right?

“He should be here any minute now.” I said, hands on the steering wheel.

I was wearing a black face-mask to hide most of my, well, face, the cold dark night hiding the rest of me.

In the last couple of days I’ve been messaging with this wannabe criminal, pretending to be someone interested in buying confidential data. Not rocket science, and this guy wasn’t a criminal mastermind… like he addressed himself as multiple times.

Seriously.

“Really, Dana? This is the guy?” I remember asking her a couple of days ago, with my girlfriend being as confused as me about how much of a kiss ass you need to be to even look like a competent person in front of your boss and co-workers.

“He’s an idiot!”

But now I’m here, waiting in my freezing car (I really need to fix the damn A/C) for this man to show up so I can properly give him a lesson.

You all know that I’m very good at this and I’m quite confident myself about my skills; still, I wanted to throw in some extra fuel, so I had some chips and a very tasty, spicy taco… which I actually needed ‘cause I was starving.

What’s nice about my talent is that my farts are not as big as they are because I have a weak stomach. On the contrary, they’re as huge as they come because I have a very strong one.

Your belly hurts after eating at BellTaco? Sucks to be you, because I don’t know what that is: it all gets nicely converted to gas, dry powerful gas that I can effortlessly get rid of as if I’m breathing (from my ass… ok, you get the idea).

Then yes, I will take a good shit after a while, I too am a human, but we’re not here for that.

All you need to know is that whenever I face-fart my bro Tim, as disgusting as that is, I’m actually impressed by how he’s able to endure it. Not all my farts smell horrible, I’d say that I can roar very loudly… without biting too much, or not as much as you might expect, especially considering that I can fart like crazy even without any “fuel”.

But when they do smell, unless you’re as strong as Tim, you’re not gonna survive them.

I won’t even need to face-fart you directly: my farts have a quite wide, high DPS AOE.

And to be honest, that’s what the food I ate is for: flavor.

Yes, that’s a sentence I just said.

I can always rip long, loud and big ones, and while they do smell… they’re easy to endure. But throw some beer or some junk food into the mix, then you’re up for a good time.

And again, unless you’re Tim, with “good time” I mean “your nostrils will burn.”

“Here’s our guy.” I whispered, my eyes glued on the figure approaching the car.

I signaled the man with the car’s headlights and he responded with a quick gesture.

He quickly got into the vehicle and looked at me, looking serious… but not serious on purpose: it’s as if he was trying his best to play the part of a shady businessman.

“Are you… Scorpion?”

I almost laughed like an idiot.

Yes, I actually used a code-name and I knew it was silly, but I wasn’t ready for how ridiculous that was gonna sound during the meet up. Thankfully, the face-mask successfully hid my cheesy grin, so my eyes could (tentatively) do the serious talk. To avoid any further risk, I simply nodded.

“Good.” he said. Then he proudly patted his chest. “I’m Dura Lex”.

I started coughing, a deft way to hide the fact that I was now laughing. What the fuck did I get myself into? Who’s this guy?!

“Are you okay, Scorpion?”

Somehow that didn’t kill me and I managed to get myself together, fully aware that I was looking and sounding as ridiculous as him anyway.

“Sure.” I simply replied.

“That’s a good meeting spot. The darkness shall hide our deeds.”

Please, stop talking like this.

“I got the documents, if you’re still interested.” he pulled out of his jacket a folder and handed it to me.

“You can keep it… Dura Lex.” I had to pause for a few seconds, and not for dramatic effect. “For now.”

“Come on man, my ass is freezing.” he lamented, in a more nasal voice than before.

This guy’s “shady criminal mastermind” facade sure wore off quite quickly.

“You’re freezing, Dura Lex?” I asked. “Do you want me to… heat things up?”

I went for “tough guy”, but I’m pretty sure that sounded “unnecessary flirty” instead.

“Get to the point, Scorpion!”

You only had to ask.

Eyes glued on him, my right hand on the steering wheel, as if nothing weird was happening, I broke the silence by producing a muffled, rumbly sound with my ass. I was wearing a pair of jeans, but no clothes can stop my gas from reaching your nose.

“Are you…?”

The man was baffled, confused, surprised. Truth to be told, I can understand that.

I can’t blame him… but I will blow him… err… blow him away with my farts I mea- never mind, you get it.

The fart was warming my seat up and my face mask protected me from my own stench (which I was immune to anyway). I still had my eyes glued on Dura Loser or whatever his codename was, waiting for a reaction, which showed soon.

A disgusted facial expression appeared on his face. “Oh m-my God.” he stuttered, he coughed.

I leaned a bit to ease the fart out, and it got louder.

“What’s happening, Dura Lex? Something bothering you?” I said, pretending nothing weird was happening, almost yelling, so he could hear me over my loud fart.

“You’re a sick person, Scorpion. I’m outta here.”

My first blast ended after like 6 seconds. It was loud, airy, disgusting… and it was burning my asshole a bit. Spicy food tends to do that, but that also makes the stench more nauseating.

The man was trying to hold his breath already as he tried to open the door, but it was locked.

“Open this damn door!” he asked. Or rather, he begged.

“What?! Leaving so soon?” I replied, the mask hiding my smirk. “I thought a professional ass kisser like you would love this!”

I ripped another loud, quick rip, leaning a bit more, so he could hear it clearly. A taste (or a threat) of what’s to come in a few minutes.

“Would you please stop with those damn toots?!” he screamed. Never seen a person so terrified of my farts.

Also, that was very offensive. Dude, I'm barely getting started! I carefully stretched my right arm towards him, my hand now firmly holding his mostly bald head.

“You thought those were toots, Dura Lex?” I firmly asked.

Now he was the one nodding.

“My bad!” I slowly pulled his head towards my ass. I leaned a bit more so I could more easily plant this man’s face where he belongs. “Allow me to fix that with the next one.”

The man tried to resist but my grip was strong enough to keep his nose as close as it needed be, right into my ass, which started to roar as soon as I finished talking.

A loud, deafening fart instantly hot-boxed the entire car.

“Oh my God!” he screamed, retching over the stench that burned his nostrils. “Let me go you asshole!”

I could barely hear him over my fart. “Yes, that’s where this is all coming from! Of course a kiss ass like you would know!” and I pulled him even closer to my denim-clad anus.

Tim usually just stays there and takes it, because of his fart kink, but I was struggling keeping this man where he belongs, as I kept farting right onto his face.

After 12 seconds, my blast finally ended.

Actually, it stopped ‘cause I wanted to. I wasn’t done.

“So, Dura Lex…” I started talking, pulling his face up, out of my ass, so I could look at him properly. “What were you exactly gonna do with those confidential documents?”

The man looked more confused than nauseated. “What are you talking about?”

“Wrong answer. Enjoy kissing my ass.”

I pushed him down again and I immediately resumed farting, the blast being even louder than before, as if the fart itself was mad it got interrupted. 8 more seconds of pure flatulence Hell, as I could tell because the stench was now so strong it even got past my mask.

I once again pulled the idiot up, who at this point simply accepted that he was basically my puppet as he stopped fighting back, probably startled by my gas too.

“So, I’m gonna ask again: what’s up with those confidential documents?”

Dura Lex shook his head. “Kiss my ass, Scorpion!” he managed to reply.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to say that.” I replied. "Like, at all."

And again his face was planted into my warm ass, which I made sure it was sagging, his nose rubbing on my denim and my blue underwear, which only made the stench more unbearable for him.

“Well, now you’re in the position to say that.”

I ripped another loud fart, which was greeted with more retching from my newest victim. As much as the small space of the car let me, I tried to stretch me left leg up, easing the fart out, and also because so I could more easily glue this man’s face into my cruel, farting ass.

The spicy junk food I ate earlier turned my anus into a fire-breathing gas weapon. I gotta say, I’m surprised this man hasn’t passed out yet because even the car windows are fogging up.

I wasn’t instead surprised at all by how big my farts were instead. I told you I’m good at this.

It kept going strong, as if Lex’s face wasn’t even there. I gotta say: he may be a jerk, but he was taking it like a champ… if we don’t count all the annoying whining at least.

“What the fuck!” he tried to get away one more time, but I kept his face down there, where it belonged, so he could breathe all of my gas in.

14 seconds and the fart finally started to lose power. For him it must have felt like hours.

Again we did our little “dance”, with me pulling his head up to question him.

“Just tell me what I wanna hear, Lex.” I said, with an evil smirk he couldn’t see because of my mask.

“I’m not talking.” he replied.

“That’s wise. You shouldn’t speak when your mouth is full.”

I pushed him down again, firmly planting his nose between my asscheeks, only a thin layer of clothes protecting his nose and mouth from the deep burning Hell that my asshole was becoming. I ripped another fart, as loud as the previous one, but much shorter.

Indeed, a very loud toot, 2 seconds long.

Still holding his head still, I spoke to him.

“Say it!”

“No! I'm not gonna say any-”

Another fart silenced him.

“Say it!” I insisted.

“Never!”

“Congratulations then! You just found one ass you’d never wanna kiss!”

Another loud, long blast followed and rumbled all over this man’s face. I could do this all night: I knew I had gas to spare. He was gonna break soon.

I made his nose rub on my sagging clothes so much so that it lowered my underwear as well, so the jerk's nose was in direct contact with my bare asscrack, right as I kept blasting him, basically wiping my ass on his face, the stench of my gas being mercilessly shoved down his throat.

15 more seconds of loud noises, a loud chainsaw-like sound making the entire car shake. Then, finally, silence again.

“Just say it, you bitch.”

“Fine!” he whined.

I pulled him up, his face sweaty and as smelly as my ass.

“I’m selling confidential documents.”

“And?” I threatened him by pushing him towards my ass again.

“And I’m making sure my co-workers get blamed for it.”

“Clever bitch.” I replied, satisfied with the answer.

I vehemently pushed him back on the passenger seat, his back hitting the door on his side of the car.

“Did you get that, bro?” I said, looking behind me, towards the back seats.

My friend Tim, who was lying back there the whole time, hidden under a black sheet, revealed himself. To keep his face unseen, he chose to wear a lobster mask which, to be honest, looked unnecessarily terrifying.

“Got every word, chief!” he said, holding his smartphone up, which he used to record everything.

I stared back at the man, with a smug, satisfied look.

“Fuck off. Both of you!” he yelled, pointing at us.

“Hey. Manners!” I said, as annoyingly as I could.

“Fuck you!”

Alright. One final lesson.

“Do you know why they call me Scorpion?”

“What?”

I once again reached for his head.

“Come here!” I shouted, in the deepest voice I could make.

I pulled his face down and the moment his nose touched my ass, I blasted him with another loud rip, or ‘toot’ as he dared to call them.

It was short (for my standards at least, about 5 seconds), but dense and stinky. My asshole was burning.

Once I was done shitting gas, I shoved him back to his place.

“So…?” I asked.

“I’m… I’m just gonna leave.”

I unlocked the car doors so he could get the fuck out of my car.

“You ruined me, you… you gassy, sicko monster!” he yelled. “I’m gonna lose my job and my damn money you bastard!”.

“Aw…” I said, mockingly slapping his cheek. “You’re a criminal mastermind, Dura Lex, you’ll figure it out.”

Both me and Tim laughed at him and he left, taking the documents with him.

After a few minutes, once we made sure Lex left for good, my bro Tim got on the passenger seat next to him.

“That was incredibly stupid and irresponsible.” he commented.

“Awesome, right?” I replied, even though he was right.

“Totally.” he admitted.

We removed our ridiculous masks and I drove the two of us back home. I rolled the windows down ‘cause even though my bro had a fart kink… even him couldn’t handle the stench I produced.

“Come here? Really?” Tim asked, all of the sudden.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t get the reference.” I said.

“I did, that’s why I’m cringing hard.” he joked.

“Oh I know you’re hard.” I teased him.

He just remained silent, which I found hilarious as usual.

“Don’t worry bro: you’re still my favourite fart victim.” I teased him again, like the annoying bastard I am.

Tim laughed a bit, shaking his head, as if he was still in disbelief about me being so chill about his kink.

“I guess you just love destroying my nostrils then.”

I winked at him in response, a smug smirk drawn on my face. I leaned towards him and whispered:

“Clever bitch.”

The End

#eproctophilia #davefarts #fart kink #fart story #malefarts

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