#i hurt my own feelings writing this ngl
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All I can think about is how fucked everyone treats a Shadow Dragon Rook if they choose to save Treviso over Minrathous. Because the decision is sound, you know? Horrible, and hard, but Treviso is this half-broken merchant city. No guard other than the crows, no defenses, no giant floating big brother laser in the sky and one of Thedas' largest collection of mages. And so Rook has to trust their fellow Dragons to protect their home and hope to anything that they can keep the blight from Treviso. Only it's not enough, and despite the fact that Rook is one (1) person, who's only leading because no one else would goddamn do it, who has never even SEEN a dragon before the one at D'Meta's Crossing, and who still managed to fight off one dragon right after a grueling mission and then still have the energy to run off to try and help Minrathous - everyone still seems to blame them. And not just that, but the entire team spends most of the next act with their hearts breaking for Minrathous, and for Neve especially. 'Poor Neve, her home is gone, her people are dead, her life as she knew it is changed forever, poor neve, I know you didn't have a choice Rook but Neve is hurting now'. And I LOVE Neve. I love her. But it is so fucked up that as a Shadow Dragon Rook who was forced to make a horrific choice, who ALSO lost their home, their people, the life they knew- no one ever really bothers to comfort Rook. Or even consider that Rook would be absolutely shattered by what happens to Minrathous. Or fucking furious, because Rook and the goddamn Crows managed to fight off their dragon by the skin of their damn teeth with basically nothing, so how could the Shadow Dragons and the rest of Greater Minrathous not handle theirs! What were they goddamn doing that whole time?!?
The only difference between Rook and Neve is that Rook doesn't have the luxury of fucking off in the middle of a fight for the world to go mourn what they've lost. They have no choice but to pull their shit together and keep going.
And still every time Rook goes to a companion with the broken pieces of themselves in their bloody palms its just. "Oh Rook, how could this have happened to Poor Neve"
#da:v#datv#da:v spoilers#datv spoilers#shadow dragons rook#this is NOT neve hate okay i adore her#and her devastation is true and fair (although i think she and rook should really get to scream it out ngl)#because hurt people hurt people#but for fucks sake the rest of the team like#not even a little bit of dialog about it??? other than lucanis saying like#i know you had to make a choice but damn#poor neve#as if Rook didn't have to sacrifice their own city to save his#ugh#sorry im at that point in a playthrough again and it makes me want to chew glass#someone write a Rook having a core meltdown about how guilty and spiteful and validated and alone SD!Rook has to feel in that aftermath#my girl goes into the music room and just#screams and screams and screams until her throat is hoarse#until she's expelled enough grief from her lungs that she has the space to breathe through the resentment that starts to build#against her team and neve and the shadow dragons and just#everyone#whoo this got away from me a bit but#dense rants
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I kinda miss hanging out with old people. All my friends used to be old people.
But the older I grow, and the more I'm expected to behave well like a normal adult, the harder I find it to keep those links. I'm lost between trying to stick to a script I don't know the words of to have a proper normal and interesting relationship for them, and allowing myself to screw up a little, be boring, be interested in stuff they aren't, having opinions they don't agree with (for silly stuff like music, though yk me), not be cool. Cause the latter stresses me out. Cause I see no reason for people to want to be friends with me if not that.
#also defining your relationship to old people who already have a well established family is hard when growing up#cause they were just my friends at first#and they helped me find a safe space#and they were like a chosen family#and then their adopted daughter hated me cause they had a friend that was her age and it messed up with me#now i feel so stressed out about it. i feel so stressed that i am taking space i shouldn't. that i am making their other friends and#family that have been there for far longer uncomfortable with just my presence#and i know i was just a depressed teen and very sensitive to this shit and people keep saying that it reveals more about the other person#than you (as it's not the first time i was left to deal with people's opinion of me FOR THEM)#but it just felt like i wasn't allowed to express my discomfort and i just had to swallow the way their reaction to their emotions impacted#me and handle it on my own#and I think I'm still hurting from it#cause I got no support#i'm just asked to sit there and take it and act as if it meant nothing#...ngl saying it writing it stating it feels good because i've held onto that for years and years and I couldn't say it#i wasn't allowed to#even my psychiatrist (when I had one) told me it was nothing and to ignore it#I just wish people could say that yes it's not okay. that i'm allowed to feel how i feel. i wish people would recognize and understand#what i mean when i say that.#cause what is it worth when i'm the only one saying it to me and the only one agreeing that it's true#i hate that i need people to agree and make their agreement vocal to help heal that inner child that was always told to push it down#cause what else ?#sometimes I wish I could see young Leska cause I know I'd be among the only ones to give em a hug#I just want to take them in my arms and tell them that it'll get better. That we're not out yet we still need to fight but we will#eventually#hopefully
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milk ♡ matt sturniolo
— CONTENTS: established relationship; nipple play/boob sucking; mommy kink; BREASTFEEDING kink; pregnant!reader; sub!matt
— NOTES: this was highly requested and im ngl, it’s definitely one of my favorite kinks! however, i know it’s still a taboo so please if you don’t like it, DON’T READ IT. i might get criticized a lot for writing this, but remember this is fanfiction. it’s a fetish, a fantasy. none of this is real. it’s just a story — and i hope you enjoy it as much as i did! ♡ but if i get cancelled im gonna deactivate and you’ll never see me again! mwah!
“you are so pretty” matt said as he plopped down next to you, snuggling closer. “you’re glowing, seriously. you look amazing” he complimented you as he caressed your face with his thumb, the coarse skin of his fingertips rubbing against your soft cheeks.
matt always dreamed of being a father. when he first heard the news, he fell down to his knees. he immediately wrapped his arms around your hips, nuzzling his face on your tummy before kissing it over and over again, whispering a bunch of thank yous. although matt was filled with joy, he couldn’t help himself. he had his hands all over you — he would even lift your belly so your back would stop hurting. matt was simply mesmerized by the sight of you carrying his babies.
his hands travelled down your body, stopping by your round, prominent tummy. matt was gentler now that the girls had started kicking, as if they could actually feel his touch. the only thing he wouldn’t go easy on were your tits — he never did. right now, matt found himself squeezed between your spreaded legs, trying hard to hold his weight up so he wouldn’t hurt you, both knees against the soft cushioned sofa. his left palm had quickly moved to your chest while he kissed your neck, nibbling your sensitive skin between his teeth.
“matt… don’t squeeze them too hard” you sighed when matt increased the pressure of the massage. he hesitated for a second, removing his hand and pulling away from your skin. matt’s baby blue orbs flickered between your lips and your breasts, “did it work?!”
you chuckled at his eagerness, adjusting your back on the couch and allowing him to lay by your side. “better than i had expected” you said, taking the strap of your nightgown in between your fingers, teasing him. “turns out i don’t really have to pump that much because it started flowing pretty easily, so i guess it’s gonna come out with some suction”
matt’s usually determined, dominant gaze altered to a soft, mesmerized one. he couldn’t really find the words, choosing instead to smash his lips against yours in a deep, wet kiss. a moan escaped from the back of your throat as you felt matt’s boner poking against your thigh, him biting your lower lip before opening a satisfied grin. “i really fucked a baby inside you didn’t i?” he spoke, more to himself than to you. he was so proud of his own accomplishment, and he needed to hear it from you. “i love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful wife”
“all yours” you whispered, sealing your lips together on a quick pack. matt’s touches were soft again, his index motioning in circles against your hardened nipple through the fabric of your dress. “turned you into a real mama hm?” he said, trying to keep a tough-guy persona, but you knew this wouldn’t last long.
matt continued speaking to himself, admiring your figure. “making milk and everything” he mumbled under his breath, fully squeezing your tit.
“my mama” there it was. you smiled at him, ruffling his hair. “yeah? my good boy made me a true mama?” you continued to feel his hard-on pressing against you, his hips slightly moving.
“i need it” matt’s parted lips begged as he felt his cock twitching inside his pants, puppy, pleading eyes making it harder for you to say no. “please, i need it so bad. please i’ve been a good boy” he continued. “i wanna taste you so bad, mama”
you unconsciously bit the flesh of your cheeks, trying to look unbothered. deep down, you wanted this just as much “go slow, prince”. as soon as you gave matt permission, he pulled your dress down, revealing your full, swollen breasts. they hurt often, even before you were pregnant, and matt always helped you to get rid of the soreness. he dragged his tongue on your boob, circling your nub with the wet muscle before latching his lips around your nipple.
matt closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before sucking — just like he always did. after a few seconds, small droplets of milk landed against his tongue, the surprisingly mild taste taking over his mouth, brain and body. matt pulled away for a second, letting your tit hang loose “you…” he babbled, swallowing the liquid. once again, matt wasn’t able to form a proper sentence, getting distracted by the tiny strand of milk dripping from your nipples.
“fuck you’re leaking so much” matt mumbled, quickly latching on your chest. he wans’t gonna waste a drop. “nhng— ‘m gon’ have to take care of this while” matt spoke as he tried to swallow the sudden spurts of milk coming. “while our babies don’t come huh?”
“gonna have to keep your mouth in my boobs all day aren’t you?” you cooed, causing matt to nod desperately. his grip and suction got faster, followed by the sudden rutting of his crotch against your bare thigh. matt was far gone now, mindlessly humping, trying to reach his high. you could be mean and make him stop — but the poor boy was enjoying it so much. it really felt like his first time all over again, the desperation, the neediness, the loud, wet noises filling the room.
“seems like you’re the one behaving like a baby now” you said, gently pulling his hair so he’d look at you. “having my milkies and cumming inside your pants? little virgin boys do that” matt groaned at the humiliation, the sweet, warm tone of your voice making it even harder for him to hold back. “mama— please” he managed to speak. “not… not a baby!”
“oh? aren’t you?” you continued the teasing, “then i guess you don’t need this am i right?” you grabbed your own tit, pulling it away from matt.
“no! i do! i need it so bad mama, please let me cum… wan’ be your good boy” matt pouted, begging to keep sucking. “that’s what i thought” you said, letting go of his hair. “be a good boy and cum in your pants for me”.
matt suckled harder than he ever did, trying to get out everything he could. actually, he was probably trying to milk you dry, just so that your tits would need his mouth again. his body tensed before he bucked his hips forward, a sudden warm taking over his boxer as the thick, sticky spurt came out of his slit, filling his underwear with cum.
matt stopped and sighed deeply, letting his body fall flat next to you. “you ruined my dress” you teased, looking at the milk stains on the fabric. “i’ll do the laundry anyways” he chuckled, still coming back from his high. “buy more. i’m gonna ruin all of them”.
— not using the actual taglist cause i know this is for an specific audience lmfao ♡⊹𑄽୧ @submattenthusiast @cayleeuhithinknott @sturnslutz @ivammbb
matt masterlist | complete masterlist
#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo x reader#matt x reader#matt x y/n#sub!matt#maria writes matt#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#nick sturniolo
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Bird Brained, or something. Part 22
masterpost NGL this part might be really rough. This migraine is killing my, but I wanted to get it written.
“Just stay behind us, Mr. Wayne,” Maria Ramirez ordered.
Bruce nodded as he paced. Facts about her ran through his head without his bidding. Ex Air Force. Bruce had hired her after she left, angry and with an honorable discharge the Air Force hoped would keep her quiet while the man who assaulted her got a pension. She was a little hot headed, took shit from no one, and was impressively competent.
If she continued this way, she’d be Bruce’s choice for the next head of security.
He still didn’t want to listen to her.
His kids were at the end of that stairwell along with the Mad Hatter and several of the man’s goons. Bruce was confident in Robin and Red Robin’s abilities to protect themselves from the threat, but this was different. This was Damian and Tim.
Robin might be magic, but the child in the suit was just a child. And children could die.
Bruce shook his arms out to try and get rid of the nerves. He could afford the motion as Bruce Wayne where he couldn’t as Batman.
As Batman he could have been at the front of pack and already through the door.
Bruce measured his breathing, forcing it to slow.
Ramirez held up a fist. The rest of the security force readied themselves.
One—
Two—
Three—
They breached the door with shouts of ‘hands in the air’ and ‘get down on the ground’.
“I work here! Doctor Daniel Fenton, R&D,” Danny’s voice called out.
“Get on the ground, hands behind your head slowly,” Ramirez ordered.
Bruce burst out of the stairwell. “I can vouch for—” Wings. Danny had wings. He was still human, human enough, but he had inky black wings that were spread wide along with his raised hands. “—Dr. Fenton.”
Ramirez glanced at Bruce, but kept her tranq gun trained on Danny. “Sir?”
“I can vouch for Dr. Fenton, he’s a friend of the family,” Bruce said more evenly as he took in the rest of the scene.
There was a remarkable lack of blood for the bodies scattered across the small space. Some were unconscious while others clutched their heads. The floor was scattered with crushed mind control devices and the occasional feather. The Mad Hatter was as far back in the elevator as possible, mumbling about ravens and writing desks. Danny stood in front of the door to the safe room. His spread wings assured no one got past him. The outside of Danny’s wings were white, Bruce realized. It was like they were inverted from the larger bird form.
“Tim and Damian are in the safe room,” Danny said quickly, breaking through Bruce’s thoughts. “They’re not hurt.”
Bruce’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you.” He ran his hands over his face and sucked in a purposefully even breath. Then he dropped his hands and looked at the security squad. “Dr. Fenton’s meta status is a personal mater not to be discussed, am I clear?”
There was a course of ‘yes sir’ from security and a soft, relieved, ‘thank you’ from Danny. Bruce nodded and strode towards the safe room. He snagged Danny by the wrist as he passed and pulled the stunned man along with him.
“Bruce?”
“Thank you,” Bruce said again as he started the biometric scans for the safe room. His thumb ran rhythmically over the back of Danny’s hand. The skin there was soft, like the down feathers of a chick. “Thank you for protecting my boys.”
“Of course, I always will,” Danny said, sounding completely serious, though Bruce could feel Danny’s hand trembling in his own.
The vault like door hissed as the air seal released and it started to open. Bruce knew that Danny said that the boys were fine, but as soon as the door was open enough, Bruce pulled Danny into the room and the semblance of privacy that it offered.
“Are you alright? Are you both alright?” Bruce asked. He rested his hand on Tim’s cheek while he looked to Damian, who was standing against the side wall, arms angrily crossed.
“No one even laid a hand on us or got close,” Tim said. “Danny, Dr. Fenton, made sure of that.”
“Which was completely stupid,” Damian bit out, his words harsh and angry and hurt.
“Damian,” Danny tried.
“No! It was stupid! You willing deprived yourself of allies! If you insisted on us being in the safe room then you should have been in it also!”
Danny’s wings drooped. “Damian, honey, this… this form of mine is still new. I didn’t want to risk—”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt us.”
“I would never, but there’s still things that could go wrong—”
“Shut up!”
Danny flinched back at the should, wings pulled tight against his body. Then he took a carefully measured breath and made himself relax. The wings opened up again a little and, with clear uncertainty, Danny opened his arms.
With all the speed of his training, Damian dashed forward. He rammed into Danny hard and wrapped his arms around Danny, clutching him tightly. Danny leaned down a little. His wings came forward to wrap protectively around Bruce’s youngest.
“You are an idiot,” Damian said harshly into Danny’s sweater.
“Some times,” Danny agreed, “but it’s alright. We’re all safe. It’s alright, little chickadee.”
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HOT MESS ,, 이제노
pairings ⸝⸝⸝ collegecrush!jeno x reader wc. 2.4k
genre. smut
🦢◞ includes ... oral ( fem receiving ), unprotected sex, praise kink , this is kinda angsty.
request. can u write a "campus crush" fic based on jeno's look at the airport please 🙏🩷
「 authors note 𖹭 」 ngl i didn't expect it to be so angsty but reader literally is me and my brain.
❪ masterlist! ❫
your brain was always on go; constantly it was like it never stopped, even when you would sleep it was like your brain wouldn't turn off— it was never ending, and becoming a college student; living on your own made it worse.
running into your class; the professors back was turned around so you snuck in , sitting down. “you're late again.” yoo jimin, your best friend; the complete opposite of you; she was constantly put together, it was like she had everything together. “i stayed up last night to study.” you whispered, huffing out pulling out your ipad, hair all over the place. “how did it go?” you stared at her stoically. “how do you think?” you said. “point taken.” she said.
“maybe you have like adhd or something.” karina walked next to you; watching you go through your messy planner. “because this can't be normal.” she said. “im sure the doctor has something to cure whatever this was.” you shrugged. “with my luck i would probably be too busy and forget to take it.” she laughed. “probably, you're just a hot mess and that's okay, i still love you anyway.” she wrapped her arms around you, calming you. “messy hair and disheveled clothes that i'm pretty sure you had on yesterday and all.”
jeno on the the hand; he seemed to have his life together— he never came to school looking crazy; even after a night out in which he was black out drunk with his group of friends, he'd turn up the next day, showered, shaven and ready to go on with his date. “it almost scary why aren't you hungover.”
haechan groaned, his head down low. “you out drunk me yesterday; jaemin left you in your dorm unable to pick yourself off the floor.” jeno smugly shrugged, his hair black hair was neatly styled, his outfit that he picked that morning neat on his body.. “i feel fine, maybe you should lay off the alcohol.” the boy would've lunged at the boy if he didn't feel like his head was gonna explode. “haechan look you and yn both look like you had a good time last night.”
jeno turned hearing your name, a small smile on his lips, one no one couldn't unless they were looking really close. “fuck off jaemin.” you huffed sitting down. “except yn looks like that all the time.” haechan said, yelling as you began bang on the metal table. “how's that headache? huh you asshole.” jeno held his hand out , stopping you. “you'll hurt yourself.”
he moved his hand away from you; that didn't really help your rapidly beating heart. along with the stress of school and your everyday life; jeno lee was another thing that raced throughout your already cluttered mind; he sometimes was the only thing that could calm your messy mind— not like he noticed or anything.
“she’ll hurt herself— she hurt me!” haechan cried out. “my head.” holding his head in his hands. “jimin hold me.” you all watched karina fight the whining boy off, you laughter making jeno smile slightly, only stopping when jaemin caught him; wiggling his eyebrows at the boy, jaemin was the only one who knew about his crush on the girl.
“you should ask her out.” jaemin said one day out of the blue. “yn, you should ask her out.” jeno was shocked; he thought he did a good job hiding his infatuation with you. “haechan isn't all the way there and renjun could care less, so of course they don't notice, but bro i'm your best friend , and i can tell , and you don't really hide , you literally write the notes down so she can study.” ever since that day, jaemin never let him live it down.
“yn you have a class soon.” jeno turned to you as you looked down at your phone. “oh yeah i better go.” you shot up. “my professor is gonna kill me if im late again.” you collected your things. “jeno don't you have this class too?” renjun asked, he nodded; calmly getting up, saying goodbye to everyone, before walking away; but walking slowly so you'd be able to catch up to him.
you both made it to the class, you found your seat in the back; jeno took a seat in the front like always, occasionally looking back to check on you— he felt bad, watching you stress out all the time, you could never seem to get anything right in your eyes; but in his eyes you were perfect.
“yn.” your professor stopped you as you were leaving out the door. “yes?” you stopped. “your research paper.” she started. “is there something wrong with it?” you sighed, she didn't have to say anything, but you knew. “listen what if i give you an extra day or two, go over it; read my notes and try again.” she said, you nodded. “thank you ma'am.” you turned walking out of the class, where jeno was waiting. “oh jeno you're still here?”
while waiting for you, jeno overheard your conversation with the professor. “yeah, everything okay?” you nodded. “just need to go home and get my head together so i can get this essay right this time.” he walked silently next to you, before he spoke up. “i can help you.” he said. “go over the essay with you.”
“y-you don't have to, it's all word vomit i don't want to put you through that.” he waved you off. “i don't mind it.” you were about to reject him again when he grabbed your arm, stopping you. “let me help you.” your eyes widened at the sudden touch. “sorry.” he said, removing his hand. “it-its okay.” you said, heart racing. “i can come over to your apartment and go over it with you.” he said. “and it won't be a problem?” he shook your head. “you'll never be a problem, okay?” you nodded. “o-okay.”
“come on let's go.”
it had been so long since you had anyone over besides karina and she was used to your madness; but it had been even longer since you had a cute guy over, and you weren't really planning on having one over— otherwise you would have cleaned your room. “it's a little messy.”
“it's okay, it's just clothes.” he smiled watching you frantically pick up the clothes, shoving them in your closet. “sit.” you pointed to your bed. “please, make yourself comfortable.” you said. “um …” you turned to jeno, your face losing all color— he was holding your bra in his hand. “did you forget something?”
you practically lunged at the boy to grab the item, throwing it into your closet. “let's get started.” you said; he smiled watching you go through your bag to pull out your laptop. “here.” you opened it, pulling up the essay. he took the laptop from your hands, your fingertips touching. “let's see, it can't be that bad.”
it was bad; but jeno didn't let you know that— well he tried. “um, okay.” he said, you frowned. “it's bad isn't it?” he sighed, reading through the essay, looking at you; your eyes were desperate. “i can help you fix it.” he said, you sighed. “it's useless.” taking away the laptop. “if only i can get my brain to stop just for a second , my essays won't be so shit.”
you hated this; your brain wouldn't stop, it was overwhelming. “hey.” jeno called your name, you bit at your nails in stress. “hey.” he stopped you, holding your hands down. “calm down , i told you i'll help you wouldn't i?” he said. “i’ve seen worse essays trust me, jaemin will plagiarize if i let him.” he laughed. “i can help you fix this, but you have to calm down first.” your eyes traveled to where your hands met. “you're so cute but you're a hot mess.”
“me-me? cute.” he chuckled; but you were freaking out inside and out, he shook his head, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge. “let's finish this okay?” you nodded. “o-okay.”
after going over the mess of a essay; reading the notes the teacher gave you and jeno talking you through it; you finally put together an essay that was at least readable and would satisfy your professor. “thank you so much jeno, you saved my life.” you smiled. “it was all you, you'll do good if you just turn that pretty little head off and learn to breathe.”
“that's easy for you to say, your life is so put together.” you said. “i can barely get out of bed on time, it's like you said im a hot mess.”
“you don't want to hear my problems.” you said. “the essay is done and you probably have things to do, you can … mph” before you could get the rest out; jenos lips were on yours in feverish kiss, pulling away to give you enough air before his lips were on yours again.
he pulled away again, ready to kiss you again, but you held his chest signaling him to stop immediately. “did i make you uncomfortable?” he said. “no-no.” you said flustered. “just, it happened so fast, and now my head and my heart is racing.” you were rambling on and on and it made jeno want to kiss you again, you were so cute. “then just turn that pretty head off and let me help you.” he looked at you with so much want in his eyes. “okay?”
you nodded, he held the side of your face, pulling you into another kiss; his lips swiping across your bottom lip, sticking his tongue in your mouth , his grip on your waist, lifting your shirt. “lifting your arms for me pretty.” he took your shirt off , throwing it to the floor. “he-hey just because i use my floor as a hamper doesn't mean you do.”
he laughed, “i'll be sure to fold your clothes neatly the next time i fuck you.” he pulled your pants down, leaving you in your mismatched bra and panties. “baby you really are a hot mess aren't you.” he kissed your stomach once he laid you on your back. “i like that.” he reached for your waistband, pulling them down your leg. “keep them open pretty baby.” he kissed the sides of your thighs. “such a pretty little pussy.”
you felt the warmth of his lips as he kissed your cunt. “j-jeno.” it had been a while since you've felt anything like this, and lord was jeno good at what he was doing , licking your folds , his nose brushing up against your clit, for the first time in a very long time; there was only one thing on your mind— it was jeno.
“fuck jeno!” you moaned, gripping his dark locks. “im… im gonna cum.” you whined feeling him removing his lips for your clit , one of his fingers invading your hole. “you gonna cum for me?” you nodded, he groaned , his cock hard; he was ready to fuck you. “y-yes.” you gasped. “pl-please let me cum.”
“shit.” he cursed, adding another finger, curling them inside you. “so tight baby, go ahead and let go for me, make a mess all over my fingers for me.” you gasped out his name , moaning as you came. “good fucking girl.” he fingered you through your orgasm, until you were holding his wrist , grinding against it. “je-jeno.” he no longer looked put together; his hair messy, clothes disheveled— even his brain was running a mile a minute, he finally knew what it was always like in your head. “you look so pretty when you are cumming.”
ridding himself of his clothes; folding your legs in half, giving him a view of your cunt. “pretty little pussy, want me to stuff my fat cock inside?” slotting his cock in between your folds; moving his hips, the tip of his cock catching your clit , both of you moaning. “pl-please fuck me.” you begged. “shh , baby i got you.”
positioning his leaky tip at your entrance, slipping inside. “fuck.” he sighed, your cunt sucking him in. “so tight.” he gasped as he fully bottomed out. “je-jeno you're so big.” you moaned out; his hand coming up to your throat. “yeah, you like my cock stretching your tiny pussy?” he hissed as you tightened around him, your eyes crossed as he plowed into you. “did i fuck you're pretty head empty?” he questioned, a moan following. “had so much fuck so much going on inside it , now it's nothing but my cock.”
he tightened his grip around your throat; speeding up his thrust. “de-deeper jeno, fuck!” the desperation in your voice , you needed to feel him; the deeper he went , the tighter his hand wrapped around your throat— the less you thought about anything, all your troubles floated away. “je-jeno im gonna cum.”
“yeah?” he speed up, cursing as he chased his orgasm. “hold it just a little baby, fuck , wanna cum with you.” his forehead was pressed against his. “i-i can't , jeno im gonna cum.” you gasped , your fingernails digging into his arms. “ugh , fuck!” he cursed , rubbing your clit. “fuck i'm gonna cum , cum for me pretty baby.”
he made direct eye contact with you as you came , cunt gripping him like a vice. “shit!” he pulled out , roughly stroking his cock as he came, his warm seed splashing on your stomach. “fuck fuck fuck.” he squeezed his base , milking himself, groaning. “shit.”
“you want another?” he toyed with your clit. “your little clit is still desperate for my attention.” you moaned , his finger filling you up. “je-jeno.” your glazed over eyes. “your pretty little mind is floating somewhere else isn't it?” he chuckled. “fucked you too dumb?” you gasped , moving your hips, grinding against his hand. “go ahead, cum for me again, pretty.”
you felt like you were floating; mind empty as you came down from second high. “come back to me, pretty girl.” he coached you back down , a smile on his face. “good girl.” he removed his fingers from your cunt. “you did so good for me.”
“something on your mind?” jeno asked as he watched you pick at your nail beds for five minutes. “there's always something on my mind.” you laughed , about to bite your nails , he grabbed your hand, holding your hand down , rubbing your knuckles. “not when you're occupied.” he smirked , you slapped his naked chest. “it's not that.” you said. “it's you.” he tilted his head. “what do you mean?” you shrugged. “you can tell me.” he said, you sighed.
“when you're around you help me not think, you calm me.” you confessed. “so what you're saying you're a hot mess without me?” you pouted. “why are you making fun of me?” you whined , he laughed , wrapping his arms around your body. “thats fine with me.” he kissed your forehead. “you're a hot mess.”
“but you're my hot mess.”
©LUVYENI
#kpop x reader#kpop smut#nct fanfic#nct smut#nct x reader#nct hard hours#nct hard thoughts#nct dream imagines#nct dream ff#nct dream smut#nct dream x female reader#nct dream x reader#nct dream fanfic#lee jeno fanfic#lee jeno x reader#lee jeno smut#lee jeno scenarios#jeno smut#jeno scenarios#jeno x reader#jeno imagines
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ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ ʙᴀʙʏ
cw; 18+, heavy topics ngl, refrences to poverty and starvation, angst, GAY LESBIAN SEX, slight cannibalism symbolism if you squint rly hard, refrences to sex work and/or sexual assault
A/N: abt 900 words and literally cranked this bitch out in lile half an hour. jesus fuck how in the hell did Sevika bring me out of my fucking writing dry spell. what the actual fuck. i haven’t written in a year and ofc when i do it’s fucked up analogies and lesbian sex.
To be born of the cursed flesh is a cruel fate worse than death.
To be born as a tainted babe, cast out from the womb with vile stares and scornful words, is the most unlucky a child could be.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just. She’d lived her life good, honest, she deserved the fruits of her labor, a young life filled with pain and struggle. But she was that of the unfavored, not the blessed ones of Piltover, not the nobles with their mansions or the Council with their riches. She was impoverished, born starved, raised hungry, grown into a ravenous woman who begged for the moresles of candied love the scum around her shoved down her throat or inside her.
She lived to survive, didn’t have time for anything outside of the coins thrown her way and the scraps she fed from. Ironic how she never looked the part; plump and soft, malleable and pliable, her hunger hidden beneath that syrupy, sugary smile that oh-so softly graced her cherub cheeks. She pranced around in fine silks and soft feathers, smoke and shimmer stinging her nose and eyes, ears never without the soft whines and moans that fluttered through the halls of the brothel.
Men were somehow more starved than she, their oafish bodies sweaty and fetid as they grabbed her with rough hands, uncaring of the bruises and marks that grew, staining her already tainted body. She loathed them, pushing her brain to the clouds of smoke circling overhead as she rode out whatever sick ride they put her on. The rides were never long, thankfully, mercifully, their essence all that remained once they stepped off with little more than a sideways glance and those same scornful words she learned years ago. Her bed was a sanctuary, a soft, pillowy escape where she could let her mind drift and fly away, she dreamed of soft touches and sweeter kisses, honeyed words and gentle smiles against her plush skin.
This woman above her, her tan skin and dark lips, soft breasts and firm muscles, rough hands caressing her like she was made of porcelain, felt like heaven. Her touch was better than shimmer, a rush incomparable to any human emotion, a religious awakening, it was invigorating. Men were hurtful, slapping and choking all while they shared the same blood and flesh that she had— but this woman, with her metal arm and scars, was slow and sybaritic, gluttonous how she sucked and kissed at her skin.
Long fingers pumped inside her, working choked gasps and impossibly soft moans from the cursed one’s mouth, curling inside her cunt to almost lazily press against that spot that made her dizzy, stomach twisting as her eyes fluttered shut. The woman’s voice was low and deep, chiding her for looking away, for her hips trying to worm away from this pleasure, “look at me,” the woman whispered, licking a stripe up her neck littered in hickeys. The other keened, hazy eyes half lidded as she looked up to her savior, the older woman grinned, wolfish and possessed, yet she didn’t feel fear. Not like she had before, the woman was all-consuming, dominating her very soul and suffocating her under that strong body built by the gods, yet she could only cry and cling to her skin, begging for more and more.
She was starved, and this woman, bringing her to climax, the sinfully delicious sounds of her own cunt squelching clashing with her pitiful cries, was feeding her. Feeding that bottomless pit she had been build with, feeding her with lips sloppily meshed together in a fucked up display of power and perversion. Feeding her with those dangerous fingers circling her pearl and filling her up. Feeding her with praise and love like a false prayer, flooding her mind with devotion and compassion she so desperately craved.
With the burst of her orgasm, she wailed, tugging on her savior’s messy hair as her body shook in pleasure. White blinded her as her glassy eyes rolled back, devilish smile fading away with a dark chuckle. The woman gently slipped her fingers from her cunt, a dull ‘pop!’ making her ears burn as she watched the woman suck on the soaked fingers. The woman’s eyes rolled back, a delicious moan rumbling from her chest and in that moment she wondered if this woman was starving too. If her savior craved just like she did, if this woman watched her with the same kind of hungry eyes as she did.
She was pulled into another sultry kiss, lips smooshed and smacking as they stole each other’s breath, wrapped up in each other’s arms. The woman pulled away first, keeping her close with a firm hand around her thick neck, string fingers ever so gently cutting off her oxygen, “such a pretty girl,” the woman whispered, a secret for just the two of them, “my new favorite treat.”
Born damned, she scavenged for love and life, but staring into those dark eyes, she saw the same hunger, the same damned flesh tangled up in her’s in a macabre display.
#holy shit venus actually finished a work.#.v speaks#maybe the issue is i’m becoming more of a girl kisser#.venus updated!#..arcane#x chubby reader#x fat reader#arcane x reader#tw angst#tw sa implied#arcane smut#sevika arcane#arcane sevika#sevika x reader#sevika smut
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Hiii!! I love your work so much and was wondering if you could do a poly marauders (and lily) x hufflepuff coded fem reader comfort fic 💛 maybe they are just having a bad day, being insecure and everyone tries there best to comfort her? thankyou (even if you decide not to)
Omg hi lovely! Thank you so much for the request. This is actually my first ever and I’m so excited and happy to write it for you! I hope it lives up to your standards - MK <3
Just Hold Me For Awhile
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Poly!Marauders + Lily x fem!reader
Word count: 1.3k
Cw: low self-esteem, hurt/comfort, sad/anxious reader
A/n: Baby’s first request! Ngl I rewrote this like three times, but now it finally feels genuine and I’m very happy with it. I hope you all enjoy :)
There is no evidence to confirm your fears besides the incessant voice inside your head.
You’re not good enough.
You’re not smart enough.
You’re not funny enough.
You’re not pretty enough.
Eventually, they’re all going to leave you.
You are going to end up alone.
Deep down, you know none of these things are true. But reason is no match for your anxiety and the extraordinariness of each of your partners.
James- best Gryffindor chaser the team has had
in years.
Lily- number one in your class.
Remus- Casanova of Gryffindor tower.
Sirius- absolutely fearless in the face of adversity.
You- the ordinary Hufflepuff who just got lucky.
It consistently amazes you that you ended up in a relationship with these four bold, well-known, and well-liked Gryffindors. They all love you so much and you feel grateful that you get to love and be loved by them everyday.
But no matter how much love and care they give you, it cannot entirely soothe the deep-rooted feeling of inadequacy lurking within. You can’t help but sometimes feel out of place in your own relationship- not because your partners exclude you, but rather because your obvious ordinariness situates you outside their circular of extraordinariness.
It’s a feeling that’s lingered since the four first showed interest in you, but recently it’s been possessing you tenfold.
All these thoughts are racing around in your head as you sit at the foot of Sirius’ bed in the boys’ dormitory. Peter is off on a date, leaving you five with some much needed alone time. The moment is serene, with Sirius painting your nails a soft green, Lily braiding Sirius’ hair out of his face, Remus dangling over the edge talking to you three, and James on top of him, massaging his back.
The four are talking about some recent Hogwarts drama, so you’ve sort of zoned out of the conversation, only adding in commentary here or there.
“I mean, I’m so glad Pandora hexed him,” Lily says, “he totally deserved it.”
“I just never would’ve pinned her as the type of person to hex someone, with the way she’s so soft spoken and all,” Sirius replies.
“She does hang out with your brother and Junior though,” Remus reminds him.
“And Evan is her brother,” James adds with a laugh, “it’s in her blood. I just wish I could’ve seen Mulciber’s face.”
“It probably looked as dumb and stupid as always, if not more so,” Sirius jokes.
Everyone busts out laughing and you faintly chuckle through your anxiety-induced brain fog.
Someone taps the side of your cheek.
“Doll, you there?”
You jolt out of your trance and look at Sirius, “hmm? Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you wanted anything else done to your nails.”
You briefly glance down at your perfectly manicured nails, “oh, uh, yeah. Perfect as always, my star.”
Remus reaches down and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “are you okay, dove? I feel like you’ve been awfully quiet today.”
You smile a little and wave him off, “oh yeah, fine. Just tired, Moons.”
“Wanna come take a nap, angel?” James asks sweetly, opening his arms.
Though you’re not actually that tired, it’s mainly just an excuse, you can’t pass up the offer from your cuddliest of boyfriends. You peck Sirius’ cheek as a thank you for doing your nails and then crawl onto James’ lap. You situate your head on his chest and curl up as he wraps his arms around you. His musky cologne eases the knots in your stomach a little and you try to focus on the steady beat of his heart.
“Better?” he mumbles into your hair.
You quietly hum in confirmation.
You keep your eyes closed all cuddled up with James as you listen to your partners quietly chat. Within minutes of your getting settled you sense movement on the bed. Remus shifts upwards to lay next to you and James- you can tell from the sudden increase in body heat- and you feel Sirius and Lily lay down at your feet.
Suddenly, you feel a pair of rough lips- Remus’ lips- against your forehead. Though he thinks you’re asleep, you hear him whisper, “get some rest, my sweet girl.”
Someone’s head falls on your knee and then you hear Lily’s voice, “she’s so pretty when she sleeps, isn’t she? All soft and peaceful.”
You recognize Sirius’ habitual stroking of your leg with his thumb as he adds, “I didn’t think she could get any softer or sweeter, but here we are.”
“Our angel,” James coos.
Though you suppose most would feel pretty lucky to hear these things about themselves, they only make you feel worse.
You hate yourself.
You hate yourself for having four wonderful, caring, and loving partners, and you can’t even appreciate them because of your own self-loathing. You despise this nasty habit of self-sabotage, but you’re not sure how to break it.
As you lay there and listen to them say such nice things about you, you feel a lump grow in your throat and hot tears spring to your eyes. The tightness in your chest is near painful, and you need some relief.
You try to shift just the slightest- as if you’re just moving around in your sleep- to bury your head in James’ chest, out of everyone’s eyesight.
But once you let one tear drop, a whole rainstorm comes. You try and keep your sobs and sniffling quiet, but your hot, wet tears give you away to James.
“Angel?” James asks worriedly. He pulls you away from his chest to look at your face and sees the snotty, tear-stained mess you’ve become.
“Dove,” Remus pleads worriedly, “what’s wrong? What’s happened.”
Your sobs are too strong for you to respond and you can only shrug your shoulders. Your eyes are blinded by tears and you can’t see their faces, but you know they’re filled with concern and worry. To make them worry like this only causes you to cry harder.
You’re not really aware of what’s happening around you. All you know is one minute your in James’ arms, and the next in Sirius’. Sirius strokes your hair away from your face and holds you in his lap like a baby. He rocks you back and forth quietly, not saying anything at all.
It’s nice, not having to say anything and just crying. Even if you had the ability to speak through your tears, you don’t know that you could. There’s no easy way to describe your feelings of inadequacy, and no amount of ‘talking it out’ could ever just solve the problem either. So you just cry. Cry because you’re angry that you feel this way. Cry because you’re sad. Cry because you’re tired. Tired of not feeling like you’re ever enough. And you cry just because you can. Because you know that your partners will be there for you for as long as you need to cry.
And when the sobs finally quiet to a hiccup here or there, you appreciate that they give you silence to breathe and just process everything.
Lily stands and wanders off, coming back with a glass of water that she presses into your hands. You sip it gently before James takes it from you and sets it on the nightstand. Remus goes and grabs a hot washcloth, wiping your face oh so gently with a soft look in his brown eyes. Sirius hands you back to James- your most tactile partner- and settles again at your feet.
Then, with the most quiet and tender voice, Sirius asks you only one thing, “What do you need from us?”
“Just hold me for awhile.”
And so, like many days before, and hopefully every day after, you five pile into bed, reveling in each other’s warmth and security.
As you lay surrounded by your lovers, you know that even though those same lousy feelings continue to reside inside of you, you will figure it out. And when you’re ready to talk, or rant, or cry some more, your partners will be there.
#marauders fanfiction#marauders fandom#james potter x reader#james potter x you#the maruaders#remus lupin x reader#harry potter fanfiction#sirius black x reader#remus lupin x you#sirius black x you#lily evans x you#lily evans x reader#hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending
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Hi Anó! Do you have any advice for writing characters like killer? How do you achive that nuance? I love your comics and would love to learn about your artistic process a bit!
Hi Gal!! A delight to see you in my inbox! <3
Omg thank you sm hcchhcchch (have you seen your own comics???? *shakes you* /pos)
Ok but I say this genuinely, I think your ideas and comics are such a beautiful and refreshing take on these blorbos, you’re doing such an amazing job both writing and art wise (your 2 Killers idea is so fucking good eeeeee) <3333
Ok to the question xgzggxzg
Killer is definitely.. complicated to write, I struggle with him sometimes ngl shshhdh
I honestly went and reread his entire comics, lore and answered asks to get a deeper look into him to be able to write him
But when it comes to writing him, I generally try to keep 6 things in mind at all times
1-trauma: how does the resets, working for Chara, having his code get manipulated and killing over and over again till what was new became something old affect him? (the whole idea of Killer killing people started as an offer of trying something new, so he kept killing till he got bored and killing became something stagnant)
This can easily be portrayed in Killer’s canon inability to till what’s real or not, as well as his hallucinations and the guilt he’s ridden with, always running from his past yet never outrunning it, as it always catches up to him
2- conditioning: his conditioning started from the days of Chara, then continued into his days with Nightmare, how does his conditioning affect him in his daily life?
How was he conditioned specifically? And how does that contribute to Killer’s perception of self, autonomy, self worth, and life in general? How does it change his body and mind?
Does it make him believe he’s just a machine meant to please others even when it hurts him, does it make Killer perceive vulnerability as a death sentence
How does he feel about his masters? Does he hate them down to every bone, or does he not care?
3-personality: Killer’s personality always change depending on the stage, but what are the main traits that you know Killer will always have regardless of the stage? Being quiet is one thing, he keeps to himself (as much as the fandom loves to portray him as extremely hyperactive, he’s not at all the loud, talkative, hyperactive skelle the fandom makes him out to be)
He’s also extremely secretive, seems to have knowledge that others don’t, and seems to always be up for a social interaction regardless of who’s with him
He’s also actually extremely patient (another thing the fandom stripped away from Killer’s character), and is very docile (isn’t aggressive unless pushed and never is an attack on sight kinda person) yet holds a grudge big time
He seems to see himself as superior over others, he’s extremely fucking intelligent it’s actually scary
These traits are something I try to keep consistent within my writing for Killer
4- relationships: what are his relationships with other characters like, and why?
Taking the 3 points before into consideration, how does Killer’s trauma, conditioning, and personality make him perceive others and others perceive him?
Are his relationships healthy? Toxic? Are they one sided or mutual? Does he care about the person in his vicinity or are they just another nobody? If he cares why? If he doesn’t what would he do to them?
Would he take advantage of his relationship with someone or is it a relationship he wishes for it to vanish?
5-stages: I think this is truly what makes Killer extremely complicated, cause see all of the 4 points above? how does each stage differ from each other?
How does stage 1 deal with his guilt/truama and conditioning? How does stage 2, 3, and 4 deal with them?
Depending on each stage Killer’s outward perception, personality, attitude, thoughts, and actions change
But how do they change exactly?
This is something that you need to understand each stage for to be able to integrate into writing
Stage 1 is the stage where he’s most sans like, yet never sans enough, stage 2 is when he’s apathetic to everyone and everything and perceives killing as “fun” because he’s painfully understimulated , stage 3 is when he’d attack whoever is in front of him, and stage 4 is when killer is no longer present mentally
How does each stage deal with his environment, with the people around him, how does he deal with the dissociation and how does he perceive himself in each stage?
6-environments: how does the environment Killer lives in affect him?
Killer starts in an environment of time loops, how does that affect his perception of time and reality? He then becomes Nightmare’s subordinate, a dangerous environment with constant threats to his life from every angle, how does Killer feel about it? How does he deal with it?
Will he get to try his luck and escape, or has he given up on himself and the idea of freedom? Does he even believe he has a chance for a better life in a safer environment? Will he go for a safer environment or will he cling to the comfort of what he knows?
When he does finally go to a safer environment, how would that affect him? Both positively and negatively? Would he feel like something is missing? Would his mind constantly tell him that this safe environment isn’t really safe?
Then of course, beyond these main 6 things, there’s the in between, what are Killer’s likes? His dislikes? How does he feel about sleep, food?
Generally when writing characters, it’s important to keep in mind interpersonal factors, intrapersonal factors and environmental factors that ends up affecting the character’s behavior, or in this specific situation, Killer’s behavior (god I’m realizing how much my uni major affects my writing of characters rn chchc)
But I say the biggest life saving advice I have that helps with writing characters in general (and especially complicated ones like Killer) is having the question “why” as your closest friend
When you make a statement about a character, in this instance Killer, always attach the question “why” at the end till you can’t attach it anymore, until you reach a point where asking “why” becomes unnecessary and annoying
For example:
“Killer loves golden flower tea”
Why?
It reminds him of the bed of golden flowers he passed out on
Why does that matter?
Because it was the point of no return from a change that will always dictate who he is
Why is it a point of no return?
Because his soul had deformed beyond recognition and it can never be brought back to how it used to be
Why would it dictate who he is? Why can’t he just choose to be someone else?
Because he was conditioned to be this killer by a higher power out of his control
At this point, there are no more “why”s that would make something as simple as a golden flower tea statement more nuanced than it already is, so when you ask why again, you find that you’re unable to continue giving an answer, that’s the point of where you stop
In fact, allow me to test you by giving you a quick question about your own interpretation of the characters, why does your Nightmare admire Error? What is in Error that Nightmare admires specifically?
Of course, you don’t really need to answer me, but I’m just giving you an example of how asking “why” can help you make so many simple things more nuanced
Ok but what if you know there should be an answer to a “why” but you don’t know it yet? Then you keep it in mind for later, you won’t always have the answers to everything on the get go, sometimes, you need a bit of time to figure things out and write characters the way you feel satisfy you, until then, you can work on other things about the characters
*Cough* anyway, this is honestly everything I can think of off the top of my head? Hopefully I didn’t miss anything ydfhgchchchc
Do let me know if you’d like any more help or need clarification on anything, I’d be happy to help where I can <33333
Now have a sketch of your 2 Killers cause I love them dearly, they have a special place in my heart (genuinely adore how you write Killer already btw)
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jimmy headcanons with curly’s niece who is only working with pony express because of her relation with curly… naive and dumb and he doesn’t think she deserves to be working there (sfwandnsfw😬)
jimmy taking advantage of curlys niece.
sfw/nsfw — lowercase intended ^_^
fem reader - content warnings for legal age gap (18-25 implied reader, jimmy 30s-40s) jimmys character overall. manipulation? don’t like don’t read, block button is right there. minors do not read the nsfw section
requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^
notes; requester is my friend yayayahahh i hope u like this.. short bc i did not have many ideas. u mentioned in dms he’d have a soft spot for u but idk if i showed that well oopsies. ~ never proofread as always
SFW
— you didn’t deserve your place at all, only got in because your uncle is some high and mighty captain. pony express is cheap, so he’d wonder why they’d add someone completely useless- young adult/older teenager who knows jack shit.
— was bitter about it (as if he didn’t use curly to get his job as well) but stopped when he noticed how cute you were. an idiot who has no idea what she wants to do in life, he needed that.
— i think he started pursuing you at first to kind of piss off curly. maybe not intentionally but like subconsciously, he wanted to hurt curly. and you boarding the tulpar was the perfect moment for that!!
— he’s met you before. him and curly are long-time friends, so probably at some sort of family gathering.. you didn’t catch his eye though, you were a teenager.
— i think he’d grow to have a bit of a soft spot for you, however. i think the others would think it’s simply because he and curly are close, so he has a bias towards curlys niece.
— you’d look up to him. he’s your cool uncles friend! how couldn’t you? and he’s a pilot? that’s cool. so cool. on paper, at least.
— no one would really be mean to you, but if they were, jimmy would get upset at them! it might come off as “he’s just so nice..” to you, but in reality he feels as if he owns you in a sense. you just look up to him so much.
— jimmy thinks it’s cute you’re so dumb and naive. he can mold you to whatever he wants. he has to play smart about it though. he can’t have you running off crying to your uncle, like he’d do anything- but still.
— hes the co-pilot, and while it’s a vital role it’s not like he’s the captain. still though, he’d use that as an excuse to sort of boss you around. like, “that’s not how you’re supposed to do it, are you blind?”
— then right after would say something sweet to keep you coming back. and he likes you, like “yeah, there you go, good job. do it right next time, yeah?” .. he doesn’t speak that way just to anyone, you’re special.
— would touch you subtly.. like light touches on your hips, waist. enough for you to notice but also enough for you to be like, “he’s just friendly” !!
— curly doesn’t notice it, ngl. even if he did he’d just brush it off like, “jimmys always like that with girls, pay no mind too it. but tell me if it gets too much, kid” .. and would still do nothing
— maybe he’d have a ‘talk’ with him? but that’s really it
NSFW
minors do not read
— for your first time, he would be nice about it. seriously. especially if you were a virgin. i mean, in his head he isn’t saying nice things but he’s gotta make you wanna stick around him, no? he’s charming with his words, so allll the shit things he does either flys by your head or are excused with how ‘nice he is sometimes!’
— we see this in the way he interacts with daisuke. he knows exactly what to say. ^_^
— after awhile he’d shame you to hell about it, sorry. doesn’t matter if he initiated it first. you’re still fucking weird for wanting to be with an older guy like him, let alone your uncles friend.
— he’d say shit like, “what if he walked in right now, huh? that’s your uncle.” and would laugh in your face as you clenched around him.
— he fantasizes about doing it in the cockpit, but he knows he can’t because curly can walk in at any time. too big of a risk for him. though maybe that’s the fun of it all.
— he’d do it if you suggested it though haha.. would make you call him captain because he’s weird like that. his jealousy for curly is evident in your relationship!
— “is this what pony express hired you to do?”
— he is a panty stealer. when you fuck there’s a 50% chance you’ll have to run back to your room to get a new pair of underwear because he isn’t giving it back.
— the other 50% is him cumming in your panties and making you wear it. yeah he’s gross, sorry. on your next trip you’ll know to bring double what you usually do.
— sex is all about him, honestly. i mean he knows he has to make it worthwhile so you’ll stay, but besides that his first priority is to please himself.
— contrayer to popular opinion, he likes it when you’re riding him. he feels in control; because at any time he can just grab your hips and fuck you himself.
— likes seeing your face contort and flush, pushing his face away in embarrassment as you make a mess of yourself on his cock.. he lives off that shit
— ok i’m done i hate this man
#mouthwashing x reader#jimmy x reader#jimmy mouthwashing x reader#co pilot jimmy#mouthwashing fic#mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#nomnompyon
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Hi! Hope you're having a good day!
Just found your blog yesterday and read Onychinus' Finest. I've been STARVED of Kieran and Luke fics, not enough people appreciate them, so I come with a request! (Most of what I'll say is totally optional. I believe in the author's creative vision overall so if something doesn't fit feel free to change and adapt whatever you'd like.)
Either hunter or assassin MC, where they're at a mission, and they're ambushed. One of the twins gets hurt protecting her, maybe even taken, and she just goes on a rampage to get him back. They've never quite seen her so protective and yet so vengeful. She might go by herself? When Sylus wants to plan ahead properly since his own miscalculations lead them to get attacked in the first place. The twins are loyal to him, the other brother won't go without his permission despise his brother being missing or hurt. I'm just picturing her finding a broken mask, half of it missing (she's never seen their faces before.)
Happy ending. 🥺 Just fluffy you know? I want the twins melting into her, one with gratitude for finding his brother and the other just with disbelief and affection that she's do all this for him.
Special mention to any heads on her lap like overgrown puppies, just holding her close. They're sweet boys I think, especially if their guard and masks are finally down.
You can take this as platonic or romantic, she could be with Sylus and still have grown to really care and look out for the twins, or she could love them. (I don't know which ones angstier)
Thank you for even considering this even if you decide it's not worth your time!
AAAAAAA HEY!! You had such a vision for this and it was so fun to work with-- I hope it's everything you imagined! You've always been so so so supportive and kind, so I low-key went all-out on this, that's half the reason it took so long. 😭😭 Think this is my longest fic so far oh my gosh? Love it though, all the action scenes took me RIGHT back to my Assassin's Creed fanfic writing days haha Anyway! This is set in the same canon as the last fic because I loved that dynamic ngl. Not a direct sequel though!
Beneath The Mask
Luke and Kieran x Reader 🎭
Summary: Sylus and Kieran are useless, as always, so you take matters into your own hands
Genre: angst + fluff + ACTION!! *karate chops*
Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, nonMC!reader, platonic Sylus x reader, swearing, descriptions of violence, injury, broken bones, killing (don't @ reader, she wants her man back!!), but also some humour 😌
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Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!
Sometimes, you think you’re the only member of Onychinus who isn’t completely out of their mind.
You’d think it was Sylus, your indomitable leader. Smiles-with-a-knife-at-his-throat Sylus. Has-the-situation-completely-in-hand Sylus. It used to inspire you: that crimson gaze of his, always alight with a fire that’s never, ever, quite out of control.
How does he do it? You’d wonder in awe, like a wide-eyed child enthralled by a magic trick.
How does he do it? You’re wiser, now. You know it’s a lie, now, but you still can’t see through it. It’s driving you mad.
You watch as the man works away at a large, glass monitor, his fingers gliding across the screen with their usual grace. You get glimpses: names, faces, contacts. He’s testing the cords of his network— an intricate web— and he’s hoping someone’s caught something he can sink his teeth into.
He’s been at this for two hours, ever since you dragged yourselves back here with your tails between your legs. There’s a gash on his forehead that hasn’t yet healed, and the blood is still drying, dark on his face. Has he thought to heal it? Or— there’s a smudge on his finger— does he like his guilt a little warmer to the touch?
“We need an order, boss,” you seethe, because you’re tired of standing beside him, unacknowledged.
“You have your order.” He types out a message. Dismisses another. “Wait.”
“I meant an order that isn’t complete bullshit.”
He shoots you a glance, his eyes embers of warning. “Careful, sweetie. You forget yourself.”
Your fists ball. “Oh, spare me.”
“What would you have me do?” he mutters, gaze returning to the screen. He isn’t rising to the challenge, or should you say— stooping to it. He’s so goddamn noble.
“They have Luke, Sylus.”
“I know.”
“So let’s fucking do something! Let’s go back, let’s get him. They caught us off-guard last time, that’s all. They got their hands on some Ever tech, so what? We know that, now. They don’t stand a chance if we just—”
“Charge in there, guns blazing?” Sylus finishes for you, lips curled in derision.
It sounds stupid out loud, and he wants you to hear it. You do; you don’t care. “We don’t need all of this,” you beseech, your hand waving over the monitor. “We have you, boss.”
“Me?” he chuckles, and it’s so, so bitter.
Is that the guilt you’ve been looking for? It isn’t enough. His eyes are still pools of calm— spilt blood, unreciprocated. How does he do it?
“We have to do something,” you say limply. “Please, I can’t… I can’t do this, Sylus. All this nothing. Tell me what to do. I’ll go back alone if I have to. Just say the word and I’ll—”
“Look at this,” he interrupts, stepping away from the screen so that you can take his place before it.
It’s an order, even if it isn’t the one you want. You roll your eyes as you obey, and you begin to scour the intel he’s gathered. Eyewitness accounts, rumours, surveillance footage— some courtesy of Mephisto— and it’s all centred around two things. One: the aspiring new gang you’d set out to dismantle earlier, and two: a link to Ever. A solid link to Ever.
“They didn’t steal Ever’s tech,” you release on a sigh of understanding. “They’re working together.”
“Mmm.” Sylus’s hand clears the screen before you. “We should have known. I should have known.”
Your mind is so caught-up by the revelation that you almost miss the confession.
“This was my mistake,” he continues, watching you. “And you are all my responsibility. Believe me…” He taps the screen and live surveillance footage springs up: an outside view of the compound you’d raided earlier. “I want to burn that place to the ground as much as you do.”
But… “No collateral damage,” you murmur, eyeing the guards on patrol.
“No collateral damage,” Sylus nods. “Do you trust me?”
“I trust you, boss.”
And maybe he is burning with just as much anger. Maybe the fear is making his heart drum, and the guilt making his skin crawl. It’s the same, old trick, isn’t it? Done to death:
The mask without a mask— just where does he hide all that?
Maybe he doesn’t.
There’s only so much faith you can have in something you can’t see.
…
Clink.
You slot a bullet into the magazine of your pistol, then follow it up with another. Clink. Then another. Clink. You’ve never relished this quiet— not like Sylus does. To him it’s an art. To you: a chore. You glance about the armoury, and you’ve never resented your shelves of options quite like this before. Antiques. Prototypes. So many means of dealing death.
You’ve never seen the beauty in it, but a shot through the heart means something different to Sylus than it does to the rest of you. It can be intimate. Symbolic. He can die for something, someone, and he can do it over, and over, and over again. How poetic.
You holster your loaded weapon, then reach for another.
“What’re you doing?”
The voice makes you jump. “Gods, Kieran. You want a bullet through your head?”
“No.” He misses the meaning of your words. “Why— wanna shoot me?”
“Right now?” you ask cynically.
He laughs like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Liar. You’ve finished loading the second gun so you slide it across the table to him wordlessly. The beak of his mask lowers as he regards it; he doesn’t pick it up.
“You’re being weird,” he says after a moment. “It’s cool. I like it.”
You roll your eyes, wandering over to a rack of weapon attachments. There are different sights. Silencers. (Is that how you want to play this? Quiet?) “I’m going back for Luke,” you state as you muse it over. “You want in, or not?”
The rest is implied: Sylus doesn’t know. He isn’t coming. All of that’s evident from the fact that you’re here, rifling through his precious collection, and not ensnared in the tendrils of his Evol somewhere. A toddler could connect the dots. Kieran will get there. Give him a minute.
It takes half a minute. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. An ambiguous apology.
“It’s fine, Kieran.” He was never going to come with you. “I can do this alone. I can—”
A weight lands on you, tackling you into the weapons rack, and you land on the floor amongst the attachments you’d just been perusing so calmly. The weight stays on you, pinning you: hands are on your wrists, twisting you around. “Kieran!” you protest.
The man pulls away, leaving you slumped in your new, uncomfortable seat.
“Wha—” You try to stand up but you’re jolted back; your wrist is fixed to something. You turn your head, eyes widening as they fall on the pair of handcuffs you’ve been restrained with. They’re padded— lined with a soft, velvety material. “Where the hell did you get these?”
“Boss’s room. Luke and I had a bet,” Kieran shrugs, now towering over you.
“You win?”
“Heh. Yeah.”
You’re still trying to squeeze your hand out of the cuffs. You pry at them. Twist and wriggle your fingers— none of it’s any use. You glance up at Kieran, admitting defeat with a sigh. He brushes his hands together in a ‘job well done’ sort of gesture, his eyes fixed on you, well— you have to imagine they are.
Instead of windows to the soul you’re faced with red-glass imitations, impossible to read, and you’re tired of all the guessing.
“How do you do it?” you ask with a quiet desperation. “How do you act like everything’s fine?”
“Boss will come up with a plan,” the twin says simply, like he hasn’t really thought about it.
“And what if it takes too long? What if we’re too late? I mean… think of all the shit he knows, Kieran. Everything about us, about boss— it’s priceless. Do you really think they’re holding back?”
Kieran huffs. “You worried he’ll snitch or something?”
“I’m worried they’re hurting him!” you snap. “What the hell is wrong with you!? He’s your brother! He could be dead and you’re acting like, like..”
Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him hopelessly. There’s nothing to see— no tension in his body, no harsher rise and fall to his chest, betraying a nervous, racing heart. All the usual signs are missing. He isn’t shifting on his feet like he does when he’s anxious. Is he that good at pretending, or…
Does he really not care?
You shake your head, looking down at the floor; you’re so sick of red eyes. He’s crazy. Sylus is crazy.
There’s nothing for it, then.
“You know what?” you chuckle dryly, under your breath. “Maybe you’re right. This isn’t all bad, I mean… when’s the last time you and I had any one-to-one time, huh?”
Kieran is silent. He lowers himself slowly until he’s crouched before you— forearms resting on his knees. His head tilts inquisitively: Go on.
“Maybe,” you lilt, “this is an opportunity.” You’re practically whispering, and the man leans in, not wanting to miss a word. Your free hand reaches for a horn of his hood and you use it to pull him closer; he doesn’t even resist. “How about we…” you speak into his ear, “go look through Luke’s stuff?”
Kieran draws back, those false eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes you think, for a second, that you’ve gone too far.
“You’re the best,” he breathes out, suddenly fiddling with the handcuffs, slotting the key into the lock. “Just… the absolute best.”
Got him.
The cuff springs open and you’re on top of him, tackling him to the ground and pinning his arms by the side of his head before he can think to stop you. “Oh,” he grumbles, going still beneath you, and it sounds like his eyes are narrowing, “you’re not the best. You’re sneaky.”
His compliance lasts all of a second, and then he’s fighting back— using his strength to throw you off balance and wrench his wrists free. He rolls on top of you, trapping you just as effectively as you’d done him, and he laughs like a child, having ever so much fun.
With a grunt of effort, you manage to push him aside. You turn onto your stomach, scrabbling away as you look for space, opportunity, and— if you’re being honest— something you can throw at him. A hand connects with your shoulder and you thrust your elbow backwards on instinct. It hits something hard.
“Ah, shit! Wait, wait, wait… time out.”
You freeze instantly.
Kieran’s voice is different; it’s acquired a clarity that tells you his mask his away from his face. Don’t move. You stare down at the floor with a patience that’s almost sacred. He’s taking a while, though…
“You ok?” you ask.
“Yeah.” His voice is different again, like he’s holding his nose. “Nosebleed.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s cool.”
You sit up with your legs crossed while you wait, but your eyes are still trained downwards. You can hear Kieran’s breath, a little ways behind you— so much clearer without the mask— and the intimacy is always sobering. Realising he’s vulnerable, knowable, and all you have to do is turn around.
He doesn’t rush, though: doesn’t scramble to pull the mask back down, or insist you keep looking away. The silence, the stillness— all of it is trust.
There’s movement in the corner of your eye; he’s set the mask down on the ground while he bleeds.
“I’m worried too,” he admits softly, and you’re not sure what’s more foreign: his voice, unhindered, or the honesty it carries. You don’t want to scare either away, so you do nothing. There’s more: “I can’t leave boss, though. Who else has he got?”
“The hunter?”
“Nah,” he dismisses. “She’s hot stuff, y’know? A lot of players in that game.” He taps at his mask idly. “Heard one of them’s a doctor.”
You’re quiet again. Thinking.
“Boss always has our back,” Kieran asserts. “We have to look out for him too… That’s the job, right?”
He’s not really asking you; you came to this late, after all. It was their job long before it was yours.
You’ve nothing to do but look at your hands and listen, biding your time. The passing seconds are still restless, useless, but the sensation slips when you feel hands on your waist, pulling you back. Kieran’s arms wrap around you. His chin settles on your shoulder, and you close your eyes.
“Stay,” he says. “Please?”
His pain is harder to sit with than your own. Minutes ago, this was something you wanted. Now it’s just another wound you don’t know how to stitch up; too deep, too late.
You let your head rest against his, but you don’t say a word.
…
This was easier when you were relying on Mephisto’s guidance and not hazy, disjointed memories. The last time you were here you were running, Kieran at your side and Sylus not far ahead. You weren’t thinking about what corners you turned or what directions you travelled; you were thinking about everything behind you. Shouts. Gunshots. The subtler rush of your leader’s Evol, still crackling, still faltering, courtesy of whatever technology your attackers had managed to appropriate.
It all happened so quickly.
Every corridor feels longer, now. Each moment— slow. Your body is aching. You’ve lost count of how many encounters you’ve had, but there’s a new bruise or scrape for every body in your wake. None of it has been easy. You ran out of bullets just getting inside this damn place, and the rest has been messier: up-close and personal.
You’re catching your breath, so you toe the rifle of your last adversary, lying a short way from their limp, open hand. They never got a chance to use it, and you were lucky; it would have been loud. Every guard in this run-down labyrinth is looking for you. The last thing you need is to send out a homing beacon.
Glance around. Try to work out your bearings.
This was once a police station. Old-world. Eroded beyond recognition, almost. These places were the first to fall victim to the backwards evolution of the N109 Zone. The bones are the same, but the skin is different. Every wall is scrawled with anti-Association sentiments.
It makes you smile, despite everything.
Your footsteps are deliberately quiet as you carry on down the corridor, turning into the next room— you’ve been tackling them one-by-one. There’s a narrower corridor before the room opens out, and then…
Cells.
A short line of them— five in total. Your heart wants to beat faster with hope, but your mind is holding it back: insisting this is wrong. It seems abandoned. Forgotten. You walk by the first cell, and then the second. Nothing. The third. Nothing.
There’s a sound behind you, and you almost don’t hear it. You spin, only to find a hand wrapped around your throat, tight and unforgiving. A guard thrusts you up against the red-brick column that divides two cells, and you’d cry out in pain, but there’s no breath to carry it. Your eyes water. You try to prise the hand away, and it’s desperation that possesses you— not skill or experience.
You kick out and hit nothing, but the second time, you catch the man’s shin. He shouts, his grip failing just enough for you to slip your fingers beneath his. A few seconds of advantage. You grasp his wrist, using your other hand to wrench his forefinger backwards— crack. He staggers with a cry and then you’re dodging his frenzied attempts to recapture you: weaving behind him, seizing the back of his neck. Your foot trips his. He’s teetering, off-balance, and you use the momentum to crash his head against a bar of the cell.
Metal rings out. Flesh splits.
The guard crumples at your feet and you almost go down with him. Your lungs are pulling for so much air that it makes your throat sting. Adrenaline laps your limbs, celebrating in sheer, ecstatic disbelief; you’re alive.
Someone wolf-whistles and you swear you feel everything stop.
Your gaze shoots up, lit by hope, but it’s quickly snuffed out. A young man is watching you from the fourth cell, his arms threaded through the bars. There’s a shameless grin as his eyes flit over you. All of you.
“Fuck off,” you sneer as you step over the guard. You turn to leave.
“Rude.”
Your eyes go wide. You spin back. “Luke?”
The man cocks his head like you’ve asked a trick question. “... Yeah?” It takes a drawn-out moment of you staring at him, motionless, for him to recognise your confusion. “Oh, right. Here—” he draws up his hood and the horns are missing, so he emulates them with pointed fingers— “this help?”
You lunge forwards, trapping him in a hug through the bars of his cell; you barely notice the separation. He chuckles as he hugs you back: “Miss me?”
“Yeah,” you exhale in relief, even though he was definitely setting you up for a joke. You break away from him, forcing yourself to look at anything but his face. Gods, his face. Pretend you don’t already want to look again. “Are you hurt?” you ask. “Did they—”
“Nope!” he interrupts with what sounds like a smile. “I told them everything.”
You glance up; you can’t help it.
He winks at you. “I lied. Glad you got here before they figured that out, though. Sheesh, that would not have been fun.” His hands wrap around the bars. “Can you get me out of here?” He tugs at them. “Pleeease?”
Right. “Yeah.” You glance around. You just need to find the—
“Key’s with the dead guy,” Luke says. “What a jerk, huh?”
It still feels like there are hands on your throat. “Totally.” You wander over to the body, bending down to rummage through the man’s pockets. After a brief search, you produce the key.
Luke slow claps. “My hero.”
You laugh softly as you return to the cell, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The twin strides through, giving a little bow as he passes, then stretches his arms like he’s just been set free from a much smaller cage.
“So…” He speaks in a sing-song sort of voice, sniffing the air like it’s sweeter. “Where’re boss and Kieran?”
“Um. Home?”
Luke narrows his eyes at you— vaguely resembling the slits of his missing mask. “You went rogue?”
You wince. “I did go rogue.”
You’re still being studied warily. Luke has raised an eyebrow and it’s so starkly expressive; is this a look he gives you often? You have a feeling it is. Then he shrugs and it’s gone. “That’s hot,” he quips. He crouches down beside the dead guard, lifting the body and puppeteering one of the arms to wave at you. “Look— this is gonna be you when boss finds out.”
You cross your arms. Luke laughs, dropping the man back down with a thud. “Just you and me then?” he clarifies, holding a hand out to you.
Are you supposed to know what to do with it? “You and me,” you confirm. Your hand goes out too.
Luke slaps it gently one way, then another. He entangles your fingers. Pulls back. Does a few more slaps in sporadic directions, and— is this a secret handshake? You don’t have a secret handshake.
“Nice,” he beams once the ritual is complete. “Let’s go, let's go!”
…
Luke is hanging close to the wall across from you, waiting— listening— as you both brace yourselves behind the turn of yet another corridor of the rival base. He sneaks glances around the corner.
“Anyone there?” you whisper.
He shakes his head, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t press on, either, because it’s odd; you’d both thought you’d heard something. This isn’t your usual strategy— playing it safe. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke err on the side of caution, but he’s concentrating, even closing his eyes so he can listen harder.
You take advantage of the moment in a way you shouldn’t: letting your gaze linger on his face. Even with his hood up— shadows lowered like a veil— he’s still a stranger to you. You want to know him; you know him already. He’s been smiling at your jokes forever, but tell him one now, and it’ll be the first time.
His eyes open, meeting yours. Could he sense you watching? He grins, poking his tongue out at you.
“Stop it.”
“You stop it,” he retorts. The coast must be clear, for he comes away from the wall and rounds the corner with a spring in his gait.
You sigh as you stand to follow him. One less-enthusiastic step forward, and something snakes around your ankle. Your gaze drops like a stone, but it isn’t fast enough. You’re hauled into the air, voice failing, vision swimming as the world flips upside-down and you’re strung up from the ceiling. “Luke!” you manage in warning.
Are those his footsteps, coming back? You’re facing the wrong way and you try to lift the lower half of your body so you can reach for your ankle, but you’re already exhausted. Your muscles burn. After a few, futile inches, you give up, going limp.
There are footsteps behind you. “Oh, hey boss!” Luke exclaims.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
An unwitting pendulum: you can’t keep your body from turning, ever so slowly, until you’re staring the right way down the corridor. You can’t see much of it, though.
Sylus is in front of you, so close that you can almost feel the heat of his eyes.
“Hey, boss,” you echo reluctantly.
He says nothing, and behind him, Luke slides a gloating finger across his own throat: you’re dead! And you’re turning, still. Sylus lifts a hand to the top of your head and swivels you back to him. “What happened to that trust of yours, sweetie? Hmm?”
You half-laugh, nervous. He doesn’t seem quite as amused.
Releasing your head, he steps back with a huff of disappointment as you start a slow rotation once more. He taps a finger to his chin pensively, like you’re a masterpiece he’s convinced might be a forgery, now that he’s looking more closely. “Reckless little thing, aren’t you?” he tuts.
There’s maybe a smile, but it’s short-lived; the dark rope around your ankle whips you into the air. You shriek with shock as you lose all bearings, all vision, all sense of reality. You’re falling.
Someone catches you.
“My reckless little thing,” Luke grins, jostling you into a more secure position in his arms. “Mine.”
You want to protest, but your breath is gone.
“You can’t afford her,” Sylus speaks over his shoulder; he’s already taken the lead in guiding you out of here. Mephisto squawks somewhere up ahead, appearing in a cloud of smoke and feathers.
Luke gives a defensive hmph as he holds you a tighter. Then he smiles down at you, and though it’s new, you know it’s far from the first time, and even further from the last.
…
“Are we really doing this?” you ask Sylus sceptically.
“Lighten up, sweetie.” He clicks his fingers.
Not far from you, currently oblivious to your presence, Kieran stands at the door of your leader’s study, still waiting for an order. The air above him changes: it swirls with a dark, scarlet mist. Luke drops out of it, landing straight on his twin’s back.
“What the—” Kieran splutters, but his brother’s arms are over his shoulders, around his neck. “Get off!” he squeaks out.
“No way. I was a prisoner,” Luke chortles. “You have to be super nice to me. Carry me everywhere. Boss said so.”
“He did not!”
And with those words, Kieran flips his other half the rest of the way over his shoulder; Luke lands on the ground with an unceremonious splat. All four limbs are sprawled. “Ow!” he whines.
Sylus has already strode the rest of the way into the room. “Play nice,” he scolds as he steps over Luke, then passes by Kieran.
“Yes, boss!” they chime, stilling obediently as the older man disappears into his study. The moment the doors close behind him, Kieran throws himself down. He wrestles with Luke, both of them laughing and rolling around as they try to hurt each-other.
It makes you think of those old, vintage cartoons you used to see on TV. You can just picture the cloud of dust, the colourful stars and shapes flying with every traded punch. Idiots.
You leave them to it, slinging yourself down on a couch and closing your eyes. Gods, you want to sleep. There’s blood dried to your hands and face, but you’ll shower later. There are grazes and cuts still bleeding, but you’ll tend to them later. Everything can wait.
The room has gone quiet. Too quiet; you open your eyes.
Luke and Kieran stand in front of you ominously, their figures symmetrical. The illusion of reflection is broken by Luke’s absent mask, but his eyes are just as unreadable.
“What?” you cave.
“You went rogue,” Kieran states, and his brother is nodding gravely, like this is a very serious infraction.
You smile. “I did go rogue.” More shameless than last time. “I got a free pass, though. Luke said it was hot.”
Kieran’s mask turns to face his twin, slow and resentful. Luke shrugs. “What? It was.”
There’s an impasse: long enough to make you think they’re having some kind of secret discussion. Both twins look at you. You smile sheepishly. You don’t think you’ll ever really know the entirety of what goes on in those heads, but it’s for the best. You value your sanity.
“You went rogue,” Kieran carries on, as if his speech had never been interrupted, and his authority not just completely undercut. He moves closer, slinking down beside you, and Luke plays the part of his mirror image. “There will have to be a… punishment.”
The word is elongated for effect, and it’s remarkably similar to Kieran’s ‘ghost voice’— which you know, thanks to the time he roped you into that ‘the base is haunted!’ prank. (Sylus did not, in fact, fall for it.)
“Bring it,” you murmur, closing your eyes again. “I just stormed a whole enemy base single-handed. I think I can handle the two of—”
Your voice meanders to a stop as Kieran nuzzles against you. His mask is off; you feel the soft of his face and the bridge of his nose. His breath is light on your neck. You smile, slipping deeper into your seat and then his embrace as his arms go around you. He’s warm. Really warm.
There’s a weight— Luke’s head on your lap— and he hugs you too, arms lower around your waist. His breath tickles your stomach. You hum in contentment, running your hands through his hair.
He's safe. You're all safe.
They were never going to say thank you; it’s not in their nature. Their language isn't superficial. It isn’t words spoken aloud or feelings worn on the face— it can’t be. A smile is too easily read by the rest of the world, but a smile behind a mask? It’s private. Reserved only for those who’ve learnt to hear it in your voice, or see it in the way your body relaxes when you hold someone you care for.
A language of tiny, intimate details.
Kieran has never nestled his face quite so closely against you. You don’t think you’ve ever known Luke go so long without talking.
#🖋rach is actually writing#luke and kieran x reader#luke and kieran#love and deepspace#platonic sylus x reader#sylus#lads#lnds#l&ds
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I'm not sure whether your request box is open or not, but if you do, I want to drop an idea
How about ot8 sleeping habit?
Thankies!
🧠🫶🏻
hehe this was fun... this is all my own personal opinion, not facts or based on anything specific
Bangchan
Sleeps like a Dad- he is ready to wake at any moment, ranging from a faint noise to a kitchen fire. (Most definitely not caused by Felix or Seungmin...)
Usually passes out mid writing session, with his notebook or laptop within arms reach
One of those is most likely being used as a makeshift pillow
Loves to sleep facing outwards on his side, arm tucked under his pillow (or laptop or notebook or other arm because lets be real he probably isn't aslepp in bed)
Likes sleeping outwards because it makes him feel safer, like he could easily spring into action if needed
Rarely moves when he falls asleep from pure exhaustion.
If he falls asleep on normal accord, he moves like a madman
Has a secret stash of hoodies he uses only for sleep
But even then...he likes sleeping naked. Only wears clothes if he's not sleeping at home. (dude literally walks around naked...)
Lee Know
Sleeps like royalty. Perfect posture. Doesn't move.
His cats tend to join him, claiming half the bed, and he does not mind that at all
If his cats don't join him, he'll let out little pspspsp's until at least one comes (and if none of them come he will go to sleep grumpy)
Prefers absolute silence, but if he is tired enough he'll sleep through an earthquake
Tends to sleep talk, but denies vehemently that he does (he knows he does, and he knows its mostly him mumbling about choreography)
Likes to throw his sheets in the dryer to warm them up when he is feeling fancy
Usually takes a while to fall asleep
Wakes up at least once a night
Usually its because he gets a paw up a nostril
Changbin
Likes to be surrounded by plushy comfy stuff
If he is sharing a bed, radiates warmth and tends to be clung to like a teddybear (he is NOT complaining about that)
He snores, but gets embarrassed if someone mentions it
Always has to shower before bed
Lots of thinner blankets (for some reason he gives me the type to love to be warm but hate comforters?)
Overheats easily thus why he loves the thin blankets he can peel back (he just seems like a warm bodied person)
Likes falling asleep to music but will get really upset if he wakes up with it still on
Seems like he's have a nightlight ngl, not because he is scared of the dark, but because he genuinely can't see for shit in the dark
Wakes up to go pee like three times a night because he'll drink a ton of water (and still continues to drink it even though he just went to the bathroom)
Also occasionally loves a midnight snack
Hyunjin
Dramatic sleeper. Dude is sprawled out everywhere yet somehow it looks artistic
Has to put his hair up or else it will be frizzy in the morning
Tosses and turns because he dreams vividly, often about very random things
Needs the room to smell nice- candles or an essential oil diffuser is a must (typically uses a scent that aids in sleep or health, like lavender or mint if his head hurts)
Opposite of Binnie- he gets cold really easily and needs all the extra comforters he can get
Loves doing before bed skincare. Its almost ritualistic for him. (it helps soothe him)
Like how he has a set routine for skincare, he has a set routine for sleep. Goes to bed and wakes up at the same time everyday
Or at least he tries to. He tends to sleep in a lot on the weekends due to staying up late painting throughout the week
Sometimes, he'll paint things he sees in his dreams (usually pretty abstract)
Jisung
Falls asleep wherever and whenever. No questions asked (has been found by numerous staff just snoozing around the jype building)
Occasionally its due to complete burnout, but usually its just because he likes sleeping
He also tends to have really vivid and random fever dreams (once dreamt of Felix being eaten by a Cheerio and wouldn't allow him to eat cereal for a week)
He talks in his sleep. Full on conversations that don't make sense 97% of the time.
When its actually time for him to go to bed, he has a specific set up for his pillow and singular plushie he needs (one pillow on the right side of the bed, then the plushie and then the second pillow on top of his head as he sleeps- don't ask its just what he needs)
Tends to kick off all of his blankets during his slumber, usually waking up with just his plushie on the bed, both pillows and all covers trashed on the floor
But if someone else is in the bed dude is as stiff as a rock
Usually falls asleep to funny videos, since it helps quiet his mind
Unfortunately, that means he laughs a lot in his sleep which is a bit creepy (scares the shit outta people)
Sometimes things are so funny he'll wake up from laughing so hard.
Felix
Sleeps like a literal baby. Quiet and still.
Enjoys soothing sounds like rain or waves to go to sleep.
Rarely snores
Sometimes wakes himself up with soft giggles (usually its because someone cracked a joke in his dream)
People sleeping next to him say he radiates a calming warmth. Like sleeping next to sunshine.
He usually hugs something while he is asleep, a pillow or a plushie (changbin body pillow ?????)
Likes falling asleep to the room being chilly, but needs it to be warm or else he refuses to leave bed
Meaning he needs to get up in the middle of the night to turn off the fan.
He is the type to "accidentally" steal blankets (he does it on purpose 100%)
Seungmin
The most disciplined sleeper; sticks to a consistent bedtime and wake-up routine no matter how busy his schedule is.
Prefers sleeping on his back with perfect posture, almost as if posing for a photoshoot.
Rarely moves in his sleep, waking up in nearly the same position he fell asleep in. (sometimes its a bit creepy)
Needs complete silence and will actively seek out a quieter spot if his surroundings are noisy.
Hates feeling too warm while sleeping; he often cracks a window or adjusts the thermostat.
Keeps his bed tidy with just one pillow and a light blanket. (its gets too stuffy with too much stuff on the bed)
Occasionally hums softly or sings a lullaby under his breath before falling asleep.
Gets annoyed by anyone who wakes him unnecessarily and isn’t shy about showing his irritation. (jisung is usually the one to wake him up with excited screaming- tied with changbin)
Wakes up refreshed and ready for the day, often teasing others about their grogginess.
Jeongin
Sleeps face down with his arms hugging his pillow tightly, often burying his face in it. (dude is literally close to suffocating himself, more often than not chan rolls him over)
Snores loudly but adorably, puffing his cheeks out as he exhales a snore that sounds like a 6.0 magnitude earthquake.
Loves being bundled up in a mountain of blankets, even if he ends up half-buried under them (again with the suffocation, he stresses chan out)
Wakes up with his hair sticking out in every possible direction, but it is heartachingly cute.
Talks in his sleep occasionally, mumbling random things (most of the time one of his Hyung's names comes up followed by an evil giggle, leaving them paranoid about what their precious maknae is plotting)
Kicks off the covers in his sleep but then immediately searches for them when he gets cold.
Prefers sleeping with the lights off but needs his phone nearby to check before bed.
Wakes up easily if startled but can fall right back asleep like nothing happened.
Usually wakes up groggy but his mood instantly changes at the mention of breakfast (which he finishes in about 4 bites max)
@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha
@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric
@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee
@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin
@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun
@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael
@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads
@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld
@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9
@minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg
@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon
@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz
#skz imagines#skz stay#skz x reader#skz reactions#stray kids#stray kids reactions#skz fluff#skz#christopher bang#lee minho#bangchan#lee know#seo changbin#changbin#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin#han jisung#han#lee felix#felix#kim seungmin#seungmin#yang jeongin#i.n.#skz ot8
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Hello! I loved the SMAU you did with the boys, my heart is weak for drama/angst, and the Xavier part? Delicious
So, i read your rules but if my ask makes you uncomfortable i absolutely understand!! Can you do pegging with Xavier and Zayne? The only contents i found with pegging had just Rafayel and Sylus 😭
Pegging - Scenario Love and Deepspace
Warnings : Sexual themes.
Genre : Smut
Characters : Zayne and Xavier
Gender : Female.
Word count : 2k
Notes : Hello!! I am absolutely happy to know you liked my writing!!! Angst with comfort are my favorite genres, ngl. Thank you so much for your request and your kind words, i hope you like it too!! I assumed the MC would be female, but if is not please let me know!!
Growing up, Zayne knew you had strange ideas or tendecies.
After knowing you for so long, how could he not ? From your strange jokes that only you laugh, to the pointless questions that only made him sigh in exasperation. Yet, nothing really prepared him from your request after his long shift at the hospital.
'You know,' he hears you mumbling. He was changing clothes, his muscles sore and screaming in pain after the emergency surgery he had to undergo. 'I know this may be the worst moment to bring this up, since you are very tired and definitely need to sleep, but...' Your hands help him to take off his coat, your hands squeezing the sore muscles on his shoulder 'You always said i could always speak to ou about anything, especially if involves a new kink..."
He turns his head to look at you from the corner of his eye, his eyebrow arching slightly, waiting for you to continue.
'I wanna peg you'
'...Peg me?'
'You know what pegging means, right?
'I am familiar with the term, yes. I know it took a lot of courage for you to bring this up, and i promise i wont forget this subject, but can we talk about this tomorrow?'
'Of course, im sorry, i was so anxious to talk about that-'
After that, he had his very needed night of sleep and brought up the conversation again in the next day. It was merely to talk about where the idea came from, precautions and safety, after all, he was never the one to deny your requests without even trying before - especially if that involved a new kink.
'Talking from a point of view of a doctor, i would need a few days to prepare myself for that' he stated, his back turned towards you as he focus on washing the dishes 'Just as it can be pleasurable, it can also be extremely painful without proper preparation. '
And that is how he found himself on this situation. After he spend days using his own finger to stretch himself, he was now laying on his back with his legs draped overyour hips. There was a thin layer of sweat on his naked body, his cock completely hard and dripping precum on your hand.
"You look so beautiful right now..." You say, stroking his shaft slowly and with a firm pressure.
The strap-on you were using was slim, pink silicone with not more than five inches, enough to give him pleasure without causing any harm, and was covered with lube. His body was completely relaxed and, as soon as he nod to you, you finally press the tip against the tight ring of muscles, carefully to not hurt him. Thankfully the preparations he had done to himself had maken easy for you to fill him, his face, always so composed and neutral, writhing slightly in a mix of pleasure and pain, his body tensing up. You only stopped when the entire lenght of the dildo were inside of him.
When he finally relaxed completely, you started to move. His sweet grunts of pleasure echoing in the room, your skin slapping against his as you start to fuck him, trying to remember how he used to fuck you against the matress.
"Come on pretty boy" you whisper, your breath hot against the crook of his neck, his body shaking from the movements. Never before you wished so bad to have a cock, imagining how warm and tight he would be around you. "I need to hear your sweet sounds, to know how good i am making you feel"
He whimpered softly, feeling your breasts sliding in his chest with every movement you make, your hand on his cock making his brain tingle with hot, raw pleasure. Is that how you felt when he was fucking you? That burning feeling of pleasure that barely fits in your body? He could feel every inch rubbing against his interior, hitting perfectly his prostate.
"P-Please..." his voice was shy, trembling as he tried to compose himself, trying not to fall apart from how good it was.
You kissed a trail from his jaw line til his collarbone, sucking his skin until a purple mark appeared, your hand stroking his shaft even faster, completely wet with the pearly liquid of his precum. He was falling apart faster than before as you whispered praises on his ear, his moans and whines now leaving his lips as a second nature for him, his arms wraping against your neck and pulling you closelly, capturing your lips against his own and kissing you desperately, the wet sound of your lips mixing with his moans and slapping sounds. Would you receive noise complaints from neighbors? Definitely.
As his moans and grunts grew louder against your lips, you put a lot more effort, ignoring the burning sensation on your muscles, your hand stroking his cock fervently. Pulling apart from the kiss, you watch how the silicone dildo fucked his way inside Zayne, his puckered hole stretched around the toy, almostr trying to pull you more deeper inside of him.
It only took you a few more thrusts till he finally came with a deep and hoarse moan, the whitish and viscous liquid wetting your hand, some splashing on his stomach, painting it white. You milked his cock with a few more pumps until nothing else comes out, his glans red and his cock wet with cum.
You pulled out of him, throwing the strap-on away. Quickly you cleaned up your own slick from your tights and the cum from his stomach before laying on his side, chuckling as he wraped his arms around you, hiding his face on your neck.
"Did you enjoy it?" You asked curiously, your fingers stroke his hair carefully.
"...Maybe we can try it a few more times, if im not required on the hospital." You grin listening to his hoarse voice, knowing that it was the aftermath of the pleasure he received.
"Do your legs feel limp and wobbly?"
"Yes." he whispered, his ears turning red with embarassment.
It wasn't a secret for Xavier that you always had a liking for his ass.
When he bended over to pick up something, change clothes, take a shower or even with his sweatpants, you eyes always seems to roam or your hands found a way to squeeze him, so, when you told him you wanted to peg him, it wasnt a surprise at all.
'Xav' you started, laying next to him on the couch, your legs resting on top of his thighs 'I realized we never really talked about our kinks and things we liked on the bed'
'Hm, what is the motivation all of the sudden?' he asked, his voice soft as always.
'So, i was scrolling through my phone and i found something very interesting--'
'Yes i'll let you peg me'
'Its something called pegging and-- excuse me?'
'I knew you could end up liking this kind of thing, so i jumped ahead and read about that. Already bought the toys and prepared myself.'
'H-How did you even know?' he smiles lazily as you tries to hide your face in embarassment. How could he know? Weren't you being careful?
'With how much you make jokes about eating me out or breeding me' he chuckles with your whine 'It was obvious how you felt' he stared at you lovingly. 'That and the porn site on your unlocked cell phone with the tag pegging showing on the search bar-'
And when you asked oficially, he said yes again. After all, who he was to deny such a sweet request from his beloved? Yet, it didnt help with how anxious he felt when the time come.
He was on his stomach, his ass up to your direction. His breath became a little more faster as he felt your weight on the matress, right behind him. That is how you felt the first time you two sleept together? This knot on your stomach?. Your hands roamed around his body, carresing the curve of his abdomen and chest, your touch tender and kindy, easing the tension from his muscles.
"Are you nervous?" you ask, kissing his back softly, seeing his eyes darting around nervously. "It's not too late to refuse, you know? We can take a good shower, eat a few snacks and sleep"
"N-No!" He said quickly before taking a deep breath "I want this, i promise.
He looks at you from the corner of his eye, half his face hidden against the pillow. His eyes burned with desire, showing how needy he was at that moment. Your gaze searched a sign of hesitation or disconfort in his face before you give him a reassuring smile, positioning yourself behind him while pouring lube on the strap-on and massaging the circunference of the silicone until it is completely wet, pressing the tip against his hole. Your hands roam his body, caressing the warm skin before stopping on his ass, squeezing the plump flesh of his cheeks, watching his once white skin turning red before you spread them, exposing his puckered hole before you pressed the tipagainst him, watching as the dildo force his way inside him, stretching him to fit its entire lenght.
You pay attention to his body and, as soon as he relaxes, you hold his waist with one hand and the other goes under him, starting to stroke his hard cock as your hips begin to move, the dildo going in and out of him.
His back arched as soon as you hit his prostate and, unable to control himself anymore, his hips started to move, meeting your with fierce, his face contorting against the pillow and muffled moans leaving his parted lips.
You kissed his back, your breasts pressing agains his hot skin and thumb pessing his glans, feeling how wet it was from his precum. You started to suck his back and shoulders, leaving a few marks behind, making the man under you to whimper softly. You wanted him to look in the mirror and remember how you fucked him so good. You wish you could leave marks on his neck as well, but unfortunately you didn't want the attention of the Association staff.
The noises were growing louder each moment, his back arching even more with how good it felt, being fucked mercilessly, the pleasure numbing his mind, everything he could think was how deep you were inside of him, his body shaking with how hard you were hitting his prostate, his cock pulsing against your hand, hard and wet, begging for release. He tried to bite the pillow to muffle his moans, but your whine on his ear quickly made him stop.
"Such a good boy f'me" you praised him, your breath hot against his shoulder, his skin covered in sweat "My precious bunny, aren't you?"
"F-For you ngh" his voice was hoarse from all the moans and cries of pleasure, his eyes glowing with tears "so good aah"
The sensation of the silicone pressing his sensitive walls combined with your strokes on his hard shaft threatened to send him over the edge earlier then he wanted to, his stomach tensing and twisting, urging him to let go. The tears ran down his face, some falling on the pillow and mixing with his drool.
Your fingers dig into his waist, bruising his flesh with your nails. After a few thrusts you feel his body shake, a hoarse growl leaving his lips and your hand getting sticky when he finally cums, his eyes completely rolled back in ecstasy. You thrusted inside him slowly, milking him to the last drop during his post orgasmic wave. When he finaly calmed dow, you kissed his spine softly, watching proudly the amount of hickeys you left on his body. You pulled out of him, quickly cleaning his body and bringing him a cold glass of water to cool down his sore throat.
"That was fun, we should do it again another time" Your words sent shivers down his spine, his gaze turned to you, a small smile forming on his face.
"Yeah... We should"
#lads x reader#love and deepspace x reader#xavier x reader#xavier x mc#xavier x you#zayne x reader#zayne x mc#zayne x you#love and deepspace headcanons#love and deepspace#lads x mc#lads x you#xavier love and deepspace#zayne love and deepspace#love and deepspace scenario#smut
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🐴 hi again! I loved the oscar series. So I have an idea but this time for Max again! (I’m a max girlie through and through 🙂↕️)
Okay so! Could you possibly do a cowgirl!reader x cowboy!Max? Maybe a barrel racer!reader and bull rider!Max (he seems like a bull rider ngl). Its maybe second chance for Max? He started to be there for her, showing up for her when she needs it. Something happened to the reader (up to you) and he showed up for her once again which causes the reader to reevaluate him. And the rest? Up to you! :)
Psps i love giving you my ideas and seeing them come to life! Goodbye for now, 🐴
WHAT'S LEFT BEHIND PT.1 | MV1
an: as an honorary texan (i've been friends with one for seven years) this was so fun to write ehehhehheh ANYWAY ENJOY THIS SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE!!
summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.
wc: 4.2k
8 years ago
The crowd roared, but she barely heard it. The adrenaline coursing through her veins drowned out everything but the rhythmic pounding of Luna’s hooves beneath her, the barrels blurring in her vision as she pushed harder, faster, urging her horse around the final turn. They were almost there.
Almost.
The split-second misstep was enough. One wrong move, and Luna’s front hoof caught the edge of the last barrel. The world tilted, her balance slipping. And then she was falling—weightless for just a breath before the ground came up to meet her, hard and unforgiving. Pain exploded in her leg, white-hot and blinding, shooting through her entire body like wildfire.
She barely registered the panicked shout from the stands. The sound of boots hitting the dirt. Then hands—his hands—on her.
"Don’t move! I’m here, I’m here!" Max’s voice was frantic, the fear clear in his eyes as he knelt beside her. She could see the tremble in his hands, but his grip was steady, reassuring as he cradled her head and kept her still. "Help is coming, sweetheart don’t move.”
She tried to breathe through the pain, tried to focus on his face, but the edges of her vision blurred. All she could think about was how everything had changed in a heartbeat. She’d trained for this her whole life. Barrel racing was all she had, all she’d ever wanted. And now it was slipping through her fingers.
She reached out, her hand finding his. “Max…”
“I’m right here,” he whispered, squeezing her fingers. His voice was hoarse, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening either. "You’re gonna be okay, I promise."
But she could see the fear in his eyes. Fear that mirrored her own.
That was all she remembered when she passed out.
And when she woke up, she was in the hospital.
The antiseptic smell of the hospital was a far cry from the dust and heat of the rodeo arena. She lay in the sterile bed, her leg encased in a cast, throbbing with a dull ache that barely scratched the surface of the pain inside her.
The doctors said the break was bad. Real bad. Recovery would be slow. And even then… they weren’t sure she’d ever race again.
She hadn’t cried when they told her. She just stared at the ceiling, feeling like a hollow shell of herself, like her whole world had caved in on her. The only thing keeping her tethered to the present was the thought of Max. He hadn’t left her side at the arena, had promised her she’d be okay. He’d said he was there for her.
So where was he now?
The door creaked open, and she looked up, expecting him, hoping for him. But it was her mother who stepped inside, her face drawn tight with an expression that immediately set alarm bells ringing in her head.
“Mom?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is it time for my meds?”
Her mother hesitated, wringing her hands together. “Honey… I have something to tell you.”
The calm that had settled in her chest evaporated. “What is it?” she asked, anxiety prickling at the back of her mind. “Is it about my leg?”
Her mother stepped closer, the shadows under her eyes deepening. “No, it’s… it’s about Max.”
“Max?” The name felt heavy on her tongue, like a weight pulling her down. “What about him?”
Her mother sighed, her expression torn between sympathy and something else—anger? Disappointment? “He’s gone.”
The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, and for a moment, she couldn’t process what she’d just heard. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”
“He left,” her mother said gently, her voice shaking. “After the rodeo, there was a scout. He got an offer… a chance to go pro. He packed up and went. He didn’t want to tell you while you were still in the hospital.”
A cold wave of disbelief washed over her. This can’t be happening. “No,” she said, shaking her head slowly, as if denying it could change the reality. “He wouldn’t do that. Not to me. Not after everything.”
Her mother reached out, a comforting hand on her shoulder, but it only made her feel more trapped. “I know it’s hard to understand, sweetheart. He was excited about it. He thought… he thought it would be better for both of you.”
“But I needed him!” The words burst out, sharp and raw, like the pain throbbing in her leg. “I was hurt! I thought we were a team!” She could feel her heart racing, each beat echoing the disbelief and betrayal that coursed through her veins.
“I know,” her mother said softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But he didn’t see it that way. He thought it was his chance to make something of himself. He didn’t think you’d want him to stay behind.”
The room felt as if it were closing in on her, the walls pressing down like the weight of a thousand expectations. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All those memories of the two of them, the laughter, the promises—they felt like cruel jokes now. The pain in her leg was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
“What did he say?” she demanded, desperation lacing her words. “Did he even look back? Did he say goodbye?”
Her mother looked away, a pained expression crossing her face. “He… he didn’t want to see you like this. He thought it would hurt more.”
A bitter laugh escaped her lips, surprising even herself. “So he just left? Just like that?” The anger bubbled up, a volcano ready to erupt. “He’s chasing some stupid dream while I’m stuck here?”
“He’s just a kid, too,” her mother said gently, but the words felt like a weak balm on a festering wound. “He didn’t know what to do. He thought it was best to leave you with the hope of recovery, not the reality of…”
“Not the reality of him abandoning me!” she snapped, rage surging through her. “I don’t care about his dreams! He was supposed to be here!”
The tears finally spilled over, streaking down her cheeks as she let the full weight of her heartbreak crash over her. Each sob felt like a release, but it didn’t take away the gnawing emptiness inside. Her mother’s arms enveloped her, but she felt distant, lost in a sea of despair.
“It’s not fair,” she cried, her voice muffled against her mother’s shoulder. “It’s not fair that I’m the one who’s hurt, and he just gets to run away.”
“I know, honey. I know,” her mother murmured, holding her tight as if to shield her from the pain. “But you’re stronger than this. You’ll get through it.”
But in that moment, as she clung to her mother, she felt anything but strong. The world outside the hospital window continued, people going about their lives as if nothing had changed. But for her, everything had shifted, and she didn’t know how to find her way back.
PRESENT TIME
The barn smelled like hay, leather, and the faintest trace of saddle soap—familiar, comforting scents that grounded her. She moved with practised ease, brushing down Luna, her mind quiet for the first time in days. Her mare’s grey coat shimmered under her hands, and the steady rhythm of the brush helped drown out the restless thoughts that always lingered too close.
Out here, surrounded by the soft sounds of the horses shifting in their stalls, she could almost forget. Forget the past, forget the pain, forget the way her life had derailed eight years ago and the way it had never really gotten back on track.
The barn door creaked open, and she glanced up to see her childhood best friend, Heidi, walking in with a stack of freshly folded saddle pads. She and Heidi had worked this barn together for years now, caring for the horses, prepping for the local shows. It was their world, their escape from everything else. Although, as her and her boyfriend Daniel were getting serious, she was working less hours.
Heidi set the pads down on a tack trunk and stretched her back, groaning as if she’d been doing manual labour for hours. "Why do we do this again?" she teased, eyeing Luna. "Surely there’s an easier way to make a living."
"Could always take up bull riding," she shot back dryly, not looking up from her work. "I hear there’s good money in it."
Heidi snorted, leaning against the stall door. "Yeah, well, we both know what that road leads to."
Silence fell between them for a second, thick and familiar, before Heidi cleared her throat. “So… guess who’s back in town?”
She didn’t even pause her brushing, keeping her movements smooth, controlled. “No idea,” she muttered, eyes fixed on Luna’s glossy coat. “Who?”
“Max.”
The name hung in the air like dust motes caught in a sunbeam—small but impossible to ignore.
Her hand stilled for just a moment, her grip tightening on the brush. She forced herself to keep going, resuming the strokes over Luna’s back like nothing had changed. “Huh,” she said after a beat, voice carefully neutral. “Didn’t think he’d come back.”
Heidi folded her arms, watching her closely. “Yeah, well, he’s here. Saw him at the feed store this morning. Said he’s back for good.”
“Good for him.” She switched sides, moving to Luna’s other flank. “Guess the big, glamorous rodeo life didn’t turn out the way he wanted.”
Heidi’s eyes narrowed, her lips twitching into the slightest smirk. “You don’t care?”
“Why would I care?” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s been eight years. I’m 25 now, have my life and I’ve moved on.”
“Have you?” Heidi’s voice was soft but knowing. She didn’t move from her spot at the stall door, and for the first time, her friend’s presence felt a little too close.
She gritted her teeth, focusing on the repetitive motion of the brush. It was easier that way, focusing on something else. Something solid. “I don’t see what it has to do with me,” she said after a moment. “He left, I stayed. End of story.”
Heidi raised an eyebrow. “Right. Except it’s not the end, is it?”
She didn’t respond, didn’t trust herself to say anything without the flood of emotions she’d worked so hard to bury spilling out. She hadn’t even thought about Max, not really. He was just a part of the past, a chapter she’d closed long ago. Or so she told herself.
But the truth was, she had thought about him. In the quiet moments, when the ache in her leg flared up and the memories of that day—the day everything fell apart—came rushing back. She hated herself for it, but sometimes she wondered what it would have been like if he had stayed, if they’d faced it together instead of him running off to chase his dreams.
“You know…” Heidi’s voice softened, her teasing edge fading. “It’s okay if it still bothers you.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t. He’s nothing to me anymore. That part of my life is over.”
Heidi didn’t buy it. She never did. They’d been friends too long for that. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
Her chest tightened, the brush stalling in her hand again as the words scraped against the raw parts of her heart. She hated how Heidi could see through her so easily, could read the cracks in the armour she’d built so carefully. “Heidi, I’m fine. Really.”
But Heidi wasn’t letting it go. “Come on. You can act like you don’t care, but I saw the way you froze when I said his name. You think I don’t know? It’s okay if this shakes you up. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not pretending.” The words came out a little too fast, too sharp, and she winced at the way they echoed in the barn. She set the brush down, her hands suddenly trembling, and wiped them on her jeans, trying to shake off the feeling that had wrapped itself around her chest like a vice. “I’m not.”
Heidi didn’t say anything, just stood there with that same patient, knowing look. She had the decency not to push further, but she didn’t need to. The damage was already done, the emotions bubbling just beneath the surface now.
She let out a long breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Look, I’m just focused on work right now, okay? Max can do whatever he wants. He’s got nothing to do with me anymore.”
But even as she said it, she knew she was lying. Knew Heidi could see the truth. And somewhere deep down, she was afraid—afraid that no matter how much time had passed, no matter how hard she tried to pretend otherwise, Max Verstappen still had the power to turn her world upside down.
Heidi gave her a long, searching look, then finally nodded. “Okay,” she said quietly. “But just know, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. I know it’s not as simple as you want it to be.”
She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Thanks.”
As Heidi turned to leave the barn, the silence rushed back in, pressing heavy on her shoulders. She picked up the brush again, returning to Luna ’s side, but her movements were slower now, distracted. The rhythm was gone, replaced by a tangled mess of thoughts she couldn’t quite push away.
He was back.
And as much as she wanted to pretend it didn’t matter, she knew it did. More than she’d ever admit.
And after that news, there was only one person she wanted to see.
The familiar creak of her mother’s screen door was like stepping into another life, one she wasn’t sure how to fit into anymore. The house hadn’t changed—same wooden porch swing, same flower pots overflowing with wild daisies. It was the kind of place that felt frozen in time, which used to be comforting. Now it just felt suffocating.
She knocked once before pushing the door open, stepping into the cosy warmth of the kitchen. Her mother stood by the stove, stirring something that smelled like cinnamon and butter, her apron tied loosely around her waist.
“Hey, honey,” her mother said without turning around, as if she’d known she was coming before the door even opened. “Didn’t think I’d see you today.”
She shrugged, kicking off her boots at the door like she always had. “Just thought I’d stop by.”
Her mother glanced over her shoulder, her brow creasing slightly as she took in her daughter’s tight expression. “Everything okay?”
She didn’t answer right away, instead walking over to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. The wood scraped against the floor, breaking the silence between them. “He’s back.”
Her mother stilled, the spoon pausing mid-stir. For a moment, there was nothing but the ticking of the old clock on the wall and the faint sound of the wind rattling the windows.
“Max?” her mother finally asked, her voice cautious.
She nodded, running her hand over the worn edge of the table. “Yeah. Heidi saw him earlier and said he’s back for good.”
Her mother sighed, setting the spoon down on the counter before wiping her hands on a dish towel. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t.” She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “It doesn’t matter to me. He can come and go as he pleases.”
Her mother gave her a long, patient look—the kind only a mother can give, the one that sees right through every defence. “You sure about that?”
She scoffed, glancing away. “What do you want me to say? That I’m still angry? That I haven’t forgiven him? Because I haven’t.”
Her mother pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, folding her hands on the table. “I’m not saying you need to forgive him right away. But holding onto all that hurt… it’s not good for you. Carrying that grudge for so long—it eats away at you, whether you realise it or not.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mum, please. Don’t give me that wisdom-of-the-ages crap. He left me when I needed him. That’s not something I can just… let go.”
“I’m not saying you should forget what happened,” her mother said softly. “But holding onto the anger? That’s like drinking poison and hoping the other person gets sick.”
“Bullshit,” she snapped, standing up so quickly the chair legs scraped against the floor. “I’m not drinking anything. I’m just—” She broke off, her voice cracking. “I’m just fine. I don’t need to forgive him, and I don’t need your advice on how to deal with it. It’s done. It’s been done for years.”
Her mother didn’t flinch at the outburst, only watched her with that same calm, understanding expression. “I’m not trying to tell you how to feel, honey. But you’re not the same girl you were eight years ago. Neither is he. People change.”
“Maybe,” she muttered, grabbing her keys from the table. “But I haven’t changed that much.”
Without waiting for her mother to respond, she turned on her heel and headed for the door, her boots thudding against the wooden floor. She didn’t even bother to say goodbye before she stepped back outside into the cool evening air, the sting of her mother’s words still fresh.
She yanked open the door of her truck, sliding behind the wheel with more force than necessary. The engine rumbled to life, and she gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Grudges aren’t healthy? How could her mother even say that? Of course she was still mad. He’d left her when she was broken—physically and emotionally. Just up and left without a word. She’d been nothing to him, just a stepping stone on his way to glory. And now that glory had turned sour, he wanted to come crawling back?
She slammed her foot on the gas, sending the truck down the dirt road leading away from her mother’s house. The sky above had turned a deep, bruised purple as the sun set behind the hills, casting long shadows across the fields. She didn’t care where she was going; she just needed to get away from the conversation, from the memories that her mother had stirred up.
But the universe, it seemed, had other plans.
Not five minutes down the road, the truck sputtered, jerked violently, and then… silence.
“No, no, no, no…” she muttered, hitting the steering wheel in frustration as the truck coasted to a stop. “Not now.”
She turned the key again, but all she got was the tired groan of an engine that had given up on her just like everything else. Perfect.
She rested her head against the steering wheel, closing her eyes. It was almost laughable, really—how her life always seemed to fall apart at the worst possible times. Here she was, trying to outrun her past, and now she was stuck on the side of some desolate back road with nothing but her thoughts for company.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
After a few minutes, she pushed open the door and stepped out into the fading light. The road stretched out before her, empty and quiet, with no sign of anyone else for miles. She kicked at the dirt in frustration, her boots scuffing the ground. There was nothing to do but wait.
She leaned back against the hood of her truck, arms crossed, staring at the horizon. She hadn’t wanted to think about him, hadn’t wanted to feel anything about him. But now that he was back, it was like every carefully built wall she’d put up was crumbling all over again.
And maybe—just maybe—her mother had a point, as much as she hated to admit it.
But there was no way she was ready to deal with that. Not yet.
She kicked the dirt under her boots and stared down the empty road, arms crossed, the fading twilight casting a purplish hue over the fields. Her truck sat stubbornly in the middle of the gravel, as immobile and obstinate as her memories. She’d called a repair service, but out here, that could mean waiting an hour or two—or more.
As she leaned against the hood, the air cool against her skin, she heard the low rumble of an engine in the distance. A truck approached, its headlights cutting through the dusky shadows. She straightened up, squinting as it drew closer, a vague sense of unease settling in her chest.
The truck slowed, and as it pulled up beside hers, she recognised it immediately. Of course.
Max.
He leaned out the open window, his expression a mixture of concern and hesitation, like he knew he had no right to stop but couldn’t help himself. “You alright?”
She stared at him, arms still crossed, a muscle ticking in her jaw. “I’m fine.”
He glanced from her to the truck, then back at her. “Looks like you’re stranded.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Sharp as ever, I see.”
He ignored the jab, shifting the truck into park as if he were getting out. “I’ve got some tools in the back. Let me take a look.”
“No.”
He paused, hand on the door handle, confusion flickering across his face. “No?”
“You heard me.” She pushed herself off the hood and walked a few steps toward him, her eyes hard, voice cutting like glass. “I don’t need your help. Didn’t need it eight years ago to get better, and I sure as hell don’t need it now.”
His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening slightly as he held her gaze. She saw the flash of guilt there—the same guilt she’d been holding onto for so long—but it didn’t make her feel better. Not like it should’ve.
“I’m just trying to—” he started, but she cut him off.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Max.” Her voice was sharp, cold. “You feel bad, right? You think you can fix everything with a wrench and a couple of well-placed apologies? But this isn’t something you can fix. You can’t just pop the hood on the past and make it all run smoothly again.”
He stepped out of the truck, shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud, but stayed at a distance, not getting too close. “It’s not like that. I just saw you were stuck. Thought you might need a hand.”
She barked out a laugh, humourless and bitter. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I don’t need you riding in to save me, Max. I can handle my own problems.”
His eyes softened, his voice low as he spoke. “I know you can handle yourself. You always could. But it doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”
She glared at him, fists clenched at her sides. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t get it. “I’ve been doing it alone since the moment you left. I didn’t have a choice.”
The words hung heavy between them, the weight of years of anger and hurt settling like dust around them. He took a breath, about to say something, but her eyes flicked to the back of his truck.
The bed of his truck was cluttered with various tools, and there, half-buried under a coil of rope, was a large, well-worn toolbox.
“Give me your tools,” she said suddenly, her voice hard. “That’s all I need from you. Hand them over and go.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “You want to—”
“I said, give me the tools,” she repeated, the steel in her voice leaving no room for argument. “I’ll fix the damn thing myself. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty like those podium princesses you’ve been hanging around.”
The barb hit its mark, his expression tightening just enough for her to notice. But instead of snapping back, he walked to the back of the truck, pulling the toolbox out and handing it to her without a word.
She snatched it from him, the weight of it familiar and grounding. “Thanks. Now go.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stood there, looking at her like he wanted to say something more, something important. But she wasn’t in the mood for whatever half-baked apology or explanation he thought would make up for everything.
She glared at him, daring him to argue, to push her any further.
Finally, with a slow nod, he turned and walked back to his truck. She watched as he climbed in, the door shutting with a soft click. He didn’t look back at her as he drove away, the sound of his engine fading into the distance.
She stood there for a long moment, the toolbox in her hands, her chest tight with the familiar swirl of emotions she couldn’t seem to shake.
This was better. She’d handle this alone, just like she always had. She wasn’t that broken girl anymore, waiting for someone to come along and pick up the pieces. She didn’t need anyone—especially not Max Verstappen.
She set the toolbox down and crouched beside the truck, wrench in hand, ready to prove to herself, once again, that she could do it. That she didn’t need anyone else to fix what was broken.
part two
#f1#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen#max verstappen angst#red bull f1#red bull racing#formula one x you#formula one x oc#formula one#formula 1#f1 drivers#f1 tumblr#angst#bull rider au
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hello, i saw your post about how people should not censor out or analyse Jimmy for the fear that it’d look like excusing his actions, and honestly i agree. Particularly, what you said stood out to me, I think I will remember it from here on:
“Trying to constantly make out the fact that rapists are faceless monsters that have never been people completely ignores the fact that most of them are people we know and people we care about.”
ngl does kinda make me teary, very based take I haven’t seen anyone make yet. I’m a CSA and incest survivor, it’s easy to say rapists are horrible people and should die, but it’s more complex than that, especially if you grew up with them and care about them.
I wanted to share that post so bad, but I’m a coward reblogging hot takes in this fandom. Just know I screenshotted that post for personal keepings because it was so based.
There’s also one interpretation of Anya that I haven’t seen yet: the non-angry. It is understandable that people may feel empowerment drawing Anya killing Jimmy. My interpretation of her (because I’m projecting hard lmao), she may not be angry or killing Jimmy in her mind. “I don’t want revenge, I just want peace” type of thing. My version of Anya is just someone who doesn’t seek revenge towards Jimmy or berating Curly for not doing her justice; just someone who wants safety, a peace of mind. It’s kinda weird when I see art of Anya lowkey guiltripping a post-crash Curly, it just feels off. Anya doesn’t seem the kind to be vengeful anyway.
Sometimes I think something’s wrong with me for not feeling angry at my abusers just as others seem to be, but I remind myself that responses to trauma can be varying. Nothing’s wrong with the revenge interpretations, more power to those who feel empowered by it, but I would like to see the non-angry interpretation someday, especially on a soft-hearted character like Anya.
Hi Anon! Thank you so much for your question! And more importantly, from one survivor to another, I know more than most about how it feels to have someone you trusted or someone you were supposed to trust have them go and do something as awful as rape or assault, and it's true because that happens a lot. It's a part of grooming victims, so constantly trying to make out these people as faceless monsters who emerge to only do bad is detrimental to the fact that they can, will be and are the people you hold closest sometimes.
And I'm honestly just as teary-eyed thinking about how that resonates with people because it's a very uncomfortable truth that not a lot of people want to reckon with or even understand and completely ignore. I was much like you when it came to opinions like this, "fandom discourse" as people may say, and I was terrified of reblogging it or even making a suggestion towards it in fear of it being a bad take or one that doesn't even make sense, but after years of writing and reading, it's helped me a ton to grasp themes, nuance, metaphors- the like. That's why I post my own analysis: because I know and understand how much it means to have someone speak on such an overlooked thing. When you don't have someone doing that, or anyone to even bounce your ideas off of, you start to feel like you're stretching it or simply going mad.
I actually really, really dislike the interpretation that Anya is angry, resentful or has any revenge towards Curly, or that she has to be this, hysterical mad woman sent out to kill or hurt Jimmy. I don't believe she's either of this. Anya deserves peace, and I think it's extremely important to understand just how similar she is to Curly.
They're both victims to the same man, they both believe in the best of people (although to their own detriment in a way) they want to find peace, and fulfilment in their career and life. They're so alike in such delicate and intimate ways, that trying to constantly paint Curly as this great, horrible oppressor over her does way more harm than good.
I've mentioned in a couple of posts now that Curly's good heart and his kindness aren't inherently a bad thing, and that's because it isn't a bad thing. It was because Jimmy was so ready to abuse him every time he showed "weakness" and the fact that Pony Express probably had already been exploiting it for a very long time, that made It as catastrophic as it was. And that's not his fault, that's not Anya's either.
Curly’s biggest weakness is his forgiving nature. We all talk about how Anya is a victim of Jimmy, and she absolutely is, but so is Curly. His first immediate response Jimmy's reaction to Anya announcing her pregnancy is met with immense fear and anxiety with the added soundtrack of what could be equivalent to the sound of Curly's heart racing.
He is beyond terrified, and when he does finally get to Jimmy, he immediately fawns and freezes. He makes absolutely no mention of Anya or anyone else because all that mattered in that panicked situation was easing Jimmy down and resolving the situation. Curly was and has been a victim of Jimmy's abuse for a very long time on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario which devolved into physical abuse very quickly once Jimmy got his chance. It is also true that Curly had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain but he failed due to bias towards his abusers, and his kind and forgiving nature of simply wanting to see the good in Jimmy, which is a manifest of his trauma and being a victim, also definitely something that Jimmy himself has instilled into Curly.
And like you say, it is perfectly fine to interpret her this way, but it feels very... out of character. This is the same character that so reverently believes that our worst moments don't make us monsters, and I don't think it's insane to apply this sentiment to Curly too, because his worst moment was simply being too forgiving to someone who deserved it the least- which is its own trauma response.
Again, so sorry for the long response, I've been sitting on this ask for a while simply because I wanted to answer the best I could, and I have a lot of feelings about Curly and Anya and how they're reflections of each other in being victims. Thank you so much for sending in an ask! ╰(*´︶`*)╯
#mouthwashing jimmy#mouthwashing curly#mouthwashing#mouthwashing anya#curly mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#anon
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"dont ask me that" from yours and "i dont even know if any of that was real" from my own. one where lewis overheard a conversation between reader n her brother/family after his breakup with her. in which the breakup broke and changed her so much shes become a different person who just doesnt believe shes worthy for love anymore. and it hurts her so much that she cant even believe that any of her happy moments with lewis was real, maybe it was just a game for him. angst and pleasee sfw
Asshole Lewis incoming. He does try to make things a bit better in the end though.
Also, this is only the second time I write from his perspective, and it's hard ngl.
"dont ask me that" and "i dont even know if any of that was real"
The cacophony of the paddock was a familiar background noise as Lewis weaved through the throng of team personnel and sponsors; a practiced smile plastered on his face. Yet, the usual thrill of pre-race anticipation was muted. All he craved was solitude, anywhere he could escape the prying eyes of the media.
He ducked into a secluded corner; a sliver of shade offered by a towering hospitality suite. Quietness for a few seconds, only to be instantly replaced by a gut-punch of surprise. Y/n. She was just on the other side of the wall of tires, face illuminated by the glow of her phone, a serious expression etched on her features.
He should've known retreating wouldn't guarantee escape. And the sight of her, so unexpected, made him suddenly regret his decision and long for the fans and media.
But he couldn't help eavesdropping. It wasn't intentional, not at first. Her voice was laced with a vulnerability he had only witnessed once before. The other voice on the conversation was her brother, he gathered, and his tone was laced with concern.
“You sound exhausted, Y/n,” the man's voice cutting deep into the silence. “Seriously, you need to take a break. The team won’t crumble without you”
Y/n sighed, the sound so different from the girl he remembered. “I’m fine, busy season. That’s all.”
“Is it just the work, or…” He trailed off, the question hanging heavy.
“Don't ask me that,” Y/n cut him off, her voice cracking slightly, and Lewis winced. That wasn't the Y/n he knew. The bubbly, optimistic girl who'd lit up a room with her smile.
Lewis felt a pang of guilt. He knew exactly who she was trying to avoid mentioning. The one who'd left without a real goodbye, the one who'd taken a piece of her with him.
“You know I can't help you if you don't talk about it,” her brother continued gently.
“There’s nothing to talk about” Y/n said, a hint of defiance creeping in. “It’s over. And honestly, maybe I’m glad it is. I don't even know if any of that was real for him.” The anger in her voice barely masked the underlying hurt.
The air grew thick, suffocating. His blood turned to ice. The weight of his actions, the cowardly way he'd ended things before they could get too serious, slammed into him. He'd been the one afraid. Afraid to let himself care, afraid to risk another heartbreak. He'd ended things abruptly, afraid of getting too attached, afraid of the very thing Y/n was now questioning – how real their connection had been.
“Focus on your career, then,” her brother said. “It’s the one thing that won't let you down.”
“Yeah,” Y/n agreed, her voice distant. “At least I can trust that.”
A few days later, a bouquet of lilies arrived at Y/n's desk. Nestled amidst the pristine white blooms was a small card. The note was short, filled with a remorse he couldn't express in words:
"Y/n,
Those moments were real, to me. I never meant to led you on but I was too afraid to admit I was letting myself get too close. I hope you find someone who’s unapologetic about his feelings. You deserve the world.
Lewis."
______________________________________________________________
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The Fair
↝a/n: well this was heart wrenching. ☹️ Why did I decide to write this? I hurt my own feelings with this one, guys.
↝pairing:Daryl Dixon x reader
↝warning: angst, death, season 9 events, Alpha + whispers, the spikes, Daryl never getting his happy ending, it's a bit gruesome ngl, crying, fighting, torture, getting shot, stabbing, self-loathing (Daryl ☹️), more death, not proofread
|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||
↝⎙ 6.24.24
Daryl Dixon masterlist
The early morning sun shone across the town of Alexandria, although not doing much for how the fall chill nipped at any skin showing.
Daryl glanced up from his spot on the porch, after hearing the door open. You stepped out, face scrunching when the smell of nicotine hit your nose. Daryl simply took in your appearance. Freshly showered, clean clothes, and wet hair knotted into a different style than usual. He took a final puff of the cigarette, before flicking it somewhere off the porch.
As you stepped forward, his hand motioned to your hair, "I tried a different braid. I think it's called a fishtail, I'm not sure though. Needed to practice so I could do something different for the fair." You shrugged, moving to take a seat beside him on the rickety porch steps. His hand raised, feeling the bumps of the braid.
He knew you were excited for the fair, wanting to get out of the walls of Alexandria, and not to do a supply run. You need this; time with friends who feel more like family every day.
Daryl dropped your hair, looking around at the other houses. They were quiet, due to everyone still being asleep. If Daryl hadn't stayed the night, you would probably still be in bed. But you woke up to Daryl, who hadn't slept a wink, due to his stress levels. The whole whisperer thing had him on edge, and it only got worse when Lydia came into the picture. Daryl had been just fine only caring for the people he kept close to him, people who he had known for years. But then came Lydia, who was just a kid. He had needed out; out of Hilltop where Lydia and Henry were. You were his safe space, somewhere he knew he could always go to.
Feeling weight being added to his shoulder, he turned, listening as you whispered into the crisp morning air, almost like talking normally would wake everyone, or disturb the peaceful space of the porch. "She's a good kid. She just doesn't know any better. Alpha, her own mother only taught her survival. It's not Lydia's fault, you know that. Give her time."
"Might not have time." He couldn't help but grumble. He knew you were right, Lydia is a kid. She only knows survival. To an extent, Daryl could relate to her. You lifted your head, looking over his face,
"Maybe, but I have a strong hunch that you have enough time to go wash the stench off of you." Your nose scrunched again, more animated than before.
Daryl rolled his eyes before standing. You watched him as he walked to the door, flipping you off before the door shut behind him. A heavy sigh exited your lips when you knew he was gone.
It had been a little over two days since you last saw Daryl. It's not like you were worried. He could hold his own. Atleast, he could before people who wore the dead's faces were among everyone.
That might have you on edge. Or it might be the fact that he had the thing that Alpha wanted, making him become an even bigger target.
Your fingers divided your hair, twisting it into the same braid from before. Your mind was elsewhere, hands moving without a second thought.
The house that you occupied in Alexandria was quiet. Too quiet. You had grown comfortable with the usual silence, since Daryl had left in search of Rick.
The house you once shared turned into yours, with Daryl only visiting. He never stayed for long. Maybe it was the memories, or something that you had no knowledge of. Either way, you weren't going to push him.
Men like Daryl, once they're pushed too far, they leave. It's like their fight or flight goes off. You weren't one to push.
When Daryl and the little gorup found Lydia, Daryl had to escape for the night, going straight to the familiar house. He had told you everything about the Whisperers and Lydia, how They had killed Jesus. Although her group had killed someone who you could rely on, you pitied Lydia. The moment between you two was short-lived when morning came. After he had taken a shower, he was on his way back. Your time together wasn't much, but it was something. Given the circumstances, it was enough for both of you.
A knock at your door had your trailing thoughts stop, along with your hands. You were quick to tie the braid up, before moving to the door. Daryl stood, shoulders sunk in, along with the bags under his eyes, blood coating his hands. Your eyes met, relief, from seeing him mixed with the concern from seeing the dried blood, ran through your back.
Daryl stood against the kitchen sink, scrubbing his hands together, watching as the water turned red before flowing down the drain. "Henry's hurt." Was the first thing he had uttered since you opened the door, letting him in.
You perked up from where you were perched against the counter, having been watching his movements. "How bad?" He shook his head, letting you know it wasn't life or death, without saying a word.
"Here was closer to get him stitched up. Lydia's with us."
Your eyes traveled over his face, looking for any sign of how he felt about that, and maybe even a hint of how much shit you were all in.
"She's a kid." He sighed, turning the water off as he used your same words from before.
You nodded, hoping he knew that he didn't have to explain himself to you. You trusted him and his instinct.
Now night time, you walked with Daryl and his little group as they got ready to leave. Aaron insisted on walking with you, staying with Daryl as you were in step with Henry and Lydia.
You tried to ask questions that were easy for her to answer, questions that didn't revolve around how she had grown up. Questions that made her feel human, not just a piece in the game of survival.
As your conversation drew to an end, you listened in to Aaron and Daryl, " 'Member way back when I told you, you'd make a great father?" Your eyes traveled to the gravel under you. "You got to skip the exploding diapers part, but I was right."
Henry and Lydia tried to contain their own little conversations, hiding their smiles and blushing from the other. Just two teenagers acting as normal as two teenagers could in the broken world.
Daryl grumbled, "A lot has changed." You felt eyes boring into your back but didn't look. You smiled as you felt Dog rub against your legs, begging for attention. Would you and Daryl be able to be happy in a world like this?
"I stand before you today at the start of a new tomorrow. A tomorrow made possible by the sacrifices of many over the years." After a long ride to the kingdom, you stood amongst the crowd, watching as Ezekiel stood on the balcony, giving one of his infamous speeches.
"Among them, a man whose mission was to build community and strengthen the bonds between us. A man who had to destroy the very thing that connected us in order to save us. It took far too long to fulfill the promise of what Rick Grimes and his son, Carl, envisioned, the same promise Paul Rovia, better known to most as "Jesus", believed in when he brought us all together those many years ago. We always will be. We fought our way back to each other. We have grown. The crossing over the river may be gone, but we have rebuilt a bridge, nonetheless. Today is proof we can unite, not against a common enemy, but for the common good. So eat, drink, and be merry...'cause we got a lotta lost time to make up for."
Jerry stepped forward, a hug grin on his face, "Let the First Annual Inter-Community Reunification Fair begin!"
"Jerry!"
Jerry swung around, looking up at the King.
"We changed that."
"For reals? F. A. I. R. Fair?"
Ezekiel sighed, leaning over the railing to stare down, "It's too many-nevermind. Let the Fair of New Beginnings begin!"
Applause broke out through the crowd, doves being released into the air.
Tara, who stood beside you, nudged your shoulder, directing your attention to the gate of the Kingdom. The gates opened, revealing Michonne- who was set on not coming to the fair- with Judith, Daryl, Connie, Henry, and Lydia in tow.
Your feet moved before you even thought about it, and you were in front of Daryl before you knew it. He opened his arms, welcoming the warmth of your arms around him.
Sure, you had seen him not that long ago, but being apart from him became even scarier over the week. Daryl swayed from side to side, before you pulled away slightly.
Carol came over when you two had fully broken apart, bringing her best friend into her arms.
You smiled, watching the two. After she teased him, she watched as you moved back under his arm, laughing when your lips collided with his cheek, watching Daryl grow shy, his ears turning a pink hue.
"C'mon, I heard there's a fair or something happening." You winked at Ezekiel, as he joined in on watching the two of you, throwing his arm around Carol.
It only took about 15 minutes before the fun was cut short.
"You just got here." you sighed, utterly frustrated. You couldn't have one day that was slightly normal. Somebody always had to be a threat. It just happens to be Alpha's group.
"Hilltop's in danger."
"I know,” You huffed, kicking the asphalt under your feet, stopping when Daryl halted, reaching down to pet Dog's head. "I just think you deserve to have fun too. Or at least let me go with you."
He instantly shook his head, standing at his full height. His eyes slightly squinted as he looked at you, "'T's too dangerous, you know that."
"Exactly. You need more people and you know i'm a good shot." You cracked a smile, trying to ease the tension. Daryl looked away, hiding his slight amusement. "At Least be safe." Your voice was serious, almost threatening. Unwinding your arms, letting them fall to your sides, as he finally looked back. "I mean it, Dixon." He puffed air out, before bringing you into a side hug. You two stood by the gate, not caring as people walked past, trying to get ready to leave with Daryl.
The hug was warm- comforting, too bad you don't get the luxury often. "You too." His gruff voice was muffled in your hair, followed by a dry kiss on your forehead. "Can you take care of Dog for me?" He pulled back, already knowing your answer.
You only got a single nod in before Carol walked over, an apologetic smile on her face about the whole thing; having to interrupt to hint that it was time to go and having to cut your time together short.
Saddiq grunted as Michonne rushed over to his pitiful body. His tired eyes reluctantly raised to look at the people following behind her. As he saw Daryl, the pain felt fresh, like all the wounds were pulled open and dirt was shoved into them. He shook his head, trying to get the picture of your last moment out of his head. Your screams of agony rang in his head. What you made him promise rang even louder. He could only cough when the makeshift gag was ripped from his mouth, waiting as Michonne cut his hands free. "What happened?" Michonne asked.
Saddiq could only point, words dying on his tongue. "I-I..."He stumbled with his feet as much as his words. Michonne held most of his body weight as he tried leading them to the hill.
Michonne's face dropped in horror, as they walked closer, close enough to realize exactly what was in front of them, close enough to identify the heads on the spikes.
All it took was for the wind to pick up, causing the braid to sway in the wind, for Daryl to feel the world stop on its axis. He could only watch as your mouth moved, biting and nipping at the air like a feral animal.
Something that would haunt him forever, the hunger for human flesh taking over the one person he couldn't live without. As you began to let out a growl, he had to turn his head, looking anywhere. He couldn't take the sight, feeling his stomach churn.
You were just in his arms, smiling at him, joking around, wanting to spend the time at the fair with him.
His eyes caught a head of blond hair, his body moving before he could think twice. "No! No!" His hands attached themselves to Carol's shoulders, frantically trying to conceal the gruesome picture before them that would surely give him nightmares, if he was even able to sleep. "Just look at me." His voice broke, but continued to repeat himself.
He watched as her lips pursed, before they began trembling, feeling his own emotions breaking through the comfort-others-before-yourself facade.
His body slowly collapsed with hers, his hold on her not faltering. If he held her tight enough, he might be able to feel the warmth you always radiated in his arms.
Maybe it was selfish to try to find comfort of his own while he was comforting her, but he couldn't help himself. Who was going to comfort him? You?
Daryl wasn't one to cry much, but he felt his eyes begin to burn. Before either of them knew it, their tears mixed together on Daryl's clothes as his grip tightened even more.
"I was there. I was taken with the others. And I saw...I was supposed to die with them. I was ready to." Saddiq stood on the podium, looking out at the crowd of mixed communities, all of which had lost someone dear to them. "Then, Alpha whispered in my ear, "Tell them." Something hit me and everything went black. ANd when I woke up, I was alone." The image of you, tears and blood dried on your face as you laid lifeless. "What happened was evil."
Daryl stood in the very back of the crowd, arms crossed. His own thoughts ran wild, so many 'what if's. What if he had stayed? What if he had let you go with him? What if, what if, what if... Daryl tuned out the rest of the speech, only zoning back in when he felt a shaky hand on his shoulder.
"Y/n..." Saddiq did everything in his power to not let his voice shake, but it was useless. He forced himself to keep eye contact, feeling like he at least owed that, even if his eyes were glossy and his nerves were shot. Daryl had to know. He had to know Saddiq was honest and kept his word for you. "She fought. Hard." The shaky man shook his head.
-flashback-
Siddiq looked around, at the old barn, at the people who stood around wearing the dead’s faces, at his friends and family kneeled down, gagged and tied up.
You stared at the people standing, a fire behind your eyes, that Saddiq had never seen before. He couldn’t recall you even blinking.
As Saddiq watched for you to blink at least once, your eyes shifted from the person you were staring down, to behind them.
It was only a split second before the person you had been staring at was hit in the back of the head.
Ozzy, Alek, and DJ yelled as they swung at each and every masked person. You weren’t sure who untied you, but you didn't have time to see. You were on your feet, punching the closest whisperer to you, picking up the knife that had fallen out of their hands.
Everything turned into a massacre.
You stabbed and swung and stabbed some more. Hearing a yell, you swung around on your feet, grabbing the person holding Enid down, before you grabbed by the back of their shirt, your hands moving fast and with force as the knife punctured the chest repeatedly.
Blinded by rage, you moved on adrenaline.
Large hands grabbed your shoulders, yanking you off of the dead body. You could only watch as a new group of Whispers amerged, and charged at what was left of your group.
Alpha stood in front of you, inspecting you. She moved her hand to your hair, her grin making your blood boil. “Beautiful hair. Shame I have to keep it on your head.” The image of her flashed in your head. The blonde hair, of which you now knew wasn’t real, or wasn’t her actual hair. The thought of her cutting it off of someone made you sick.
She tsked, turning when she saw one of her own push someone into the dirt, their knife raised to strike.
“Stop.” All eyes, including your own, were watching the scene play out. Alpha’s eyes scanned the small barn, bodies littering the ground. “They’re the last two.”
The hands tightened on your arms, but you weren't about to show weakness, not over a few bruises being made. One hand moved to hold you still, as another brought a blade to your neck.
Your nostrils flared, watching as Alpha dragged Saddiq right in front of you, although it didn’t take much force with how his body ached, before she held a knife to his throat too.
“What do you think; should we let them decide on who should die?” Alpha’s words were directed to the man behind you.
Your eyes caught sight of Tara, who laid limp on the ground, blood dripping from her mouth. Clenching your jaw, you looked past Saddiq, straight into Alpha’s soul, or lack thereof, anyway. “Now," Alpha pointed at you, “You’re Daryl’s. I Watched you this morning.” You felt the grip on you tighten even more at the mention of Daryl’s name. “You’re loved by everyone- is he?”
She shifted her crazed eyes to the back of Saddiq’s head. When she didn’t get an answer, she put pressure on the knife, drawing blood.
“Fine!” you croaked, “Fine, kill me. Please, he-he’s important. More than me. Please.”
You turned your attention to the man holding you, “Daryl, he said he beat your ass. Told me all about it. You want to hurt him back, right?” You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but you just hoped they would take it out on you, not Daryl or Saddiq.
Beta growled, his breath becoming erratic, as he looked at Alpha for any signal. He could make one quick move and break your neck, but you knew Alpha wanted you to suffer. She wouldn’t let him have all the fun.
It had to be you. Saddiq had a baby on the way. Rosita had told you, and made you promise to keep it on the down low.
There was a long moment of silence, only the angry hot breath fanning over your head, before you were thrown to the ground, hands tied behind your back again. Alpha made everyone leave, dragging Beta out as he shook in anger, ready to pounce.
When the two were out of earshot, you stared Saddiq down. He began shaking his head, “You can’t-”
“Yes. Yes, I can, Saddiq. Rosita needs you.” The baby needs you, especially in this world. “You have to tell Daryl that none of this was his fault. I know him, he’s going to blame himself and pull away.”
You licked your lips, feeling the dryness and small cracks in the skin. Maybe it was selfish to ask that of him, but it was the only thing you could think of in the moment. You didn’t want your last moments to be thinking of how Daryl will pull away, like he always did when he lost someone. He wouldn’t have you to help him out of it. “Tell him I wouldn't blame him for anything that happened tonight. Please, Saddiq. Please promise me. Just…make sure he’s not so hard on himself. Please-”
A gunshot rang out, followed by your screams. You fell onto your side, blood oozing from the wound on your shoulder. Saddiq’s head swung to where the bullet had come from, Alpha walking back in, handing the gun to Beta as he followed her. Whatever conversation they had had outside left Alpha fuming.
Another scream ripped through your throat when Alpha brought her foot up, putting weight on your open wound. “Why are you so willing to die for him?” She seethed.
“‘Cause that’s what you do for family, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Angry tears welled in your eyes as you stared up at her from the weird angle.
Your next words were directed to Saddiq, as if you knew what was going to happen next. “ Tell Daryl I love him.”
It all happened so quick. Alpha leaned down, her other hand holding a knife as it dragged across the soft skin of your neck. Your hands fought to move to the blood flowing out of your neck, but were bound behind you. Your mouth moved like a fish out of water, until blood coated the inside of your mouth, painting your teeth red.
Saddiq watched the life drain from your eyes, his brain blank. He felt numb. Alpha walked back over to him, leaning down to whisper in his ear. Before he knew it, everything went black.
“-She wanted you to know that she loved you. I could tell she did. I’m sorry it's not her standing in front of you.” Daryl didn’t reply, much like how he hadn’t uttered a word since Saddiq began talking about you, about your last moment. He walked away, leaving a teary-eyed Saddiq.
The wind was chilly as Daryl and Lydia walked up the hill to where Daryl felt the word stop. The spikes still stood, a reminder that that was Alpha’s territory now.
Darl looked away from Lydia as she kneeled in front of the spike, where Henry’s head had been. He let her have a moment.
“She’s just a kid.” Your voice rang out in his head, a reminder that she was a kid, dealing with the loss of someone who she cared for and who cared for her. Sounds familiar.
His eyes caught sight of the familiar spike, glaring at it with all the hatred in his heart. Blood had soaked in and dried to the wood. Your blood.
He hated the world even more. He hated Alpha, Beta, the fucking whisperers, and the wanted to hate you for being so selfless, but he couldnt get himself to. Most of all, he hated himself for going against your last wish. The guilt would eat him from the inside out and he would let it.
He felt like he deserved it.
•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•
•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]
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