#i jumped to set and i landed on one foot

[winterzz7]

the good thing about being hypermobile is that i can land on one foot and roll my ankle and be absolutely fine afterward

[gojorgeous]

"business or pleasure?"

pairing: gojo x fem!reader summary: the gojo clan decides it’s time to secure an heir… and you’re the lucky woman selected for the job… content: HEAVY breeding, arranged marriage, language, praise, dacryphilia, p->v, fingering, mating press, a lil’ blood (if you squint), pet names, implied multiple rounds, gojo just generally being a menace, no established relationship, reader and gojo literally just met, reader is literally there for the purpose of getting pregnant, positive pregnancy test at the end, ideas of women as baby incubators :x, consent king gojo. wc: 3.7k a/n: I HAVE RETURNED!!! Hey!!!!!! Long time no see, babes. I was looking at my account and I haven’t posted a fic in *cough* TWO YEARS. There is simply no way that’s real 😭 Anyway, I’ve returned with something slightly different: A Gojo fic. You’re welcome. Mwah. Also, please send messages I miss y'all. happy new year bbs. and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

It’s only your third time in Japan. The first had been to visit family friends when you were eight, the second for a girls’ trip after you graduated college. You liked it. Tokyo was bright and busy and full of shops and things to do. The countryside always offered beauty and peace. But this third time was different. No shopping, no temples, no amusement parks. You were here for business, not pleasure. 

You run a finger along the edge of a mahogany bookshelf. Your feet are killing you, a flick of your ankles tossing your heels across the room. Your nose wrinkles when you land on a particular title. The Art of War? Interesting choice… You scan the other books, and your brows rise when you find a strange combination of academics, young adult, manga, and high fantasy? A multi-genre reader, then…

You absentmindedly rub at the arch of your foot, pushing out the ache as best you can. A day so full of stress has left you weary. Your mother hadn’t stopped hovering until the moment you’d escaped into your car, a new husband on your arm. 

You sigh. You could still hear the shower running along with said husband humming loudly to a tune you didn’t recognize. At least your groom wasn’t shy. 

A glance toward the bed has your brows raising. Were those… squishmallows? One looked like a shark, the other like a… sushi? You press your lips together, avoiding a laugh he would surely hear. You make your way to the mattress, sighing when you finally get to sit. You pull the sushi into your arms, hugging the pillow to your chest, but it no longer seemed so funny anymore. You had bigger things to think about. Your legs press together in a mix of anticipation and anxiety. All the way from America you’d come to marry the Gojo heir. It had been a rushed arrangement. Apparently, the Gojo clan had finally put their foot down and decided their heir should finally get to the business of making another heir. There’d been a search far and wide for the best match and somehow, they’d settled on you. An accomplished sorcerer yourself and abilities in your blood that only strengthened those of the Gojo line, you’d been an suitable pick. It didn’t hurt that you were young, healthy, and (upon a trip to a renowned fertility clinic) proven to be very fertile. 

Your parents had been oh-so eager to accept the Gojo clan’s proposition. The Gojo heir’s power hadn’t been matched in nearly 400 years. Any and every family would jump at the opportunity to be tied to them, especially through marriage and heirs. You were surprised you’d been chosen considering all of the options there must have been. 

Satoru seemed… fine, you thought. You hadn’t had much time to talk with him privately. The first time you’d met had been on a phone call with both of your sets of parents present and the next had been at the altar. At one point in the night he’d asked a waiter to refill your wine glass and he’d been a rather good dancer. Other than that, you’d been pulled apart at all odds and ends until you’d come back here: his apartment. 

You’d expected something a little more lavish for your wedding night, especially considering the spectacle that your wedding had been. Ice sculptures, thousand dollar bouquets, and diamond encrusted wedding rings had turned to an elegantly decorated bachelor pad. A glance around revealed a space that was obviously lived in, with odd mixes of $10,000 dollar chairs and… squishmallows.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, eyes peeling over the half-moons of your nails and the heavy gems that now sit on the fourth finger of your left hand. They are a weight you feel the pressure of. A pressure to live up to expectations, to produce a much-desired product. 

A door opens down the hall and you realize the pounding of water and the lilting of a hum has ceased. Your husband is done with his shower. 

A few seconds later he reveals himself, prancing down the hallway and into his bedroom like it’s just another Tuesday and not his wedding night. A plush blue towel is slung low around his waist and from the rivulets of water running all over his body you judge that he hadn’t even taken the time to properly dry off. Not that you mind.

You’d known your new husband was beautiful but you’d never imagined he’d be so… so goddamn seductive. 

Washboard abs, toned arms, sculpted back, wet hair and icy eyes… he was the image of a god. 

“Sorry for making you wait. I really needed that.” 

Gojo prods at his temples, eyes squished shut in what looked like a moment of pain. You’d heard of this problem from the clan. He hadn’t worn his blindfold all day for the sake of the wedding. It was no wonder the effects were catching up with him. 

“No problem.” 

A small smile reveals just a few blinding teeth and you could swear your vision went out for just a moment. 

“You hungry?” 

You arch a brow. The man had eaten two full plates and practically half the cake not yet an hour ago. 

“Can’t say that I am.” 

“Hm.” 

He nods and you watch as he plucks a stray candy off his bedside table, tossing the wrapper to the floor. 

“So, uh-” You watch the butterscotch bulge in his cheek. “You really wanna do this?” 

You glance at your half-naked husband who is practically a walking temptation. You take a breath. He’s standing so casually, as if this is a normal conversation to be having and not something life-altering.

“You don’t?” you ask.

All that gets you is a shit-eating grin. 

“Never said that.” 

You can’t help the smirk that crawls across your lips. 

“Well, we might as well get it over with, no?” 

Another flash of pearly whites. 

“Get it over with, hm?” 

You miss his meaning, pulling at a loose thread on the bedspread. 

“It shouldn’t take much effort. I’m on so many fertility meds you could probably spit on me and I’d get pregnant.” 

You pick at the thread a little more, biting your lip when you realize it’s one of those strands that’s infinite. 

“That so?” 

You jolt when a speck of wetness lands on your cheek. A quick glance reveals a fuzzy blue towel far too close for comfort. A half-naked Gojo is a whole lot closer than he’d been just seconds ago. How is he so quiet? 

Blue eyes bore into yours, water dripping down white strands and onto your skin. He’s so damn tall. He has your neck craned all the way back just to meet his gaze. 

“Yes.” You swallow. “It was part of our prenup.”

Dazed. You’re absolutely dazed. 

“Well, we probably shouldn’t risk breaking a legally binding contract, hm?” 

Closer. He’s coming closer. Too close. 

You lean back, scooting yourself up the bed in a feeble attempt to get a little more space, your emotional support sushi tumbling to the floor. He follows right after you. 

Something primal thrusts through your veins at the sight of a man, sopping wet and smirking, crawling after you, some mix of teasing and pure drive hidden in his eyes. Gojo doesn’t stop, not until you’re nearly pressed against the headboard and his arms cage your waist. Close. Too close. 

You’d thought he would have dried a bit by now, but water still slicks off his skin and hair, showering you lightly. You shiver and your husband notices. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and you get a breath of the sweetness of butterscotch and mint toothpaste. 

“You say stop,” he breathes, “and we stop.”

He leans closer, so close you can smell the eucalyptus and myrrh of his shampoo, the musk of his body wash, the candied sweetness of his breath. Those piercing blue eyes flit to your lips and back up again. 

A breath, a pause. 

“Stop?” he asks. His eyes are piercing.

You shake your head. 

“Go.” 

Lips, teeth, tongue. All of it hits you at once. For a moment you’re too shocked to respond, but then his weight is leaning on you and his hand is on your waist and his mouth tastes like candy and- and then you’re kissing him back. 

A heavy hand digs into the flesh of your waist and your hands find a patch of damp white hair to tangle in. 

He tastes good- too good and when a deft hand guides you down to the mattress you start to think that this whole baby-making business might not be so bad after all. 

Teeth knock, tongues touch, and you are on the edge of what would have been a particularly throaty moan when he pulls away. 

His attention shifts elsewhere, kisses trailing down your neck and hands straying to your hips.

“Have you-” a kiss to your collarbone. “Done this before?”

You freeze.

“What?” 

Gojo raises his head a bit and the most irritating kind of smirk plays on his lips. 

“Don’t know- thought maybe this was a virgin for your super rich husband kinda thing?” 

You shove his head back down.

“Shut up.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates against your skin. 

“Okay, sp no need to go slow then…” 

His lips continue their assault, brushing and grazing over your skin until it lifts with goosebumps. Your breaths come a little faster, a little heavier and you gasp when his hand curls beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Oh? What’s this?” His fingers brush against the garter that rests at the top of your thighs. Your cheeks heat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had you agreed to wear the damn thing? You reach down, hoping to quickly rid yourself of the scrap of fabric before you can become oven more mortified. You’re just about to clamp down on it when Gojo catches your wrist. “Ah, ah. No need to be so hasty.” Your hand is easily pinned down to the mattress and, for some reason, you don’t fight it. 

Your breath catches when your skirt lifts only for Gojo to dive beneath it without a second thought. You feel his teeth grazing across the skin of your thigh. 

“Gojo-” you breathe, squirming. 

His head reappears suddenly, another one of those mischievous grins gracing his lips. “Satoru when I’m about to be inside you, baby.” 

He disappears again and you gasp and wiggle when you feel his tongue laving across the inside of your thigh. 

His teeth graze you again, but this time they clamp down on the garter and you feel it slowly sliding across your skin, down, down, past your knee and eventually to your ankle where Satoru finally yanks it past your foot with a final tug. 

You stare at him, wide eyed and lustful. That had to have been one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. 

Satoru plucks the garter from his teeth and dangles it in front of his eyes. It’s a white, lacy little thing that matches the shade of his hair. He’s grinning again when he slides it onto his wrist like a bracelet– no, like a trophy.

“Thanks for the present.” He’s still grinning, still staring, his fingers still fiddling with the hem of your skirt. “How attached are you to this dress?” he asks. 

You blink, swallowing nervously, unable to break away from his gaze. It’s too strong, too mesmerizing. “Not… attached at all,” you manage. It’s true. Somebody else picked it out, and you’ve only been wearing it for about an hour– and it’s not like you can’t just buy a new one now with access to the Gojo bank accounts. 

His grin somehow grows even wider. “Good girl. Just what I wanted to hear.” 

There’s a splitting sound and suddenly your dress is tearing straight down the middle. It’s slow and controlled and you wonder if he’s practiced at this or if his strength is just that regulated. You find yourself hoping it’s the latter. 

The dress is ripped from your skin and you see it land somewhere across the room. You hear something shatter along with a thud, but Satoru seems anything but worried, so you ignore it. 

You’re bare in just your undergarments, a lacy white set that you’re now half proud of and half embarrassed by. 

Satoru whistles and his hands settle on your waist. “Damn, baby. Why’d you keep all this hidden for so long?” 

You scoff, your confidence surging. You reach for him, grabbing a scruff of hair at the back of his neck and pulling him close. “You’re the one taking your sweet time, Toru.” 

The sound of the nickname on your lips makes him shiver and you smirk triumphantly.

“Hmm…” is all he says as his fingers trail lower, lower, lower, until they’re dipping beneath the band of your panties. It’s somewhere between tortuous and ticklish and you squirm. “Ah, ah. Hold still for me, now.” He presses one hand to the valley between your breasts, holding you down as his other hand continues lower. When his thumb finds the wet spot on your panties and presses down your back arches and your breath escapes. 

He chuckles. “Little needy, aren’t you?” His thumb moves a little higher, grazing your clit, and you whimper. 

With one deft movement he unclasps your bra, tossing it aside. You register for just a moment that your chest is now completely bare, but soon enough his mouth is closing around your nipple and all else is forgotten. 

“S-Satoru!” you whisper. Your voice feels hoarse, even if it has no reason to be. 

His thumb continues its assault between your thighs. “So wet already, baby…” He sounds ecstatic. The grin on his lips makes you whine. “Let’s get these out of the way…” Before you know it, you hear more tearing and then cold air hits your cunt. You cry out when Satoru’s thumb returns to its ministrations, but this time there’s no cloth barrier to dull the sensation. Your hands push out and your nails curl into his bare shoulders. You need him closer.

“Satoru…” you breathe. “Kiss me…” 

That shit-eating grin returns, but he follows your command. “As my wife wishes.” 

When lips meet yours it’s hot and messy. Your nails claw down his back and you’re sure you’re leaving marks. If he minds, he certainly doesn’t show it.

His thumb continues at your clit as a finger prods at your entrance. When he slides in slowly, you gasp. He murmurs something about you being so sensitive, and proceeds to quickly find that gummy spot inside you that makes you see stars. Before you know it he’s adding a second finger and soon your hips are rocking against his thrusts, meeting his pace as you chase your high. 

“God, you’re so wet.” he whispers against your lips. True to his word, he’s been kissing you, never letting up in his attack on your mouth. “Bet you taste like fucking heaven.”

You whine, your hips stuttering against his hand. “G-Gonna… I’m–” 

He grins again, and pulls away just enough to meet your gaze. “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me.” Your eyes flutter shut, your head rolling back– “Nuh, uh. Keep those eyes open. Wanna see every second.” 

Your breaths flutter and you whimper loudly, the sound bouncing on the walls. You’re not sure why you listen, why you fight to keep your eyes open, locked on him, but you do. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll pull away and leave you wanting… or maybe you just want to please him.

You feel your muscles clenching in your stomach, hear the sloppy sounds of Satoru’s fingers thrusting in and out of you, see the gleeful anticipation in his eyes. His thumb rubs a particularly delicious circle around your clit and you feel yourself thrown over the edge. 

You can’t help but be loud. You hold his gaze the whole time, whimpering and whining his name as you gush all over his sheets. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching, holding him inside, desperate to be filled. You hear him panting above you, like watching has somehow taken his breath away. 

“Good girl,” he whispers and you feel a second wave of pleasure ripple through you. 

You feel weak by the time your orgasm leaves you. Your muscles are limp and your cunt is so sensitive that you flinch when Satoru removes his fingers. He brushes a tear from the corner of your eye and you watch as he brings his sopping fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices clean. He moans, a deep throaty sound, like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. You watch his eyes roll back in his skull, watch his throat bob as he swallows. Your lips part at the sight. 

His fingers fall from his mouth with a pop and his grin returns.

“Just like I thought,” he says. “Heaven.” 

He’s back on you in a second, licking a stripe from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. His hips slot between your own and a strong hands hook around the backs of your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest. You whimper. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so completely and utterly exposed. 

“On to the main event, yeah?” The twinkle in his eye has your heart racing even faster. His fingers catch the towel that is somehow still wrapped snugly around his waist. With one tug, it’s gone and your mouth is watering in anticipation. 

Your jaw drops lower, if it’s even possible. He’s… huge. Long and pretty with veins that you know are going to rub just right. His tip is pink and leaking, ready. 

“Satoru, it won’t–” 

His lips connect to your pulse, licking and sucking when you feel him prodding at your entrance. “It’ll fit, baby.” 

He slides himself through your folds, gathering your juices and torturing you every time his tip bumps your clit. By the time he’s finally lining himself up, you’re practically begging. 

The first push is heaven. You’re both moaning when he prods past that first tight ring of muscle and you’re gasping, crying out his name and clawing at his back. He keeps pushing, filling you inch by inch until he’s pressed snugly against your cervix. You thank him aloud when he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, to the feeling of being filled to the absolute brim. He only kisses the tears from your cheeks. 

The first thrust has you seeing stars, little white spots clouding your vision. The second has your nails embedding in his skin hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it has him moving faster, grunting in your ear and whimpering your name.

“Sooo… f-ahh-ucking t-tight…” he whispers. 

A hand slides between your sweaty bodies, a thumb rubbing familiar circles against your swollen clit. You cry out, clenching down like a vice. 

“F-Fuck, princess.” 

His thrusts rock your body and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the air. You feel that familiar coil begin to form, to heat at your core. Your muscles tighten and your legs begin to shake. 

“Atta girl. Cum on my cock, baby.” 

You whimper at the praise, at the incessant rubbing of your clit, at the relentless pounding of your cervix. It’s all too much, too good. 

“Satoru…” you cry. Your legs burn and ache. Satoru has your knees pressed so tightly to your chest you’re afraid something might snap. It only adds to the tension beginning to unravel at your center. You feel as if you’re burning, as if you’re going to snap– and then you do. Heat unravels beneath your skin and your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Your legs tremble and your toes curl and you vaguely hear your husband whispering a mix of curses and praises in your ear. You’re still lost in the sensation when he starts groaning and you feel him flooding your insides with shallow thrusts close to your cervix, filling you with rope after rope of his hot cum. You’re still panting when you finally regain your mind. Satoru’s still on top of you, completely limp with his head buried in your neck. You curl a hand into his hair, silently holding him close. That was some of the most mind-blowing sex you’ve ever had. You smirk. Yeah, maybe this baby-making business wasn’t going to be so bad. 

You shiver when you feel Satoru licking and sucking at your skin. There’s a tenderness in the action that makes you pull him closer. He hasn’t even pulled out yet, but you can already feel him hardening inside you, ready for another round. 

“Think it stuck?” he asks. You smirk and answer with a breathy laugh. 

“Don’t know.” Silently, you think that there’s no way it didn’t. You can feel his cum dripping down your thighs and there’s just so much of it.

He lifts his head, eyes bright and sparkling even in the dim light. He grins. “Guess we’d better make sure.” 

~

With the rate at which Satoru fucks you it’s no surprise when you get two positive little pink lines a few week later. You tell Satoru by unceremoniously dropping the test in front of him while he’s drinking his morning coffee. He only grins and kisses you before he bends you over the counter, whispering something about needing to show you how appreciative he is when he slides inside you. The next morning you wake to Satoru’s lips on yours, a brand new credit card, and a new car in the driveway, fitted with all of the newest safety features (only the best for his wife and baby, he says). You sigh and smile when you see it. Yeah, this whole baby-making business definitely wasn’t so bad.

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[writtenbymoonflower]

Heyoo! How are you dove? Can I request more roommate!poly!marauders x shy!reader pleasee! Your fics have a special place in my heart

roommate!marauders is my drug <3 thanks for requesting hunny! fem!reader x roommate!marauders

cw: thunderstorms, poor boundaries with roommates

659 words

You didn’t realize the sheer volume of the downpour outside until the chatter of your roommates in the sitting room couldn’t be discerned over the pounding of raindrops reverberating off your window panes. You weren’t complaining, though. You were cozied under a multitude of soft blankets and fluffy pillows, your reading lamp emanating a soft glow onto the pages of your book, the smell of rain wafting into your room. 

That was until your lights slowly flickered a few times, before shutting off completely, leaving you in pitch black darkness. This was shortly followed by a shrill scream, then a crash, making your drop your novel. You untangled yourself from your covers, setting your book back on the bed, before venturing out. You held your hands in front of you as you stumbled around in the dark. You felt around for your doorknob, swinging the door open. You didn’t make it far before you tumbled into a tall torso and lanky limbs. 

“Shit, dove! Sorry! I didn’t see you there.” Remus blindly reached a hand out in an attempt to steady both of you. 

“It’s okay! I think that only raccoons can see in these conditions.” You attempted to joke. He rewarded you with a small chuckle. 

“Are you okay, though? You didn’t fall or anything?” You could hear the worry laced in his tone. It made your heart weirdly warm to know that he was concerned for you. 

“No, I’m all good.” You reassured. “Are you okay? I heard a crash.” You stepped further into the living area, carefully watching your footing. Remus chuckled again. 

“You wanna tell her what happened, lads?” His tone filled with unusual mirth. You could vaguely make out the forms of the other two boys in the dark. You heard Sirius grumble, though it was James who spoke up, much more timidly than typical.

“Well uh- we didn’t expect for the lights to go out, you know? Pads got a little spooked and screamed.” You could feel Remus shaking beside you with nearly-silent laughter. “And uh- Sirius spooked me, I guess. And then I dropped a plate.” He trailed off. Remus was now laughing loudly at his friends’ expense, but you could tell that there was no malice given or received between the boys, with them also joining in. You weren’t laughing, though. You resisted the urge to flounder over to James and check him for injuries. 

“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” 

“No we’re okay, babydoll. It’s in the kitchen, we’ll worry about it later. Come over here, though. You’re gonna trip.” Sirius’ hand circled your arm gently, pulling you towards him and James. You weren’t sure what you were in risk of tripping over, but you let him maneuver you as he liked. You were startled by the sound of sparking, making you jump back into Sirius’ chest. 

“Sorry, lovely. Candles.” James set the soft, flickering light onto the coffee table. Remus appeared right beside you again. 

“You’re all jumpy, dove. Are you sure you’re okay?” Remus cooed as James lit another candle. You jumped again as another hand grazed your back. 

“Y-yeah.” The dark was very unsettling. Purple light flashed through the house, quickly followed by a loud boom! 

“EEK!” You weren’t the one who made the sound, but you were pulled onto the settee, tumbling on top of Sirius’ frame, face landing in his inky curls. 

“Christ, Pads.” James flopped down next to your tangled forms. He pulled you off to settle you between him and the high-strung boy. “You’re gonna kill her before the lease is up.” Another wave of thunder clapped through the house, this time Sirius only flinched. James pulled you closer to him in response. 

“Oi! I can’t help it. You know storms make me flighty.” He argued, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you back against him. “It’s okay though, I’ve got this dolly to keep me safe.”

[bluekidchaos]

Silco x Reader

i have nothing coherent to say but i've been rotating this man inside my mind like a microwave dish for a week straight and need it out of my system, so here is huh, sucking silco off while he smokes

Pairing: Silco x Reader

Warnings: 18+, blowjobs (turns into face fucking??), pet names (pet, love, dear), hinted dacryphilia, dirty talking (mix of praise and degradation), boot humping (huh ?? what ? who said that, guys i think there's a ghost here), no use of pronouns but female parts mentioned

Words: 1.5k

Can also be read on AO3!

Back to masterlist.

silco coming back to the last drop after a meeting with the other chem-barons notably frustrated, huffing and muttering under his breath about "imbeciles and morons"

as he sits himself down in the big leather chair behind the desk trying to light a cigar but the lighter won't work in his angry grasp, getting him on edge even more until he throws it across the room in a fit of rage

you sigh as you get up from your position on the couch, so far seemingly unnoticed by the man, and pick up the lighter

making your way over to the desk silco finally looks up at you, his eyes softening a little when they land on you, you perch at the edge of it and hold the lighter up to him

he puts the cigar up to the flickering light and takes a long drag before exhaling, already feeling more relaxed as he inhales the tobacco. silco leans back into his chair and takes another slow drag while looking you up and down closely

"bad meeting?" your foot coming up to rest in between his spread thighs on the chair, the question of what he needed from you unspoken but understood

he grunts in response, "bad week overall.." the hand not occupied with holding the cigar lands on your foot, stroking up and down the expanse of your calf giving you your answer

almost like it was instinct you slide down from the desk and down on your knees in front of him, now trapped between him and the desk

his hand comes down to stroke a stray strand of hair back behind your ear and you nuzzle your cheek into his warm palm

silco leans down in the chair to your level, nose almost touching yours, "how about you make me forget what a bad week it was, pet?" the heavy smoke envelopes your senses for a second before you jump into action

you start by slowly dragging your hands up his thighs, letting one hand graze over the bulge in his tight pants while the other comes up to unbutton them

silco raises his hips slightly off the chair to help you lower his pants and underpants for easier access while you grab his cock out of its confinement, giving it an experimental stroke you hear silco gasp above you

the hand left on your cheek moves around your head and tangles in your hair, his eyes never leaving yours as you finally lean forward and lick his entire length

when you reach his tip you stay there giving soft kitten licks, you make sure to keep eye contact with silco while doing it, you loved seeing his reaction while you pleased him

his grasp on your hair tightens a bit and he sucks in a sharp breath as your tongue flicks at his tip, you can tell he's about to chastise you for teasing him so before he can get a word out you take his full length into your mouth, well as much as you can at least

silco finally breaks the eye contact, throwing his head back with a grunt as you take him down your tight throat, "fuck, good pet"

the pet name makes your pussy throb and you can't help but to clench your thighs to try and create some friction

he lets you set the pace at first, bobbing your head at a comfortable pace while letting one hand stroke what doesn't fit in your mouth, you trace your tongue along the veins decorating his dick and give his tip a couple of flicks whenever you come up for air

the hand not occupied with helping your efforts travel up his shirt, letting it rest against his stomach, using your nails to scratch at him from time to time to aid the sensations and you can feel him shiver under your touch

silco is now completely relaxed in the chair, head leaned back and cigar in his unoccupied hand, inhaling and exhaling thick smoke, the almost indifference he shows you makes you even more turned on somehow

to anyone else, it would look like he's ignoring your efforts but you know him better, the hand clenched in your hair, the heavy breathing, and the few noises that escape him give away how this is really affecting him

you decide to tease him more, not going down fully this time, just keeping the tip in your mouth to suck on while your hand jerks him off lazily while looking up at him

silcos head snaps down to look at you, his eyes burning with desire and frustration, "now, now, pet.." he growls out at you, "let us not get lazy when you were doing such a good job before" he adjusts the grip on your hair to a makeshift ponytail before searching your eyes for consent

you give him a small nod and try to smile up at him but he presses your head down on him fully now, nose pressed into his pubes, and holds you there

he leans his head back again and lets out a low moan at the feeling of your throat constricting around him, he revels a bit in your small struggle, the feeling of one hand scratching his stomach and the other desperately clinging to his thigh before letting you up for air

when he finally pulls your head up you take a deep breath and cough, you try to blink the tears clouding your eyes away so you can meet his gaze

silco groans at the way you look up at him, lips red and swollen, tears running down your cheeks, but it's the way you smile up at him that has him throbbing for you

he pulls your head down again, this time setting a brutal pace that has you barely catching your breath and you can't stand it anymore, the ache between your thighs is getting too much and you need something, anything

you whimper around his cock, the vibrations send a jolt of electricity up his spine, you look up at him and try to make a pouty face, which considering your mouth is stuffed full of his cock is pretty hard

silco knows your every expression however and you get your point across either way, he chuckles at the desperation in your eyes, "hm, poor you, need something to soothe you? is my cock in your mouth not enough for you?" he mocks you

but he moves one of his legs between your legs and you feel yourself get wetter at the display, "there, there, pet, make yourself feel good while i use your throat as i please"

you can feel your cheeks heat up at his words, you can't believe this is happening but you're honestly too turned on to think about it for too long before you roll your hips against his boot

the feeling of finally getting some friction against your clit makes you moan around his cock and you roll your hips again and again and again before you've set a pace likewise to the one silco is guiding your head at

silco was already close but the vision of you brings him to the edge, eyes closed and tear-stained cheeks while you were humping his boot, your noises muffled around his dick but the vibrations are making him go crazy

you feel yourself getting closer to ecstasy with every roll of your hips, you're sure you've made a mess on his boot by now but you couldn't care less, all you could think about was dragging your tongue around silcos cock while his hips meet your face and humping his leg like an animal in heat

both of you could tell the other is close now, you hollow your cheeks around him and that's enough to bring him over the edge with a shout, emptying himself into your mouth and you try to swallow every drop of him but there's too much and it spills out and around his cock

the feeling of your mouth tightening even more as if that was possible makes silco tense and he pushes his leg into you more, putting unexpected pressure on your clit just as you made contact with him again and you feel yourself being pushed over the same edge, warmth spreading through your whole body as you ride out your orgasm

silco carefully lifts your head off of him after a little while and you take a deep breath again, you start coughing as some of his cum slides down to wrong pipe

he rubs and pats your back until you've calmed down and brings you up into his lap, letting you curl up against him as you both catch your breaths, "thank you dear, are you alright?"

you snuggle into him more as he brings his jacket over you as a makeshift blanket, you can feel soreness in your jaw and thighs creeping in but you were too tired to care right now, "hmm, sore, tired"

silco smile agaisnt your head before giving it a quick peck, "rest my love, i'll be here when you wake up to take care of you" and with the sound of his smooth voice whispering in your ear you finally fell asleep

[jamespotterismydaddy]

The Wolf's Betrothed

dark!aemond x niece!reader

summary: prepare to be kidnapped by your delulu uncle

A/N: this is based off a request that asked for non-con so this is the closest i've written to it but i still think it's dub-con??? idk pls lmk what you think

TW: MAJOR DUBCON, incest, smut, knife kink, blood kink,, breeding kink, forced marriage, murder

word count: 1,929

You feel content. Cregan Stark is a good, honourable man and he will make a fine husband, is what you continue to repeat in your head as your carriage makes its way to Winterfell. You travel without your family, being sent early to meet your husband to be and you’re nervous. You met few Northernmen on Dragonstone and you fear the cold, but you know it’s for the best. This alliance could be the thing that puts your mother on the throne. Though, as you get closer to your destination, a sense of dread begins to set in. 

That’s when you hear it, the beating of wings, shortly followed by screaming. The carriage comes to a halt so swift that you’re thrown from your seat.

“Princess!” One of your handmaidens exclaims as she helps you back up.

“I-I’m alright.” You say as you find your footing. You make your way to the door. “We must go.”

“Perhaps we should wait for the guards?” The other girl says nervously.

“They’re as good as dead.” You say as you throw open the door. Your men that are left, fight for their lives against the few green soldiers. They don’t need many when they have a dragon. You glance up to the sky and see her… Vhagar.

“Fuck.” You murmur as you hop to the ground, your handmaidens on your tail as you begin to run towards the forest.

You pant as you go, trying not to trip on your long skirts, snow filling your boots. You know you need a plan but the only weapon you have is a small dagger and you’ve never been a great talent in hand-to-hand combat.

You’re close to the treeline now, barely 200 yards away. You know Aemond won’t torch it if he thinks you’re in there. All you have to do is make it. To. The. Treeline.

But you don’t. It goes up in flames in front of you and you have to turn and shield your face from the heat. Your handmaiden, who was in a much less elaborate dress than you, made it further, and she goes up in flames with it. You turn, grabbing the hand of the other girl and begin to go south before you see three men waiting for you. You turn north and begin to run but you don’t make it far before Vhagar lands in front of you.

“No…” You breathe out as you backup, your handmaiden clinging to your arm. You know you’re caught now.

Two men catch up to you and grab you each by the shoulders, giving you no time to draw your dagger as Aemond descends his dragon.

“Dōna mandianna.” (sweet niece) He says as he approaches. “Sepār hae gevie hae nyke mōrī ūndan ao.” (just as beautiful as I last saw you) He tilts your chin up gently.

“Release my bride. You can do as you wish with that one.” He says to his guards as he glances at your handmaiden. The two men grab her.

“Princess, help me!” She cries out as she’s taken away.

“She’s no threat.” You say to your uncle, glaring up at him.

“My men deserve a reward.” He says offhandedly and you begin to wish she had died in the fire as well. You wish you died in the fire. His hand comes up to caress your face. “I have missed you.”

“I miss my brother.” You say with hate in your eyes.

“Hmm, an unfortunate circumstance.” He replies.

“Kinslayer.” You spit out at him.

He sighs and puts his hand on the small of your back. He is courteous with you, for now, as he leads you toward Vhagar. You let him, biding your time. He straps you in in front of him, his fingers gentle with you, as if you are the most precious thing he has ever laid his hands on.

No chance to jump then. You think to yourself, wishing you could’ve taken him with you once Vhagar was high enough to make the fall fatal.

You don’t speak to each other as he takes you closer to Winterfell. You look solemnly at the scorched land. It’s a pity to see, especially since it is the start of Spring. It should have been the start of new life, not the end of it. He holds his hand out to help you down the dragon and you accept it, glad that he chose not to make you grovel. You know he could. You know he’s not above such things. He keeps his hand on the small of your back as he leads you through the castle, the place crawling with Greens.

You arrive at Lord Stark’s chambers, Aemond letting you in. You’re slightly surprised when you don’t see Cregan but you think perhaps that your uncle is keeping him in the dungeons instead. “And what of my husband?” Aemond freezes when you use the word. 

“That cunt wasn’t your husband.” He says lowly.

“Wasn’t or isn’t?” You ask, not fully believing that he would kill the lord of Winterfell. You back up slightly. Aemond may be in front of the door but you wish to put some distance between you.

“I would not let them trap you with that mutt.” He says as he steps forward. You step back. “You deserve someone worthy of your status.”

“Aemond…” You breathe out, your eyes well with tears.

“It was always meant to be you and I. I’ll take care of you… I love you.” His eye gleams, his words full of possession.

You’re aware that you’ll only have this one chance so you reach for the sheathed dagger. You know you can’t kill him, but you can break him. You lift the blade to your throat in one quick motion but it’s too late, Aemond’s hand is on yours before you can break skin. He yanks the dagger from your hand and throws it to the side.

“Why would you do that!” He looks manic, frightened as he holds your wrists in his hands.

“Cregan!” You cry out as a last resort. You know it’s futile but it’s the only thing you can think of. “Cregan!”

Your uncle slams a hand over your mouth, hot rage in his eyes. “Stop screaming for him! He’s dead! I killed him.” His other hand falls to your waist. “If it is a husband you yearn for, I can fix that.” He takes the hand off your mouth to grab his own dagger.

“I don’t want any husband. I want him!” You slam your fists against Aemond’s chest.

“No you don’t!” He shouts back and he shifts behind you, pulling your back to his front, holding his dagger to you with one hand and your chin with the other. “It is that silly feminine loyalty. But don’t worry, it will be towards me soon enough.” 

He holds your face tightly and lifts the dagger to your lip, cutting ever so gently. Just enough to get a drip of blood. He lets you break yourself free and run to the door so he can slit his own lip. You yank on the door handle but it’s locked and before you can even turn, Aemond’s hand is in your hair, pulling your mouth towards his. The kiss is messy and bloody but by Old Valyrian standards, you are wed. Your uncle barely gives you a chance to come up for air as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You whimper slightly as he sucks on your lip, mixing your blood further. 

“You didn’t think I was going to bed you without making you my wife first, did you?” He says so softly, the kind look in his eyes misplaced. “I would never do that to you.”

“Please don’t.” You beg him.

“Why must you look so frightened? I only want to make love to you, to my bride.” He moves behind you, nimble fingers undoing your dress. “I don’t like it when you fight with me. I want us to be happy.” He tugs the gown down so you’re only in your shift. Just the sight of your ankles, your shoulders is enough for him to go crazy with lust. He can feel himself growing in his trousers the longer he looks at you. “My beautiful girl, ñuha ābrazȳrys.” (my bride) He coos, mesmerized by you.

You’re pulled in for another kiss and you nip at his lip. He groans as he parts his mouth from yours.

“Be gentle with me and I shall do the same with you.” You know it’s a warning, a warning that you should most definitely heed. “We will have more time to play later, darling but for now, we must consummate immediately.” He says as he leads you to the bed by your hand. He places a palm on your tummy. “I shall pray to the Gods’ that my seed takes tonight.”

“Of course, husband.” Your voice is emotionless but he still seems pleased by your words.

He smiles and then lifts off your shift. His cold fingertips trace over your breasts and collarbones, and down to your navel before he hooks them on your small clothes and pulls them down. “Your beauty is unmatched, my love” He says as his eye runs over your body. “Lie down on the bed for me.” He watches you walk and obey as he undoes his trousers. Your husband doesn’t take any of his clothes off, only pulling his cock out and beginning to pump it as he gazes at you. You’re nervous as he is incredibly well-endowed but you are inclined to believe that he won’t be rough with you.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He says as he climbs between your legs, noticing your fear. “It won’t hurt for long.” He takes a moment to rub his cockhead over your cunt, using his precum as lube before slipping in.

You gasp at the intrusion, the feeling of your maidenhead breaking as he defiles you but he doesn’t move at first, only peppering kisses across your face that are almost… comforting?

“I’m going to move now.” He says and begins to slide in and out, causing you to wince.

“Not yet, it hurts…” You say to him but he just runs his thumb over the cut on your lip.

“You can take it, darling.” He replies as he thrusts in and out of you. He licks the blood off his thumb before using it to rub your clit. You hate how you enjoy the feeling. “Good girl.” He says as he begins to pick up speed. He rubs harder, clearly far too close to cumming himself and not wanting to be the only one. “I love you.”

You turn your head away as he says it and he begins to fuck into you harder, pinching your clit now and causing you to scream. If he can’t make you love him, then he can just make you cum. 

As soon as he feels you begin to squeeze your walls around him, he finishes, sheathing his cock as deep as he can inside of you in hopes of breeding you.

“My perfect wife.” He admires as he runs his fingers through your hair. He presses a kiss to your lips before resting his head on your breasts so he can listen to your heartbeat.

You lie there, confused. Part of you wants him to fuck you again, the other part hopes he falls asleep so you can drive his own dagger through his heart.

Oh the woes of newlyweds.

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 7 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey

[hushedlover]

Can i request a Mike Schmidt who actually got good sleep but his baby sitter/new found crush looks like she was hit by a train and he’s like “just sleep here” and his own thoughts come in with “take my bed.” (Which she tries to deny)

The sound of the front door closing and keys landing in the dish on the foyer table woke you up. You peeked your head over the back of the couch to look at Mike. He’s peeling the security vest off but for the first time ever he looks like he’s slept a full night.

“Hey. Abby still sleeping?” He calls over his shoulder.

“Yeah. Too early for her to be up,” you call back. Something in your voice sets off alarms for Mike. He glances back at you and sees you staring off into space, unfocused eyes blankly settled on the back of the couch. There are deep bags under your eyes and your hair is a hot mess, looking like you’d been tugging at it all night.

“You okay?” He calls tentatively. That gains your attention. Your eyes snap up and focus on his face. Immediately you send him an unconvincing smile as you stand from the couch. You begin gathering your things, keys and bag, while heading for your shoes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just- just tired. You seem well rested though,” the smile you shoot him this time is genuine, a softer version of your usual one. “I’m glad. You need the sleep.”

You drop your keys as you’re getting your shoes on, cursing and bending to grab them. Some part of the action through you off balance, and the next thing you know your butt is firmly planted on the hard wood floor. A dull pulsing pain emanates from the point of contact with the surface and you drown, looking down at the floor accusingly.

“Okay, come here,” Mike grunts as he slides his hands under your armpits. With a quiet groan from both of you, he hoists you to your feet. You stumble and regain your balance before looking up at Mike.

“Thanks,” you mutter as heat floods your cheeks.

“No problem,” he says, his brows furrowed slightly. You go to reach for your keys that are seated in his hand, but Mike pulls them back. “Listen, you’re exhausted. I don’t really want you driving home right now. Why don’t you sleep here?”

More heat rises in your face and you shift on your feet nervously. His face is close, almost too close to yours, his brown eyes demanding your focus and attention. His light scruff is distracting, so are his lips, and you almost get lost in them before remembering to respond.

“Oh no, Mike. I’m fine, really. I wouldn’t want to intrude, plus I’m sure Abby will want to watch TV and I don’t want to take over your couch,” You stutter and trip over your words as you try to rush them out.

“What do you-? Oh! No, no I meant like,” you swear you can see red tint his cheeks as his eyes dart away from yours for a second. “I meant sleep in my bed.”

Both of you go silent and stare at each other with wide eyes for a second. You distantly wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest. Or maybe see your pulse jumping in your neck. Suddenly, Mike snaps out of the stupor.

“Not like that! I mean- No, I um, I mean I’m not gonna be using it since I’ll be up and I just washed my sheets and stuff so-“

You choose to save him from his own suffering.

“I would actually really appreciate that.” Just on cue, you yawn softly. “I think I’d be a hazard on the road and I don’t want that to be on your conscious.”

You send him a sheepish smile, hoping he detects the humor in your tone. He must, because his face lights up in a grin. You squeak in surprise when Mike suddenly squats in front of you, gently grabbing your foot and slipping off the one shoe you managed to get on. He stands and helps you shrug off your jacket.

You distantly register the sound of your keys crashing into the tray as Mike leads you down the hall and towards his room. His hand on your elbow is a warm comfort as he guides you to sit on the mattress. He tugs the blanket loose and gently pushes you down. You blink up at him sleepily as he pulls the blanket up to your chin.

“Stay as long as you need. Really. You do so much for us. Just… rest. Yeah?” He smiles down at you and right now you could swear he’s an angel. You feel your lips quirk up out of reflex and your hand reaches up, but you stop yourself before you can brush his cheek.

“Thanks,” you whisper softly. It’s hard to keep your eyes open now. The pillows, the sheets, the blanket, everything smells like Mike and it’s making you delirious. It’s a weird comfort, like Mike is actually holding you in his arms. The smell gets stronger and you want to open your heavy eyes to see why, but the feel of slightly chapped lips against your forehead tells you why.

That’s the last thing you register before sleep drags you into its clutches.

[trulyumai]

care for me?

pairing: Messmer the Impaler / Wife! Reader

synopsis: exhausted, you try to stay up for the arrival of your husband. only he doesn’t come back the same man.

wk: 1.1k

warnings: mention of death, violence. mostly fluff

A/N: EJ come, water! (no seriously enjoy Messmer lovers) this was a request, thank you for the suggestion anonymous!

Enjoy!

It was so cold.

Dreary winds busted across the little home, invading the shack with freezing temperatures that nipped at one’s bones.

The girl of said residence could not battle such a feat alone; so she lay bundled up in many cottons and wools that cascaded her form just in front of the fire pit.

With her teeth clanking together, she drew in a particular large blanket that seemed to swallow her whole being.

She was trying— attempting, to stay away for her husbands arrival.

“He— he will be here soon,” giving herself words of comfort, little fingers smoothed over the skin of her arm.

Back and forth they went, seeking any form of warmth they could gather.

But, she was getting tired. It had been hours since his departure.

So, with a defeated huff, her lashes fluttered.

Eyes now shut, her form slumped against the wooden boards.

Maybe she could greet her doting husband upon the fields of dreams

Everything went wrong.

His mother… his own mother…

A cry, weak and low left Messmers lips as he shuddered in pain—agony.

Instead of telling the citizens, the people what had been done of the shadow lands of between, his mother lied.

She blamed the knight of flames for his part in the destruction. Blamed him for the plans, the deaths, the innocent lives gone—

“O, Mother!” Just outside the home, Messmer sat. His head tilted towards the ground in shame as his long nails twisted and pulled at his cheeks.

Blood seeped down almost instantly, yet he couldn’t find the energy to care.

Tears streamed down his face in waves, meeting the bloody patches along the way.

His nails tore and scratched at any skin that came in contact, only making his wounds worse.

“Does thou… not perceive mine own consciousness?” A yellowed Iris glanced forth upon the house.

His home.

Only now realizing he made it back, a shudder ran through him.

“Wife,” he whimpered. “Please… forgive me.”

Only the sound of wind greeted his ears, as his now bloody and weakened form pushed against the stone. Slowly making his way to the wooden door merely a foot away.

The flowers lay dormant, the fields around him lay bare and dead. Much like the lands he left behind his wake.

With bodies, upon bodies—

“Augh! No more!” With a slam, the door receded against his strength, banging out against the wall behind.

The ball of blankets jumped up in surprise, a head peeked out from the warm egg shaped cocoon the girl placed herself in.

Messmers eyes softened upon such a sight, he couldn’t help but let out a little smile seeing the girls attempt to warm herself.

“little wife,” he called. Already on his way to the girl sitting about the floor.

“husband!” she cried, reaching out her hands to signal for the man’s embrace.

He gladly accepted, sweeping her into his arms and cradling her head soothingly.

“I’ve missed you,” little sweet kisses dotted across his neck, to his jaw and up the face.

“What— what happened?” Her lips met with a red and open wound, to which the flame winced at.

He had forgotten about such a display.

“It’s nothing, dear wife,” big palms rubbed along her sides. “an accident, nothing more.”

Fear began to corrode his mind, it crumbled and tore at the seams of sanity.

People will come for him.

For his betrayal, his slaughter.

His wife— gods what has he done?

A hand pulled him back, it was soft and careful as it cradled the man’s left cheek.

“It’s okay,”

She didn’t know what was wrong, only that something was amiss.

For the man was troubled, that much was clear.

“I… listen closely, my heart.” Setting her upon the ground he looked down at her form, so much smaller than his own.

His back had to bend uncomfortably to meet her gaze but he ignored such pain.

Big palms surrounded her face, angling her eyes to meet with his.

“We need to go, does thou need anything before our leave?”

“Leave?” She shrieked. “This is our home… why would we leave so—“

“Please, please wife understand me so. I cannot dote on such a matter yet but please.” A desperate yellowed eye looked upon both of hers

“I will protect thee. With mine own blade, with mine own body. But we need to leave, most ardently”

Confused and somewhat scared, the girl could do nothing but nod her head. Even when he placed a mirage of kisses upon her, she did nothing but look upon the man.

Almost as if to study him— understand him.

Soon, she was lightly pushed into the direction of their room.

“Grab what thy can carry and need.” Messmer had said.

So she did.

She grabbed her favorite blanket, the one that had been with her since birth.

She grabbed her jewelry box that lay full of gifts from the knight.

And finally, she grabbed the last vials of homemade oils. Lavender scented, which always seemed to calm her husband down whenever it graced her soft skin.

Seeing his wife’s hands full, Messmer acted. Gently picking her up, the objects shifted about as a bridal style posture was given upon her.

Head now bumping with his armor with every movement, she decided to speak.

“Are you alright, husband?”

This was an opening.

A pristine opportunity to tell her of his forthcomings.

Of his tidings with his mother.

Of the burning lands.

Even of the soon to be castle that will be there home for god knows how long.

Messmer only looked down, peacefully admiring his wife so.

“Everything will be fine, my wife. Thou can sleep while the travel begins.”

He was a coward. Biting down upon his cheeks blood ran across his tongue, to the back of his throat.

Past all the lies and short comings, two thing stay true; he adored his wife

and he would do anything to protect her.

[cybergirrll]

coming home

hamzah x reader (fluff)

hey guys!! this is my first little one shot on here (sorry it’s so short😮) i used to write for someone else but kinda stopped doing that a while ago. i love writing tho and i noticed the lack of hamzah fics soo here we are!! enjoooy

the soft sound of rain pattered on the dark windows as you slowly creaked open your apartment door. the living room was empty and quiet. hamzah’s cat red jumped off of the kitchen counter and trotted over to you, purring as she rubbed against your legs. you squatted down to pet her, smiling softly.

the warm, diffused glow the few lamps in the living room emitted washed a sense of calmness over you, a relief from the bright fluorescent office lights you sat under all day. your head hurt from computer screens, deadlines, and annoying co workers. you just wanted to see your boyfriend.

“where’s your dad, huh?” you cooed softly to red, giving her one last pat before you stood up, placing your bag on the counter before making your way into the bedroom.

hamzah was sitting at his desk, his curls messy, sweater a grey-ish blue matching the light that reflected off of his glasses. his brow was furrowed, focused on the email he was typing, faint muffled music sounding from his headphones. you smirked, slowly creeping up behind him.

he nearly jumped out of his chair when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind, your laughter muffled against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt. “jesus,” he whispered, taking his headphones off.

“hi.”

“that scared me. i almost passed out.”

“don’t be dramatic.”

you glanced at his screen and realized he was in fact not writing an email, but grinding away on level 50 of some random typing game. “working hard on that?”

he chuckled, prying him off of you so he could spin his chair around, sitting you on his lap all in one swift motion. “yeah, i was gonna impress you with my awesome typing skills. i was bored, i missed you.” he smiled, brown eyes dark and sweet in the ambient lighting.

you gave him a quick kiss, a hand tangled in his curls as he spun the chair back around, facing his desk. blue jumped up onto the desk, a paw landing on the keyboard, unpausing the game and filling the type bar with a slew of jumbled letters. a big red x popped up on the screen, with an option to restart the level.

“are you kidding me…” hamzah groaned, picking up blue with one hand and giving him an angry kiss before setting him on the floor. you grinned, laying your head against his chest.

hamzah kissed your forehead. “how was your day?” his voice held a tone of sweet adoration to it now, slipping strands of your hair in between his fingers and watching as they slipped out of his grip and cascaded back onto your shoulder. he gently swept away your bangs so he could see your eyes better. “it was okay. stressful,” you mumbled, feeling safe and content.

“yeah? wanna talk about it?”

“not really, i just wanna be with you.”

“alright. yeah. that’s okay.”

hamzah smiled, still completely not over the fact you loved him, he didn’t think he would ever be.

rain torrented down on the window at a fast pace now, a pumpkin candle on the nightstand flickered and reflected onto the window, revealing the droplets of water against the dark night sky. red was asleep on the foot of the bed now as blue swatted at something invisible on the floor.

you felt completely at peace now that you were home.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 12,907 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: language, domestic violence and abusive relationship (reader and her partner—some description of minor injuries, threats, intimidation, verbal abuse, coercion, control), descriptions of injuries after infliction, violence, angsssst, happy ending

You glanced back over your shoulder. Daryl copied the action the next moment, checking to see how close the ragged looking group of walkers behind the two of you were. “We should probably take care of them before we get a real herd going,” you said, stepping over some brush. You loosened your knife in the sheath at your hip.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Prob’ly.” He started to raise his bow to his shoulder and revolved in place.

You fully withdrew your knife. You turned back too now, shoulder to shoulder with him. “Do you want the group in the front or in the back?” you asked, shaking your hair out of your eyes.

Daryl firmly planted the grip of his bow into his shoulder and fired at the walker in the lead. The bolt swooshed through the air and landed with a satisfying thunk in the head of the walker in the lead, just below the left eye. “I’ll take the front,” Daryl drawled.

You gave him an appreciative smile and nodded. “I thought you would.” You peeled off from him and quickly flanked the five or six walkers left in the front, ignoring their attention and slight changes of direction as they reached for you. You heard Daryl’s bolts hitting their marks and focused instead on the group at the back. You readied your knife in your hand, but stooped to pick up a large rock sitting on the soil surface. You threw it and struck the closest walker in the side of the head, and even throwing with your non-dominant hand, it was enough to drop it. Then you went to work with your knife, quickly dealing with all but one particularly large one.

You glanced toward Daryl and saw that he had set his bow down and pulled his own knife from its sheath. You returned your attention to the hulking mass of rotting flesh slowly limping toward you. “Ugh,” you groaned. “Got a ripe one over here!” you called out.

“Yeah, well, I got my own problems,” he shouted back. Daryl was staring at the last walker which appeared more like a bipedal tumbleweed. The entire upper body and head was entangled in layers of blackberry brambles. Daryl was backing up as it advanced as he tried to figure out exactly how to take it down.

He took another step back and that’s when it happened… Something tightened around his ankle and his foot was pulled out from under him. His back hit the ground hard, forcing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he was dangling upside down with the walker grappling toward him. His knife, dislodged from his hand by the fall, was shining on the leaf litter out of reach.

“Daryl!” you screamed, seeing him hauled up in a rush of movement and dangling from a snare. “Shit!”

That brief moment looking away from the lumbering walker in front of you was enough for it to nearly reach you. When you looked back, all you could do was throw your hands up in an attempt to push it back, but the rotting skin slipped off and your fingers squelched into the decomposing flesh. With a gag of disgust, you jumped backwards and steadied yourself, glancing frantically at Daryl again. He was grappling with the brambly mass in front of him, dangling in front of it like a worm on a hook. “Hold on!” you screamed, returning your attention to your own adversary. You wound up and kicked it as hard as you could in the stomach. The heel of your boot sunk in but the rest of the sole connected with the sternum and the walker did tumble back and fall to the ground. You rushed it and plunged your knife into its head with a grunt of effort before frantically stumbling to your feet and racing to help Daryl.

He was now straining to keep the bramble-wrapped walker away from his head and neck. You vaulted over the still corpses on the ground and raced toward him. Without a thought, you seized the tangled mess of briars in both hands and whirled it away from him, throwing it to the ground. You slammed your boot down on the body, as close to the neck as you could, and then thrust your knife through the woody tangle and down into the skull. It twitched and fell still.

The quiet seemed somehow overwhelming now as you straightened, glancing at the gore on your hands and boots. You pulled a scrap of fabric out of your back pocket and wiped off your hands. Your chest was heaving and you tried to catch your breath as you turned back to Daryl, still hanging upside down, his face bright red and his wavy hair dangling down.

“A little help?” he growled.

You stomped over, exhausted from the fight, and leaned in close to him. “Please, tell me you’re clean,” you said, searching for any bites or scratches on the parts of him you could see. You actually clasped his face between your hands while he was hanging there and turned it side to side to check.

“Nah, ‘m good. Just a little banged up. Now, would ya get me down from this damn snare before I pass the fuck out?”

You straightened up again, relieved now that the danger had passed, and laughed at the sight of him. “You should see yourself right now,” you said, grinning.

“For fuck’s sake, would ya get me down?” he growled again.

“Down? No problem,” you said, spinning your knife in your hand.

“Wait—Dun—” He dropped with a thud onto his back as you cut the rope and the air left his lungs for the second time. Your pleased laughter was a soundtrack he’d accept despite the betrayal.

You dropped down to the dirt beside him, your chest still heaving with exertion. But you were smiling and then laughing still as he looked over at you and let out a small pained noise accompanied by an unamused look. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’re really alright though?” you asked, shuffling your boots in the litter and soil in an attempt to clean the gore off them. Daryl stared up at the canopy overhead from the flat of his back. The tree branches looked like dark fingers reaching toward the sky, silhouetted in the afternoon light. He didn’t respond so you leaned in over him. “Hmm?” you prodded him again. “You’re good?”

Your face appeared above his and you brushed some dirt from his cheek with a clean corner of the cloth from your pocket. And for the third time his breath left his lungs, but this time was much different. His eyes flickered between yours, studying their flecks of color and the ring around your pupil. Your hair hung forward, framing your face. His stomach somersaulted. “‘M good,” he finally managed. “Thanks for the save, by the way.”

“Of course,” you said, leaning back on your palms so he could sit up unobstructed.

“Ya alrigh’?” he drawled, glancing back over at you. He loosened and undid the snare around his ankle, discarding it.

“Me? All good.” But you held your palms out toward him and wiggled your fingers and he could see that your hands were actually quite cut up. “Just a bit scratched. From the blackberry briars he was tangled in.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “Mmm,” he hummed, reaching for his pack a short distance away. He dug inside until he found the little bag of first aid supplies that he kept stashed in the bottom. “We oughta clean those up. ‘Specially since ya were wrist deep in that slimey one just before.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, your nose wrinkling with disgust. “Don’t remind me.”

Daryl pulled out some alcohol pads and hastily tore open the packaging. “C’mon. Lemme see.”

You held your hands out, resting them palms up on your knees. Daryl gulped nervously (hoping you didn’t notice) and took each one in his in turn, rubbing the alcohol pads over your palms and fingers. You couldn’t be sure if the goosebumps rising on your skin were from his steady, gentle touch or the chill left behind as the disinfectant evaporated. You tried hard to reason it away. “Thanks,” you whispered as he finished. He only nodded.

“Getting caught in your own snare. That’s a new one,” you commented, smiling at him again.

He scoffed. “That ain’t one’a mine,” he said, grabbing the discarded line and holding it up. “Wasn’t set to catch small game neither. Somebody prob’ly put it up for the dead.”

You laughed lightly again. “They would have had a hell of a surprise if they were around to see their catch.”

“Mm,” he hummed, tossing it aside again. “Looks old. Surprised it still worked.”

You climbed to your feet, dusting off your pants. “We should probably get back. It’ll be getting dark soon.” You offered him your hand to pull him to his feet, but he didn’t take it and shot you a look.

“Yer all cut up,” he scolded you. “The hell ya thinkin’?”

You glanced at your hand again and shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Daryl shouldered his bow and bag, collected his spent bolts, and nodded. “Let’s head back to my bike. I think we’ve done enough for today.”

“Two rabbits and a few squirrels,” you said, stepping into stride behind him. “It’s hardly enough to feed even two families.” He could hear the disappointment in your voice.

He glanced over at you and gave you a small smile. “S’enough to feed a few, which is better than nothin’.”

You sighed. “I know. I was just hoping for a deer. Something substantial,” you sighed.

“I know,” Daryl said, glancing over at you. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

You walked in silence for a few minutes, heading back toward Daryl’s motorcycle. When you reached it, he strapped down his bow and pack and climbed on. He seized the helmet sitting on the back before you could and handed it to you, giving you a pointed look. “I still can’t get over that you make me wear a helmet and you don’t wear one,” you said, buckling the chin strap. He hummed some kind of non-committal response and you shook your head at him. He leaned forward and you slipped in behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle securely. You tried to ignore the heat that suddenly pooled in the middle of your chest and spilled outwards. How many times had you ridden on Daryl’s bike at this point? And yet every time—without fail—you felt yourself blushing as soon as you settled down behind him.

He cleared his throat and turned slightly to the side so you could hear him better. You leaned forward to listen, pressing your body against his, and despite the layers and layers of clothing between the two of you he felt like his skin was on fire. “Ready?” he drawled.

“Ready,” you said. Your cheek pressed into the back of his shoulder for just a moment as you adjusted your grip. “Go fast,” you sighed, and he could hear the smile in your voice.

He let out a low, gravelly laugh that you adored. “You got it, boss,” he said, and he fired the motorcycle to life.

The ride home flew by as you bathed in the wind and the exhilaration of flying down the road, and your arms around Daryl didn’t hurt either, though you tried hard not to acknowledge that to yourself... Soon, the gate was visible in the distance and Daryl slowed and weaved his way through the defensive roadblocks and around the crumbling potholes in the asphalt. Suddenly, he felt you stiffen behind him as he rolled up to the gate.

“Oh, shit. Oh, fuck…” he heard you murmur behind him.

He slowed to a stop at the gate. “What’s the matter?” he asked over the idling engine.

Your hand departed from his side and landed on his arm. “Look to the right,” you said, your voice thin. “That’s—that’s the truck they took on the run. Something must have happened. They weren’t supposed to be back for three more days,” you said. Your heart was hammering and you felt like you couldn’t get enough air. Daryl thought he could feel a slight shake in your fingers as they left his arm. “I need to get home. He’s going to be pissed,” you breathed. “Shit.”

Daryl felt his own body stiffening now too. His knuckles went white on the handlebar grips. The gate rolled back to admit the two of you and Daryl drove the bike inside. The rattle was loud and clanged in your head as it shut behind you.

“Stop here. Please,” you said urgently, almost as soon as the motorcycle had cleared the path of the gate. Your eyes darted around inside, expecting to see him standing somewhere watching for you.

“What? Ya said ya need to get home?” Daryl drawled, but you were already climbing off his bike, nearly falling as you hurried and the toe of your boot caught on the seat. Daryl flipped out the kickstand and climbed off too, watching you trying to undo the chin strap of your helmet, but your fingers were shaking. “Y/N—I can take ya right to yer house.” He moved around the bike and stopped in front of you, taking over undoing the strap on the helmet for you. You stood with your chin tilted up, and he could see the worry in your eyes. You looked nearly frantic.

“Thank you,” you murmured after he final got it undone, pulling the helmet from your head and shaking your hair out. “Me pulling up behind you on your motorcycle is not going to help the situation,” you said, holding the helmet out to him.

“Listen, if ya think he’s gonna give ya a hard time, maybe I should come with ya and—”

Your eyes were fearful and you shook your head. “No, Daryl—I appreciate it but that wouldn’t… I mean, he—I don’t think that would help either. I—I think it might make it worse. I’m sorry. I just—I have to go,” you said, already walking backwards away from him, your hands gripping the straps of your pack with white knuckles. “I’ll see you later, okay? Make sure Carl and Judith get fed with that game, alright?”

“Yeah. See ya,” he drawled, watching you turn and hurriedly jog down the sidewalk until he couldn’t see you anymore in the growing dusk. There was a hard pit in the bottom of his stomach, like he had swallowed stones. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself. He turned and strapped the helmet down on the back of his bike and climbed on again, riding it back to Aaron’s garage and quickly parking it. He pulled the game stringer and his gear off his bike and threw the tarp over it. His stomach was churning as he made the walk home alone.

The house was quiet with only a few lights on upstairs, but he found Carol seemingly waiting for him on the porch. She gave him a smile as he came up the steps. “Hi,” she greeted him. “How was it? Have a good day?”

He set the game down, slinging it over the porch railing. He nodded thoughtfully. “Alrigh’,” he said a little dully. “‘Til we got back.” He dug around in his pocket for a cigarette before he remembered that you’d stolen the pack earlier in the day and threw it out, telling him he needed to quit or you’d be burying him in an early grave. His teeth worried his bottom lip.

“What do you mean?” Carol asked, her bright tone diminished.

“We got back and saw that the truck they’d taken on the run was parked outside the gate. When she realized he’d be back and see that she wasn’t at home—” Daryl’s teeth ground together and the muscle in his jaw clenched. “She—she seemed scared. I mean, she was shakin’. She wouldn’t even lemme drive her back to her house and drop her off. Said it wouldn’t help the situation.”

Carol’s face was dark now, her mouth drawn in a thin line with the corners tugging down. “No. No, I don’t think that would have helped... Rosita and Glenn said the main bridge washed out. They couldn’t get to the community college. They came back until they can figure out a new route.”

Daryl leaned back against the railing and nodded. He gulped and shook his head, staring down at his boots and absently picking at a loose stitch on the sheath of his knife. “He’s such a fuckin’ asshole,” he growled, shaking his head. “I dun understand why she stays with that prick…”

Carol sighed and nodded. “They were together before everything fell apart. I think that’s part of it.”

“He treats her like shit,” Daryl spat. He nestled the side of his thumbnail in between his teeth and bit down until he tasted the earthy tang of copper.

Carol’s expression was pensive. “Daryl—I think—I think it’s worse than that,” she said softly. Daryl’s head snapped up as he hurriedly looked at her, his eyes locking with hers.

“What d’ya mean?” he growled. He had his own suspicions.

She didn’t say anything but held his gaze steadily.

Daryl’s hands clenched and unclenched in a fist. “Ya think he’s puttin’ his hands on her?”

“I really don’t know. Not for sure. He’s certainly abusive to her… emotionally, mentally. He’s a controlling prick. But—I still don’t know anything for certain. I’ve tried to find out, to pay attention but I’ve never seen anything to prove it.” She shook her head. “I have seen bruises on her. She always has a story. And in this world it isn’t exactly unexpected to be bruised up, right?”

“Bruises where?” Daryl growled, his eyes narrowed and piercing.

“Her shoulders. Her arms and wrists. Once, on her neck,” Carol said. “That’s just what I’ve been able to see from time to time. But she’s always had an excuse.”

“And yer just tellin’ me this now?” Daryl growled, fuming at the mere thought of how that asshole could have put those marks on you. “How long has this been?”

“I’ve had suspicions since—since the quarry,” she admitted. Daryl swore and paced a big circle around the porch before his eyes landed on her again.

“Ya shoulda fuckin’ said something!” he barked at her. “Does Rick know? Does anybody else know?” he demanded.

“Daryl, I don’t know anything,” she said gently. Carol did look guilty, but she remembered what it was like back with Ed… The cycle of abuse was like a narcotic you were unwillingly being dosed with and she had always tried to hide it too. “There have been lots of times where he most likely couldn’t have been physically hurting her because he would have been caught. When things have been close quarters, you know? At the quarry… on the road.” “Most likely,” Daryl repeated, nodding at her. “Most likely? And is that s’posed to make it better?”

“No. No… not at all,” she sighed. “We’ve all heard them arguing, heard how he talks to her, seen how toxic that relationship is.”

Daryl’s blue eyes seemed to blaze with some inner fire as he listened to Carol. “If he’s layin’ so much as a fuckin’ finger on her and I find out, I’mma fuckin’ kill him. I’m gonna drag him outta that house and beat him into the fuckin’ ground with my bare hands,” he growled. “I dun even care what happens to me. He's done."

Carol nodded. “I know. I know you would. And that’s part of the reason why I haven’t said anything before. But I also don’t know anything for certain.”

“Have ya asked her?”

Carol nodded. “I’ve tried, a few times, in a few different ways but—any hint of me trying to talk to her about that relationship and she may as well be running the other way. I mean, no one could have convinced me to leave Ed back then... The fear keeps you trapped there. Leaving doesn’t even feel like an option because it’s so unsafe. If he beats the shit out of you for not being home when he thinks you should be, what would he do if you tried to leave?”

“But she’s got people. She’s got—she’s us. She’s got me.” Daryl sighed and his shoulders slumped, some of the rage dissipating into a helplessness. “What do we do?” He ran his hand over his mouth and chin and straightened up. “What if he’s—what if somethin’ bad is happenin’ to her righ’ now? I told ya she was scared.” He straightened up. “I’mma go over there,” he said, determined. “I gotta check on her.”

Carol sighed. “Daryl, I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Why? Somebody should protect her!”

“It’s not that simple. Haven’t you noticed how he gets around you? He’s threatened by you, intimidated. Jealous. It makes it worse. Unless you’re prepared to break in the door and have this all out right now—”

“Well, maybe I am,” Daryl growled.

Carol shrugged. “That’s up to you. But if they are just arguing, if he’s not physically hurting her right now, you showing up there and reminding him who she was with all day could put her in even more danger.”

Daryl paced anxiously on the porch, rubbing his hand over his face thoughtfully. “Fuck,” he growled. “She dun deserve to be with that asshole. Her of all people… She—she deserves somethin’… better. She dun deserve that.”

Carol smiled at the softness on his face as he talked about you. “No. Neither did you. Neither did I. But life isn’t fair.”

Daryl froze and his eyes shut. His breath became shaky. When he spoke again, his voice broke. “Why? Why didn’t she tell me?” he asked, looking up at Carol. His expression was desperate.

“Did you tell anyone?” she asked him and she already knew the answer.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The house was dark as you crossed the porch and made your way to the front door, but you knew better than to think he was asleep. You drew in a shaky breath and your fingertips were trembling as you reached for the doorknob. It turned and you pushed in, trying to steel yourself for whatever was to come.

You’d barely made it inside onto the rug in the entryway when he kicked the door shut, forcing it out of your hand. You couldn’t help the gasp that left you. He locked it behind you and pointedly put on the security chain. You were sandwiched between him and a sealed exit and you could read his rage in the blackness of his eyes.

You still had your pack on you but he wrenched it off you, twisting one of your arms painfully when it caught in the strap. He threw it carelessly and it slid a good distance down the hallway. Before you could do anything, you were aware of his hand withdrawing your knife from its sheath at your hip. Your breath seemed to catch and crystallize painfully in your lungs as he turned the steel blade and it glinted in the low light.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growled, holding the point of the knife mere inches from the center of your breastbone. You had to regulate your breathing so it was shallower or you swore the tip would pierce into your skin. “I get back and the house is empty.” He wasn’t yelling at you, not yet, but this quiet tone felt maybe even more dangerous.

“I was just—out hunting,” you stammered, pressing yourself back into the wood of the door behind you, trying to gain a millimeter of space.

He kept the knife tickling at the cotton of your shirt and grabbed a fistful of your hair with the other hand, cruelly yanking your head back and down so your chin lifted and your neck was exposed. You felt some strands give way in his grip and tried not to cry out, but a whimper escaped your lips. “Then where’s the game? Huh? I don’t see a fucking rabbit or squirrel. Nothing.”

You could barely speak. “N—no luck,” you said.

He laughed a dry, perilous sounding laugh. “No surprise there. You are fucking useless,” he spat. “Who were you with?”

You stayed silent, your mind whirring. “No one. I went by myself, I swear.” You did your best to keep your voice steady.

You saw the knife glint again out of the corner of your eye and then felt the cool edge of the blade alight on your neck, just enough so he knew you could feel it. “You lying fucking whore. You think I didn’t ask around as soon as I realized you weren’t here? I leave for not even one day and you run off into the woods with that fucking redneck!” You could feel the heat of his breath and his spit landing on your skin. “Huh?!” he roared. “Answer me, bitch!”

You squeezed your eyes shut as he yelled into your ear, leaving behind a high-pitched ringing. Your whole body was shaking now. “I’m sorry,” you managed in a desperate, hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry. We were just hunting, I swear. We were just hunting! I would never—” Tears burned in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“What have I told you about him ? Huh?! We both know I can’t trust you to keep your fucking legs closed. I can’t believe this shit,” he growled. “I’m gone half a day—"

“I’m sorry,” you breathed.

He backed off, just slightly, but you could see the sneer on his face, the rage still burning in his eyes. “No, you’re not. Yet. But you’re gonna be. You wanna run around with other men like a slut? I guess I have to teach you another fucking lesson and remind you who the hell you belong to. You’re mine! You go where I say, when I say! You talk only to who I fucking say you can talk to! And you stay the fuck away from that redneck trash or I swear to God, I’ll kill him. I’ve warned you before. I’ll slit his throat in his sleep. You so much as look in his direction again, and I’ll fucking kill him. And then I might just decide I’m done with you too…” He seized you by the throat and threw you to the ground, hard. You fell to the floor on your hands and knees, bashing your kneecaps and knowing they’d be bruised the next day. Pain shot up your wrists too, but you didn’t have a moment to even catch your breath, to even try to think of a way to escape or defuse the situation. “Get up. Get the fuck up! Get upstairs and keep your mouth shut!” He grabbed you by the hair and half-dragged you to your feet before shoving you toward the staircase.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl cleaned the game on the front porch and then spent the whole night awake, pacing. A few times he started to make his way toward your house, but stopped halfway as Carol’s voice rang in his mind. “You showing up there and reminding him who she was with all day could put her in even more danger.” He’d turned around and come back home, only to resume his restless, aimless waiting. He kept reaching for his pack of cigarettes absently and then remembering the way you’d leaned in and pulled them out of his shirt pocket. The touch of your fingers separated by just a thin veil of cotton had raised goosebumps and electricity up his back.

The internal conflict warring inside him was threatening to make him sick. He found himself nearly breaking the porch railing he was gripping onto it so hard. It was the wee hours of the morning when he finally surrendered, swore under his breath, and went down to his room to collapse into bed. He stared at the ceiling until the sun came up.

He waited until the house above was noisy with footsteps and sound clanging in the kitchen before, he peeled himself off the mattress and went up. Carol was in the kitchen when he stepped out and she immediately dried her hands hurriedly and nodded toward the hallway. Daryl followed her lead and walked out onto the front porch. The grass still had dewdrops clinging to it and Alexandria was still waking up.

“You look like shit,” Carol said in an undertone to him as he settled back against the railing.

He scoffed. “Thanks. Wonder why,” he snapped back. “What?”

She sighed. “Don’t be mad—”

His brow furrowed and cast his eyes in shadow. “Carol—”

“But I went to their house last night,” she said.

Daryl’s eyes snapped up to hers. “The hell ya mean? After what ya told me ‘bout makin’ it worse?” he growled.

“It’s not like I waltzed up to the door and rang the bell,” she retorted, giving him a stern look. “I watched the house from across the street. I wasn’t seen. And even if I had been, I’m not you. But I wanted to be there just in case…”

“Just in case? In case of what? What the fuck good is that gonna do if he’s beatin’ the shit outta her behind closed doors?” Daryl growled. He rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated and infuriated. “Well?” he pressed her.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I thought maybe I could hear yelling at one point but the house was completely dark, locked up. Shades all down. Nothing. It’s hard to say.”

“Why the fuck are ya even tellin’ me this then?” Daryl barked.

“I’m trying to help,” she snapped back. “Listen, Deanna has called a town meeting tonight to make some announcements or something. Everyone is going to be there. If she’s not, well, then we’ll have to do something… go over there. I don’t know.”

Daryl sighed. “If she’s not, I’m gonna break the door in. And then I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Everyone was gathered around several blazing firepits, chatting, laughing, drinks in hand. The mood was convivial, unless you were Daryl. He had posted himself out on the edge of the group where he could watch everyone come and go and so far, he’d been left alone. That was until Carol spotted him. She came over after waving at a few of the ladies she baked casseroles with and having a very animated conversation about fruit cake made with expired canned peaches.

She slid up beside him, a wide and annoying smile still plastered on her face. “You look like a gargoyle over here, Daryl,” she scolded him from the corner of her mouth.

He only continued to sweep his eyes over the crowd. “Ya think I give a shit?” he growled back.

“Well, if you’re trying to draw attention to yourself, you’re doing a great job by scowling at everyone,” she said, stopping to return a wave from Olivia from across the party.

Daryl bristled. “ ‘M sorry, but one of us is a little fuckin’ worried righ’ now,” he snapped. “I ain’t exactly in the mood to have a chat with some suburbanite about fucking peaches.”

Carol took a sip of her drink. “I’m gonna let that slide considering the circumstances, but you know perfectly well that everything I’m doing here, including chatting about peaches, is for our family.”

Daryl sighed and softened a little. “…’M sorry. S’just—”

“I know,” she interrupted him, softening now herself. The worry crept onto her face now too. “No sign of her yet?”

Daryl shook his head. “No. Or him.”

Carol checked her watch. “There’s still time.”

Each minute felt like an hour, a tortuous, slow hour. Daryl’s eyes continually swept over the crowd, checking every figure, every gap for your silhouette, and finally, when he was nearly frantic with worry, he straightened up. “Hey—” he said, nudging Carol. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. At that distance, across the party, he couldn’t tell if you were hurt. All he could really see was that your boyfriend had his arm wrapped around your back and his hand was resting on your hip. Was his grip a little too tight? Was he holding you too close, like he was asserting control over you? Or was Daryl imagining that?

Carol saw you walking in at your boyfriend’s side. Glenn and Maggie stopped the two of you and you hugged her briefly and chatted for a moment, laughing at something she said, before the two of you moved away. Carol breathed a small sigh of relief at the sight of you. “Okay,” she murmured. “She’s here…”

“Yeah,” Daryl drawled, squinting at you. Every time a shadow shifted across your face, he imagined that it was a bruise.

“At least we can see her and she’s—she’s mostly alright,” Carol said.

“Is she?” Daryl growled back, feeling another upwelling of toxic rage. He watched you follow along beside your boyfriend until you both sat down in one of the rows of chairs facing the small, makeshift podium where Deanna would speak. Your boyfriend’s hand landed on the back of the neck and he leaned in to whisper something to you and Daryl’s hands clenched into fists. It could have been just a normal touch between a couple, but to him it looked possessive and he felt another burst of hot anger in his chest. Daryl discarded his empty bottle on a table beside him and watched as you got up and made your way over to the refreshment table while your boyfriend made himself comfortable. Daryl nervously licked his lips and Carol followed his gaze.

“‘M gonna go check on her,” he drawled.

“Be careful,” she warned him. “Daryl—He’s right there.”

“I can fuckin’ handle him if I need to,” Daryl replied and then he stepped into the crowd and made his way through.

You were reading the handwritten label on a beer bottle when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder and turned to see Daryl standing there. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you breathed with a nervous laugh. “You startled me.” You quickly glanced over your shoulder to see if your boyfriend was watching you. “Just—grabbing some drinks,” you said.

But Daryl was staring at you intensely and his expression was drawn and anxious. “Are ya okay?”

You swallowed at the thick lump in your throat that had just materialized. “Fine!” you said brightly, but you couldn’t look him in the eye. “I should get back—"

“Y/N—” His hand landed on your arm and your body arrested all movement without you consciously deciding to stop. His brow was furrowed heavily, his blue eyes flickering over you. “Really. Are ya okay? What—”

He heard your breath shake as you exhaled. “Daryl, I can’t. Not here. Not now… I can’t talk to you,” you said in a low voice. You glanced over your shoulder again to see that your boyfriend was (thankfully) in conversation with Deanna’s husband Reg and clearly hadn’t noticed Daryl standing with you.

His stomach sunk. “What d’ya mean ya can’t talk to me?” Your eyes snapped back to his face, to the concern, to the unease.

You looked back once more. He was a mere ten feet away, waiting. You couldn’t be seen talking to Daryl. You couldn’t. His threats rang in your mind like alarm bells. “I—I just can’t. I’m sorry. I have to go.” You withdrew from him abruptly and returned to your seat, handing your partner the beer bottle and sitting stiffly beside him. Daryl was left with that same sick feeling in his gut…

It wasn’t long before Deanna went to the podium to the sounds of applause and happy jeering. Daryl posted himself to the side of the group, almost at the exact end of the row you were seated in. You did your best to stare forward, but you didn’t hear a word out of Deanna’s mouth. All that seemed to be in your head was a rising hum and your own heartbeat. You found your eyes repeatedly drawn sideways to look at the broad-shouldered archer but would quickly catch yourself and face the front again.

For his part, Daryl looked on, fuming. Your body was rigid and far from at ease. When he watched your boyfriend reach over and place his hand on your thigh, he’d had enough and he made a hasty exit.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Carol came bounding up the steps onto the porch to find Daryl leaning back against the railing and sharpening his knife, just for something to do, something to keep his hands busy. The methodical, rhythmic movements felt at least a little calming. But Carol’s expression was dark and any calm he had achieved evaporated quickly. He gave her a questioning look. “S’goin’ on? Party all wrapped up?”

“Yeah. And I had to stop by to check on the Thompsons, that elderly couple? Their house is right across from the clinic,” she explained. “Daryl—when I was leaving, I caught a glimpse of Denise answering the door and letting Y/N inside.”

Daryl felt like his blood had run cold. He straightened up, discarded his whetstone quickly, and snapped his knife back into the sheath on his hip with a sharp sound. Carol eyed it uneasily. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she warned him.

“If I did, we both know it’d be because that fucker deserves it. But for now—I’mma just see if I can talk to her. Ya didn’t see him there ?”

Carol scoffed and rolled her eyes. “He and Pete both left the bonfire drunk.”

Daryl shook his head. “Birds of a feather,” Daryl drawled. He started down the steps. “I’ll be back later. Probably.”

Carol watched him until his broad-shouldered silhouette blended into the darkness.

There weren’t any lights on in the front of the building when Daryl reached the clinic, but he could see a faint glow from the back hallway when he pulled open the door and stepped inside. Muffled voices drifted out from the same direction as the light and Daryl made his way toward them. He recognized both you and Denise talking in low voices.

When he rounded the corner and stepped into the hallway, he saw that the first room was the source of all the light and sound and the door was standing wide open.

For a moment, his brain didn’t seem to grasp exactly what he was looking at, only really that he shouldn’t be seeing it. You were sitting on the edge of an exam table and Denise was beside you seated on a tall stool with gloves on. Daryl’s brain seemed to catch up as he froze in the doorway and he finally consciously registered what he was looking at. Your shirt was off and rumpled beside you on the table. Your upper body was bare except for your bra and Denise was stitching a wound on your side. The skin on your back, shoulders, and arms was a mottle of dark bruising, cuts, and abrasions down to some particularly angry looking marks encircling your wrists. There were constellations of little marks scattered across your skin, some new and some long-healed. He couldn’t have been in the doorway for more than a second before you and Denise realized he was there, but it was enough time for him to experience a dizzying torrent of emotions.

Your eyes went wide as you turned and realized he was standing there, and you grabbed your shirt and hastily began pulling it on, your fingers shaking as you tried to button it. “Daryl—” In the same moment you jumped down, accidentally knocking the metal tray of supplies to the floor where they clanged loudly. “Shit!” Daryl was already rushing away when you looked at Denise.

“I thought you said you locked the door!” you said.

“I—I thought I—Y/N, your stitches,” she called after you, but you were already gone, chasing after Daryl.

“Daryl! Wait—Daryl!” you called after him, still fumbling with buttons as you chased after him through the clinic.

He burst out into the night and you were just behind him, catching the door before it could completely close and racing across the porch and down the stairs.

“Daryl, please—”

He finally stopped on the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps, frozen, and you caught up to him. Even standing behind him, you could tell his chest was heaving and when he turned to look at you, you read many things on his face at once. His blue eyes were glassy with tears but they seemed to shift with internal turmoil. His hands were clenched into fists. Rage was boiling beneath the surface. He spoke carefully when he finally managed it. “‘M sorry,” he drawled, ducking his head. “I didn’t mean to walk in on ya like that...” he said.

You just stared back at him, your eyes still wide, your fingers still on the top button of your shirt. “It’s okay…” you said softly, your stomach churning.

Daryl gulped and paced back toward you, his eyes landing on your face again. “But he—did he—?” He couldn’t even get a fucking sentence out. He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching. He swore under his breath, trying to maintain control. “He did that to ya,” he said, his gaze intense. “Last night. Just ‘cuz ya weren’t home.” It wasn’t a question.

You felt your face burn with heat. You gulped, but didn’t answer.

Daryl’s breath came faster as he nodded. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, so hard he tasted blood. His heart hammered against his rib cage. “How long has this been goin’ on?”

Again, you didn’t answer and only ducked your head, unable to look at him anymore. Shame washed over you.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. Those tears in his eyes born of rage and sadness and horror at seeing all the injuries on your body blurred his vision. “I’ve heard the way that piece of shit talks to ya sometimes—I mean, we all have. The way he tries to control ya. But this? All this time he’s been doin’ this to ya, and ya didn’t tell me? Why didn’t ya tell me?” he begged you as if he needed the answer to breathe. “Or if not me, someone. Carol. Maggie. Somebody!”

Your stomach was churning and then clenching into a hard pit. You opened your mouth to answer, but it was a long moment before any words came out. “I didn’t want—to drag anyone else in,” you said weakly. “And I thought—I always thought it would stop once… I don’t know, once things were stable. Like, at the prison or once we got here. But it didn’t. And—I guess, I thought I could handle it. And I felt like I was in too deep. And I felt—I felt stupid for letting it happen to me,” you said, your voice breaking. Daryl’s heart ached. “I mean, I can fight. Why do I let it happen to me? But—when I used to try and fight him—it made it so much worse,” you said, and you ducked your head again. He watched your body start to tremble, like some involuntary fear response at the mere thought of it. “The things he’s—he’s—"

“It’s not yer fault. And ya ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of. It ain’t as simple as fightin’ back or just leavin’…” Daryl swore under his breath again and ran a hand over his face. “Fuck, Y/N, why didn’t ya tell me?” he said again. “Ya coulda told me.” He was seething now, again picturing the kaleidoscope of injuries he’d seen on you. “Some of those cuts I just saw on ya,” he said, “he used a knife? Huh?” You didn’t answer but he didn’t need you to. He shook his head. “Nah. This is done. He’s done. Go back in there and have Denise finish fixin’ ya up,” he said. “Then ya should probably stay with her tonight.”

You felt bile rising into your throat. “What are you going to do?” you asked him.

“What d’ya think? I’mma go to your house, drag his ass into the street, and beat him to a fucking pulp,” he growled.

Fear tightened your stomach into a hard pit. “Daryl, don’t—please, you can’t do that.”

“I can and I will,” he growled. “He ain’t layin’ another finger on ya.”

You shook your head, your eyes wide and fearful. “Earlier, when I said I couldn’t talk to you—he—he’s threatened to kill you. If he sees us together again... He’s jealous and—and he told me if I so much as look at you—I think he knows that—” you broke off abruptly, wondering if you were even making any sense to him at all.

Daryl gulped, his shifting suddenly going completely still. “Knows what?” he asked, his heart still hammering in his chest, but now perhaps for a slightly different reason.

You simply shook your head again. “Listen to me, Daryl—best case scenario, if you go there and attack him, you’ll get yourself exiled from Alexandria. And that’s best case. Please,” you begged him. “You can’t. Please… He won’t hesitate to kill you if he gets the chance.”

“I’d like to see him fuckin’ try,” Daryl growled.

You stepped in close to him, your expression desperate, and you gripped the front of his jacket. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,” you whispered, your eyes flickering between his.

He gulped and his hands landed gently on the small of your back for just a brief second, and it was electric. “Neither do I. But turns out somethin’ real bad is already happenin’ to ya. And has been for a long time. Besides, like I said, ya think that asshole can take me? Fuck no.”

You shook your head. “Just—for tonight—please… Go home. Cool down. Think this through. Please. I’m scared of what he’ll do to you.”

Your voice was so pleading, your eyes shining with tears, that it somehow overcame his rage and he caved. He ducked his head and his shoulders slumped. “Fine. Fine… for tonight. I’ll wait. I’ll go home. But he’s gonna get dealt with. I’m gonna deal with him. And ya shouldn’t go back there...”

You let out a long sigh of relief, though you still felt jittery and sick. Your fingers slipped from the front of Daryl’s jacket. “He’s passed out drunk on the couch,” you said. “It’s the only reason I could sneak out here to see Denise.”

Daryl had the brief thought that now was the perfect time to beat the fuck out of him then. But he’d already agreed, given you his word. “Still,” he said, drawing away from you. “Go get fixed up. I’ll—‘m gonna figure this out. I promise.” He had a hard time leaving you. He watched until you were pulling the door open to the clinic again, and you glanced back at him one more time, and his heart jumped.

Daryl walked home in the lonely dark, his insides somersaulting between fury and fear for you and regret and a deep ache. Carol was waiting on the porch, pacing. She stopped as he came up the steps, her expression desperate.

On seeing his face, that look didn’t change. “What happened?” she asked.

He swallowed the nausea rising into his throat as images of your injuries flashed in his head. “He beat the shit out of her last night. She’s all bruised, all cut up. Marks all over. Bad ones on her wrists, like—like he held her down.” He didn’t want to linger on why that might’ve been. “Carol—He used a knife on her,” Daryl growled, a shadow deepening on his face.

“God,” Carol breathed, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my God…”

“Denise is putting stitches in her side, patching her up.”

“What do we do now?” Carol asked in a harsh whisper. “Should I go wake up Rick and Michonne? We can go to Deanna and—”

He shook his head, his eyes squeezing shut. “I promised her I wouldn’t do anything tonight,” he drawled.

Carol looked shocked. “Well, screw that! She’s in danger!”

“I couldn’t say ‘no’ to her. Ya didn’t see her. She was panickin’, beggin’ me to just wait and think shit through. Ya dun think I wish I was killin’ him with my bare fuckin’ hands righ’ now?” He broke off and sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I think—bringin’ a bunch of people in, ev’rybody findin’ out—s’gonna be traumatic in a different way for her.”

“Yes,” Carol nodded. “It will be. We both know that. But to get her out of it, we have to.”

“The thing is,” he started, but he broke off and nervously sunk his teeth into the corner of his nail, “—some things she said… I think—I think she was tryin’ to protect me by stayin’ with him.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

After Denise had finished stitching you up, she’d offered you her spare room. You’d accepted, but only stayed for about an hour. Your anxiety was far too high to allow you to sleep. Some of your fear had initially passed since Daryl had agreed not to go storming off to your house tonight. But—you were slowly seized with growing worry that he’d go back on his word… You knew how angry he was. You’d seen the inferno in his eyes, burning blue like the hottest part of a flame. And when Daryl was pissed, especially in regards to the treatment of one of his own, he could be brash. “Shit,” you muttered, tossing the blankets off and hastily pulling your boots back on. You’d just go to his house and make sure he wasn’t about to do anything stupid… Yes. That’s all you’d do. You’d just go to check on him and make sure he wasn’t getting ready to go storm in on your drunken asshole of a(n) (ex)partner passed out on the couch and beat him to a pulp.

Alexandria was dark and silent except for the chirping of a few lonely crickets and the echoing of your steps as you navigated the shadowy sidewalks. Daryl’s house was dark too as you stared up at it, pausing on the small patch of lawn between the sidewalk and the walkway up to the steps. It had to be the very early hours of the morning now. You took a deep breath and went up. Surprisingly, the front door was unlocked preventing any hiccup in your plan. Soon you were standing at the top of the basement stairs.

"Daryl?" you called softly down. It was dark down there, but not entirely. You could tell he had a dim light on. He was definitely awake. Of course he was. "I'm coming down," you said.

When you passed the doorframe at the bottom of the steps, you found him sitting on the edge of his bed with a bottle in his hands. He was staring at it like the label was in a foreign language, even though you could read "Buffalo Trace" from where you stood.

"Daryl?" Your voice seemingly broke his trance. He looked up at you, almost sheepishly, but only for a split second.

Daryl gulped at the tightness in his throat and turned his gaze back to the bottle in his hands.

Your stomach somehow seemed to both sink and twist at the same time and you opened your mouth to say something but you came up empty at first. After a long moment, you managed, “Where'd you get that?” as you gestured to the bottle.

"Found it on a run a while back. I always got a bottle of somethin' tucked away, ya know. Never know when ya might need it." He pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"So, you're just planning on getting drunk then? Is that what this is?" you asked, and you couldn't keep an edge out of your voice. For the first time since you'd come in, Daryl looked up at you—really looked. He stared for a long moment and then reached over and set the bottle down on his nightstand with a loud clack.

He stood up, his broad shoulders and chest on full display as he paced over to you, his blue eyes narrowed. You found yourself backing up and suddenly your back hit the wall. A small gasp of surprise left you. Daryl still stepped in one more time, breaching that small buffer of space you usually maintained and staying there. “Are ya plannin’ to go back with him? Stay with him?" he asked in a low voice.

You let out a shaky breath. “I—I’m trying to protect you and everyone else. What am I supposed to do?”

"Yer s'posed to leave his ass before he fuckin' kills you. Or before I kill him," Daryl growled. His anger hadn’t abated since your talk outside the clinic. On the contrary, you were sure he’d been sitting here and stewing on everything he’d seen.

You gulped, your eyes flickering between his. “If I try to leave, then he will kill me and who knows who else he’ll come after,” you whispered. You hesitated briefly. “You. He’ll probably come after you. But if I try to go, he’ll definitely kill me.”

Daryl let out a long sigh and placed his palm flat on the wall beside your head, leaning toward you. With his other hand, he brushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face. "Ya really think I'd ever let a damn thing like that happen?" he whispered. “I told ya already. I’ll deal with him. I’ll protect ya.”

Your heart was racing and your chest heaved with your breath now. You don't know for sure who started it—not for sure. It could have been that you reached up and placed your palm in the center of his chest and spoke his name. Or it could have been that Daryl simply crashed his lips down on yours, gripped your hip and pressed against you. It didn't matter. The next moment you were entirely wrapped up in him, entangled in each other. Before you knew it, he was kissing your neck and his hands were wandering your curves, gently floating over you, aware of your injuries beneath the thin layers of fabric. He couldn’t have forgotten them if he tried, and so he touched you so carefully...

Your fingers were in his hair and beneath his shirt, running over his strong muscles and hitching on his scars. Daryl lifted you and you wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing him heatedly as he carried you toward his bed. You ignored the twinges and aches in your sore and battered body. It was easier, because kissing Daryl seemed to block out or dampen your pain. He tipped you back onto his bed gently, crawling over you, desperate to keep his lips on yours or kissing your soft skin. One hand on your hip and the other smoothing over your arm and then lacing with your fingers, the heat between the two of you building to a temperature that would surely consume you both.

But suddenly—reality came back and with a tremendous effort your ragged breathing turned into saying his name again. He felt you pulling back, pulling away. He leaned up over you and his blue eyes flickered over your face.

“I—I can't,” you gasped, and it sounded like it broke your heart to say it. “We can't...”

You watched the turmoil roiling in his eyes. You hoped he could see how desperate for him you were... and understand why you couldn't. It was a line you wouldn’t cross, despite everything he’d done to you.

"He dun deserve ya... not that I do either," he breathed, still caged over your body, the heat of him pouring into your skin. He brushed your hair back from your face so tenderly that tears filled your eyes and you pulled in a stuttered breath. "But at least I'd always treat ya righ'. I'd never lay a hand on ya. Ya know that." A tear broke out and ran down toward your temple. Daryl wiped the streak from your cheek. "I know," you said.

"We can have this. We can be happy. I can keep ya safe.”

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Then don't. Just let me do it."

Your eyes searched his face for a long moment. Another tear broke free and ran down by your temple and into your hair.

“He’s dangerous, Daryl.”

“So am I.” He ran the pad of his thumb along the line of your jaw. “So are you. So is this, us together.” He heaved a sigh. “Ya can’t be with him anymore. Ya know that. Ya think he might try to kill ya if ya leave, but he’s going to kill ya if ya stay. Please. Lemme do this for ya.” He was asking for your permission, though you doubted that not giving it would hold him back forever… Daryl had his limits. And someone laying their hands on you was far beyond them.

Finally, your lips parted and you breathed ‘okay’ into the air between the two of you.

Daryl’s fingers brushed back through your hair again. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay,” you whispered again, your eyes looking a little wide and fearful, or maybe surprised that you’d agreed.

Daryl breathed a sigh of relief and then his lips were on yours again. You hummed into the kiss and returned it fervently, the heat building between the two of you quickly again. What you were feeling was almost overwhelming, and you felt another tear leak out from the corner of your eye again and run downwards. Daryl clasped your face and pulled back for a moment, parting his lips from yours with a deep aching sense of loss. But he studied your expression again, his blue eyes flickering over your features as if he was memorizing them. “Are ya okay?” he asked.

You must have heaved in a stuttered breath. You nodded. “Yes,” you whispered. “Daryl—” you pressed your hand to his chest and Daryl felt his skin flare with heat and electricity at your touch. “I’ve—I’ve wanted this with you for so long,” you admitted. “You have to know that. ”

He gulped nervously and nodded. “Me too,” he said. You were still caged beneath his body, his hand on your hip, but he suddenly moved to the side and laid down next to you. “But—maybe we should slow down,” he said. He wanted to be completely entangled with you, but he also greatly wanted to care for you after what you had just gone through, and what you were going through now. “Yer hurt. Have ya slept at all?” he asked, his hand running down the length of your arm from your shoulder to your wrist.

You shook your head, and it was like at that moment that all the exhaustion hit you—physical, emotional, and mental. Your body grew heavy and sunk weightily into the mattress beside him. You turned onto your side to fully face him. “No,” you murmured, studying his face.

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ya should sleep,” he said, gently slipping your hand into his. “Nobody will hurt ya tonight. Or any other night, for that matter, if I have my way ‘bout it. ‘M righ’ here,” he said. He glanced down at your hand in his and his fingers slid up, gently nudging the cuff of your shirt aside. He ran his fingers lightly over the bruising encircling your wrist and a thick lump materialized in your throat. He lifted your wrist gently and pressed a kiss to the underside, before giving you a look that you couldn’t quite put a word to—all you knew was that it shot straight to your core, and you were suddenly screaming inside about everything that had been done to you and about how much time you had wasted and about how much you had wanted to be more with Daryl and never thought you’d be free to pursue it and—

Your body betrayed you with another shuddered breath as you tried not to break down again. “I’m okay,” you breathed. “I’m okay…”

“Yer safe. I promise,” he whispered back to you. “C’mere,” Daryl said, and he pulled you in close and held you against his body. The weight of him, his steadiness, his warmth, his comforting smell… it always made you feel safe when you had glimpses of it, and now you had it as close as possible and you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d felt so secure.

You draped your arm over him and tucked your head up under his chin. His arms stayed around you and you felt him leave a kiss in your hair. “Go to sleep,” he drawled softly. “I’ve got ya.”

And within minutes, out of complete exhaustion, you did.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Both you and Daryl were deeply asleep, tucked against one another in his bed, for the rest of the night, until… the sharp sound of shattering glass and a hot blaze of light startled the two of you awake.

A strangled scream left you as you tried to comprehend what was happening. Daryl was instinctively shielding you with his body as both of you tried to get your bearings, but the character of the light now blazing in the previously dark room was unmistakable and quickly had him bailing out of the bed and grabbing a nearby wool blanket. Fire. Some boxes near the foot of Daryl’s bed had caught and quickly gone up in flames. Daryl tossed the wool blanket over the top and hurriedly smothered it, stamping out any remaining hot spots before standing over the scene, his chest and shoulders heaving with panicked and bewildered breaths.

You were sitting up in his bed, your back pressed against the wall and your knees pulled up to your chest. Your eyes were wide.

“Are ya okay?” Daryl asked urgently. You nodded. His eyes flickered back over the scene. The small basement window was shattered and glass was everywhere, but there was also the unmistakable sting of alcohol in the air. He rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes landed on a brick on the floor and then the round glass bottom of a bottle or jar.

You spoke it before he could. “He did this,” you said, shifting and feeling like you couldn’t catch a breath. “He—he must have seen—”

Daryl’s hands clenched into fists. He hurriedly began tugging on his boots. “Stay here,” he said, his voice a dangerous low growl.

“Daryl—”

“Nah. He’s done. This is over.”

“Daryl!” You were still scrambling out of the bed and frantically pulling your boots on, unlaced, by the time he was bounding up the stairs.

You chased after him but the front door was already open and he was barreling down the sidewalk. The sounds of your startled yells and the clattering of the two of you had awoken some of the other members of the house. You looked up the stairs to see Maggie, Glenn, and Carol standing there looking perplexed and concerned. You gulped and nervously ran your hand back through your hair before glancing at the front door standing open again. “Um—Fuck, go get Rick and Michonne,” you said urgently. “Now! Tell them to head toward my house! Daryl’s going to kill him!”

Without anything further, you tore off after Daryl. The sun wasn’t up yet but the faint pink glow in the sky was enough to illuminate Alexandria in a wash of rosy hues. You ran as fast as you could but were hindered by the looseness of your boots. It felt as if you were running in sand and time seemed to slow. All sound vanished until the only thing you could hear at all was your own rapid breathing and the pounding of your heart. Your mind raced. Your footsteps reverberated through your body, rhythmic and jarring. You had to find Daryl. You had to make sure he didn’t get himself into deep shit because of you… because after what had just happened, you had no doubt that he would kill your ex.

Sure, it would probably be seen as justified considering the Molotov cocktail that had just followed a brick through his window—your stomach clenched. That could have been so much worse than it was. What if it had landed on you and Daryl? You wondered if your ex had been staring in through the window. The thought made your skin crawl and a nauseous wave rose into your throat. But you didn’t have time to linger on this thought any longer. Your house came into view ahead and there was a crumpled, writhing form on the lawn, cast in shadow. Suddenly, time returned to normal speed. As you got closer, the shadowy mass dissolved into two distinct human figures.

“Daryl!” you yelled. You ran as fast as you could and skidded to a stop. Daryl had your ex on the ground, firmly beneath him, and was pummeling him in the face and body with hit after hit. He didn’t even seem to hear you. “Daryl, stop!” You rushed forward and grabbed his shoulder but he shook you off absently.

The overwhelming smell of booze seemed to ooze outward in a cloud around your ex and that explained why it looked like he’d barely been able to put up any kind of resistance.

Rapid footsteps ran up behind you and you turned to see Rick, Michonne, and many of the other members of your family standing behind you. “Rick—do something! He’s going to kill him!”

Without hesitation, Rick and Michonne rushed forward and took hold of Daryl, hauling him off the now still and battered figure laying on the grass. Daryl continued to struggle against them, swearing under his breath and yelling threats at the prone body ahead. What finally stopped his pacing and frantic efforts to get back to dealing out a hefty prescription of justice was you.

You rushed forward and skirted around Rick to clasp Daryl’s face in both hands and make him look at you. “It’s over!” you said urgently. “It’s over! You got him. It’s okay!”

When his eyes found yours, the strain and tension in his body melted away and he stopped fighting. Your hands slipped down to his chest and you pressed your palms to him gently. He softened, his chest still heaving as he caught his breath. “Are ya—are ya okay?” he asked you again.

You nodded and then looked down at his clenched fists, which were shaking. “Your hands,” you said quietly. His knuckles were cracked and already swelling.

“‘M fine,” he said.

Rick left your ex’s side and returned to Daryl’s, looking at him with an intense expression that clearly suggested he needed a fucking explanation in less than three seconds.

“Ah, fuck,” Daryl murmured under his breath, ducking his head. You stepped to his side so he could speak with Michonne and Rick, but you kept your arm looped through his and your palm flush to the bare skin of his forearm. He was grateful. It was grounding him. “This asshole—just tried to kill us,” Daryl said between breaths. “He broke my fuckin’ window with a brick and then threw a goddamn Molotov through the window, barely missing catching my fuckin’ bed on fire.”

Rick’s jaw clenched but he paused and took a measured beat. “How do you know it was him?” he asked.

Daryl scoffed. “Ya mean besides the fact that when I went tearin’ out here he was runnin’ as fast as his drunk ass could away from our place?” Daryl glanced over at you and you tried your best to give him an encouraging nod. “How ‘bout ‘cuz I had someone he considers ‘his girl’ sleepin’ next to me in my bed because he beat the fuck outta her two days ago? She had to sneak off to even get help from Denise. Rick, man, he’s been hurtin’ her this entire time. Who else would it be?”

Rick’s face darkened and you saw the muscle in his jaw tense again. He glanced at you. “Is that true?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Denise has been helping me since we got here when I—when he hurts me too badly but I made her swear not to tell her anyone. But it’s been going on almost as long as he and I have been together. Years. You can talk to Denise. I’ll tell her it’s okay…”

Carol stepped forward. “Rick, I’ve had suspicions since the quarry,” she agreed, trying to give you a small, but sad, reassuring smile.

“There’s glass and scorch marks all over my room,” Daryl said. “This asshole deserves every hit I gave him and more. It coulda gone way worse…”

Rick exchanged a look with Michonne and sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Alright… All of you, go on back to the house. We don’t need a bigger scene than we’ve already got. Michonne, go get Denise to have a look at him and then—we’ll move him somewhere secure. I’ll talk to Deanna once the sun’s up…” He rubbed a hand over his forehead and sighed again.

Now that your adrenaline was waning, exhaustion returned along with a tremendous amount of pain in your body from pushing it to run. It must have been visible on your face, because Daryl asked again in a low voice, “Are ya alrigh’?” His brow furrowed deeply over his eyes.

You gulped, feeling the weight of the last few days like an iron anchor on your chest. You nodded. “Yeah. I—I think so. Sore. Tired.”

“C’mon. Let’s go home,” he said, gently touching the small of your back. Fluttering erupted in your chest.

You briefly stared up at the house that had been your “home” since shortly after you’d found Alexandria. But Daryl had always been your true home… and you’d known it since almost the moment you’d met him. You turned your back on it and walked with Daryl and the others to the only place where you felt truly safe.

Maggie and Carol had managed to squeeze you into hugs tightly on the front porch, but you had no energy or desire for anything else besides tending to Daryl’s hands and collapsing back into bed, even if there was still shattered glass and the smell of smoke in the room.

Daryl sat you down on the edge of the bed and insisted on patching up the window with cardboard and clearing away the remnants of your ex’s attack. You tugged him down to sit beside you when he’d finished and dabbed at his knuckles with a damp cloth, cleaning away the dried blood. Your eyes lifted to fix on the speckles of blood on his shirt and Daryl quickly glanced down and saw what you were staring at. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously.

“Let’s get you a clean shirt,” you said gently, reaching for the top button. “Can I?” you asked. He nodded. Not a moment of hesitation. You undid the buttons, your fingertips occasionally brushing his bare skin and sending him reeling or gulping thickly, and pushed the shirt back off his shoulders, finally tugging it free. Your eyes traveled over the scars on his chest and stomach. You’d seen them a few times over the years, but it struck you at that moment how alike you both were in this way. You too had constellations of violence on your skin. Your hands pressed gently to his chest and your eyes were glassy when you looked up and met his again. Daryl seemed to understand in that moment, what you were trying to say… You went to a clean pile of clothing draped over a chair in the corner and brought him a clean t-shirt. He quickly pulled it on and then gave you a long look.

“Ya ain’t scared of me now, are ya?” he asked, and your eyes shot back up to his.

“What? Are you kidding?” you brushed your fingers into his hair, moving it away from his face. “Of course not, Daryl. I’ve seen you fight bad men before now.”

He nudged his nose up in a nod, relieved. “I dun ever wanna scare ya,” he said.

Your warm hand came to rest on the side of his neck. He loved the weight and softness of it. “I know,” you said. “You won’t. You never have.”

Your eyes closed and you leaned in and found his lips with yours, kissing him softly and slowly. His arms wrapped around you and tugged you in, held you close. The kiss deepened, hungry and eager and filled with unsaid things. When you finally broke apart, Daryl nodded toward the pillows. “Think ya can sleep?”

“If you’re here? Yes.”

The two of you settled down beneath blankets and on soft pillows, but the most comforting was Daryl’s touch and weight against you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl tightened the chin strap on your helmet and gave you a small, fond smile. You grinned up at him, brimming with life and light. And you should be. Your ex was long gone, exiled from Alexandria and dropped off in parts unknown with a few supplies. Daryl had made sure he was there when it happened and also made sure that he knew if he saw him again, he’d get a bolt in his head before he could open his mouth.

Daryl leaned in kissed your cheek and then snuck another one on your neck, causing you to laugh. Your hair stood on end with the best kind of goosebumps. You bit you bottom lip and smiled up at him again. “C’mon. Let’s go show ev’rybody what we got today,” he said, patting a hand down on the deer meat strapped on the back of his bike.

He climbed onto his bike and leaned forward and you slipped in behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle and settling in close. The heat that pooled in the middle of your chest was the same as always. How many times had you ridden on Daryl’s bike at this point? And yet every time—without fail—you felt it as you settled down behind him. His hand left his handlebar and smoothed over yours for a moment.

“Ready?” he drawled.

“Ready,” you said. Your cheek pressed into the back of his shoulder as you hugged yourself to him. “Go fast!” you said, and he could hear the smile in your voice.

He let out a joyful laugh that you adored and smiled to himself. “You got it, boss,” he said, and he fired the motorcycle to life.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this story. I made some intentional choices about the reader that reflect the fact that anyone, ANYONE, can be a victim of domestic abuse and violence. She is a survivor who knows how to fight, but still is subject to the abuse of her toxic and violent relationship. She had a support system, but still was unable to leave. She felt shame and guilt and hid it as is very common. DV is all too common and is very complex. Most people must attempt to leave an average of seven times before they are successful. If only we all had Daryl Dixon to rescue us. <3 Protect yourself by running a background check on people you date and being cautious about online dating. Watch for signs of a potentially dangerous relationship such as love bombing, insisting on moving things forward too fast, controlling behavior, and isolating you from your family and friends. Trust your gut. Trust that if ALL your friends and family don't like someone you date, there's probably a reason. Be safe. Love you. <3 If you or someone you know needs assistance with domestic violence (USA) call 800-799-7233 or text BEGIN to 88788. In the UK, help is available here: https://www.gov.uk/guidance/domestic-abuse-how-to-get-help#get-help-and-support

[kingkunigami]

— Kunigami Rensuke

Masterlist.

Keeping every other player on their toes was the true goal. Reminding them that he deserved his place— that he was meant to be here. But Kunigami wouldn’t deny that obtaining a prize that every other man on the field coveted was a good enough reward. He really was the wildcard, in every sense of the word.

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, spit, Kunigami’s got an oral fixation, blow jobs, no prep, unprotected sex, light choking, squirting, creampie.

Pairing: Kunigami Rensuke x f!reader.

Word Count: 2.8k.

If there was ever a man who didn’t appear to want the prize he’d rightfully won, it would be Kunigami Rensuke. Lingering in the doorway as you felt the cool chill seep into the room from behind him, prickling against your form as goosebumps began to appear against your forearms. The sheer lingerie doing little to hide your exposed skin as you shuffled on your knees against the soft sheets, your nipples hardening against pretty lace as you watched his tongue slip out to wet his lips.

It was as though this prize wasn’t good enough, that he was still searching for more. Every trophy and accolade he rightfully stole from every other player put on the field would never matter until his name was positioned at number one.

Keeping every other player on their toes was the true goal. Reminding them that he deserved his place— that he was meant to be here. But Kunigami wouldn’t deny that obtaining a prize that every other man on the field coveted was a good enough reward for now, stealing a last minute shot at goal instead of passing to Chigiri to land the ball in the top left corner— barely an inch from the post. A chance that had paid off well now that he was standing where the other twenty-one men on the field wished they could be.

No one would deny that he’d been through a lot to get this far— probably far more than most. A man that had tasted the disgusting bile of failure rise in his throat, the defeat one he promised himself he would never feel again. Arguably working far harder than his teammates to reclaim his position at the top, biting at the ankles of his competitors as he allowed natural selection to take place.

And Kunigami couldn’t lie, it felt good to be victorious. So used to the pack mentality of victory, succeeding at the hands of others. But this one? It was his. You were his. And he would return to the rest of his team with a story to prove it.

He took four long strides to meet you at the foot of the bed, like a lion stalking its prey as he towered over you. His hand was gentle when he cupped your cheek, leaning into his touch as you grasped onto the warmth of it. Feeling a rush of blood pump through your veins when you looked up to meet his burning gaze, enough to scorch your skin as you felt it set fire to you all the way down to your core.

“They were right,” He murmurs, “You are really pretty.”

Your heart jumped at his words, thinking about what sort of things the footballers said about you. Picturing them crowded around in their changing room at half-time, doused in dirt and sweat as they spilled their pure depravity. Talking about every filthy thought they had about you, or the lewd opinions of those who’d had a taste. Your clit pulsing in response as you swallowed thickly, wondering what Kunigami’s role had been in the conversation.

“So,” He hummed, tracing the calloused pad of his thumb over your glossy lips, the stickiness tacking you to him, “What can I do to you?”

“Anything.”

“Shit,” A groan rumbled from deep in his chest, his eyes fluttering as he felt his cock pulse beneath his shorts, “Anything?”

“Yeah—” Kunigami pushed his thumb past your lips as soon as he felt you part them to speak, pressing down on the pad of your tongue as your lips closed around it. Staring up at him obediently through thick lashes as you hollowed your cheeks, causing a deep blazing heat to burn in his pelvis.

“Fuck,” He growled, pumping his thumb slowly as his palm caged your jaw. Tilting your head as he used his strong grip you open your mouth, pursing his lips as he spat into your open mouth, “Hold it.”

You felt the moisture collect at the back of your throat from the way your head was tilted, your tongue wobbles as he draws back to dip his thumbs into the hem of his shorts. Pulling them down enough to free his heady cock, the tip swollen and bruised deep crimson as a a pearlescent glob of pre beads at the tip. You whimpered at the debauched sight, his spit gargling at the back of your throat as you squeezed your thighs together in a feeble attempt to alleviate the ache throbbing between them.

“Fu-uck,” Kunigami groaned as he felt the warmth of your mouth engulf him when he guided his cock inside you, deliberately smearing his pre against your pouty lips as he watched you begin to bob your head obediently.

The sordid stories he’d heard in the showers after practise were nothing compared to the sight of you in front of him like this now. His cock disappearing inside your wet mouth as his hips stilled to watch the way you leaned forward to try and take more of him.

“Cute,” He hummed when the confidence grew inside you as you tried to take a little too much of him, feeling his swollen tip hit the back of your throat as you pulled back with a gag. Spluttering as spit began to drool down your chin, landing on your chest as you regained your breath. Kunigami couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward to tug at the straps of your bra, tugging them along your shoulders as he pulled the cups down enough to free your round tits.

He sucked a hiss through gritted teeth when you tried again, your spit drying against his length as you engulfed him in warmth once more. His slender fingers reached down to toy with your stiffened peaks as he tugged one between his thumb and forefinger, “You like that?”

You tried to speak around him, slurring your words as he smirked in satisfaction. Pulling your nipple away from your body to let it go, your breast bouncing back into place in favour of him reaching his palm around the back of your neck. Cradling your head at the base of your skull as he begun to thrust his hips forward into your mouth, deliberately trying to press his leaking tip against the back of your mouth with each forward motion. Drawing more debauched noises from your throat, as more spit pooled down onto your bare breasts.

“You’re such a mess,” He groaned, his hand tight at the back of your head as he held you down on his length. Watching as pearly tears begun to clump in your lashes as they blurred your vision, gagging as his thick tip pressed against your throat. Cutting off your oxygen supply as he continued to hold you firm and steady, jaw locked with intent as he pushed you further. Your nose buried in the messy nest of hair at the base of his cock as you took in every inch of him; Cutting off any chance of breathing, thick tears now streaming down the apples of your cheeks as your hands came up to claw at his muscular thighs. Leaving dark, crimson lines against the skin as you clawed at him for relief.

“That’s it, you got it—” The lack of oxygen how had your eyes rolling back into your skull as Kunigami finally took pity on you, easing his grip with a sharp hiss as you marked him, “Good girl.”

Glistening strings of spit and pre snapped off between your bodies, sticking to your chin as you looked at the deep gashes you’d left against his skin. Low enough on his thighs to be seen when he was wearing his shorts out on the pitch, and that’s exactly what Kunigami wanted— his teammates would probably think him far too much of a prude to do anything with you, but he’d show them. A cocky, knowing smirk on his lips when he prepared in the locker room before practise.

You squealed when he bent down to curl his palms around your thighs. His heavy cock glistening with your spit as it bobbed from the sudden motion, pulling your legs out from beneath you as your back met the satin sheets. Pulling you to the edge of the bed as though you weighed nothing until your ass was practically hanging off the edge of it. Thighs either side of his muscular frame as he was gifted the perfect view between your thighs, noticing the dark stain on the fabric as he brushed his knuckles against it. Smirking when your sensitive body jolted upon contact.

“So you said I can do anything,” Kunigami mused, pressing his thumb down against your clothed clit, “That mean I can fuck this pussy raw?”

“Yes,” You gasped, shamelessly spreading your legs wider to give him more access as he began to trace his fingers along the apex of your thighs, dangerously close to the hem of your panties.

The position he had you in left you nowhere to plant your feet, almost uncomfortable as you fought to hold your legs in the air, pressing your legs against his hips as Kunigami pulled your panties to the side to reveal your lustrous cunt to his eager gaze.

“Shit,” He shook his head, darkened eyes hidden behind his messy mop of ginger hair, “Is there anything I can’t do?”

“No,” You answered truthfully. So desperate for some kind of relief you truly would’ve allowed him to do anything to you in this moment, to use your body in any sick and twisted way he deemed fit.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else,” Kunigami snarled, roughly pushing your thighs back towards your chest as he curled his tall body over you. His rigid cock laid flat along the length of your creamy slit as you felt his weighty balls press against the curve of your ass, “And you’re gonna take it.”

The thick veins that forked along the length of him grazed your clit as he smoothed himself in your slick, the swollen tip of his cock catching against your tight ill-prepped hole as he pressed two fingers inside you crudely. A debauched squelch sounding around the room from how wet you are, as he began to scissor them roughly in a feeble attempt at prepping you for the sheer length of him.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the feeling of him breaching your tight heat, stealing the wind from your lungs as the length to his cock immediately had him spearing your insides. What he made up for in girth, he compensated for when his swollen tip nudged your cervix.

“Oh, fuck.”

With his feet still poised on the ground, Kunigami hovered over you and began to fuck into you hard and precise. Determined to have you remembering him over all of his competition— Wanting to be your number one.

You felt the weight behind his thrusts as his full balls slapped against your ass with each forward motion, echoing in your ears but drowned out by the sultry moans that escaped past your parted lips. His darkened eyes almost black as they stare down at you with such scrutiny that you can’t match his gaze, letting your head lull to the side as he keeps himself folded over you. Your tits bouncing with the ferocity of his thrusts.

No longer the prized golden boy you’d once seen at the start of the program, now a tainted man with the weight of the world on his shoulders as he let every ounce of emotion pour out into his pace.

Kunigami pressed his palm flat against your sternum before sliding along your clavicle, weaving his fingers around the column of your neck as you felt the tips of his fingers press into your jaw. Turning your head back to face him as you met his gaze, clenching around him in response as his palm began to tighten around your windpipe.

The head of his cock kissed your cervix with each forward motion, and he was so deep inside you were certain you could feel him in your lungs. The constricting of air only increased the sensation as your walls pulsed around him, squeezing his length as you began to feel the telltale signs of your release. Far too pent up to try and fight it as you lay helpless beneath him, feeble attempts at his name spilling from between your parted lips.

“They didn’t fuck you like this, did they?” Kunigami was eager to prove himself to you. Hungry and desperate for this sick source of validation that would hold him above all the others, to place him at number one, “They didn’t make you feel as good as me?”

And you couldn’t answer even if you’d wanted to. The pleasure building inside you made it difficult to think of anything other than the way he managed to keep you dangling on the edge of your release. Desperate for something that would have you tumbling over the edge, to have you coming undone for him.

Sacrificing his grip around your neck in favour of pressing a palm flat against your pelvis, pulling back the hood of your clit as his calloused thumb pressed messy circles against it. The weight of him enough to increase the pressure to breaking point as you began to writhe beneath him, trying to ignore the dull throb from your bladder as you fought back the relief. Your pliant walls tightening around him in response as he sneered down at you through bared teeth.

“I can’t, I’m gonna pee!” You flushed, wide panicked eyes staring up at him.

“Don’t fight it, just let go.” He pressed down harder, strumming your puffy clit as your toes began to curl. Crying out his name as you felt a warm, wet stream of squirt begin to gush against his pelvis. His hand quick to intercept it and have it flying in all directions. Soaking his palm and the sheets beneath you as he grinned in satisfaction.

“That’s it—” He groaned, ignoring your pleas for him to give you a moments respite, “Just like that.”

You weren’t sure you had anything left to give as your climax hit you like a freight train, trembling around him as Kunigami still managed to coax more streams out of your willing body. Almost as wet as the tears that streaked down your temples from overstimulation as your body trembled beneath him.

“Bet no one else has made you do that, hm?” He groaned, the crude squelch echoed in your ears as the heat boiled inside you.

Kunigami pressed his hands against the back of your thighs as he resumed his frantic pace, the muscles in his body constricting as he used you for his own release. Working himself towards his climax as he leaned his weight over you to smash his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss that was all tongue and teeth, feeling you clench around him at the sensation as he found his release. Groaning against your lips as his warm breath fanned your skin and he spilled his release into your velvety walls. His hips still rutting as he fucked his cum deep inside you, reluctantly pulling away when he had nothing left to give.

He kept his grip on your thighs when he pulled out of your spent cunt, watching your fluttering hole slowly start to push his spend out in thick white globs as it drooled down your slit towards your asshole. He wished he’d brought a phone in to document the scene, a filthy snapshot to share in the lockerroom the next day to prove his worth. His fingers quick to collect his spunk as he scooped it up with his fingers to push it back inside you, cherishing the final tremors of you around him as he pulled your panties back in place. Giving a final pat to the crotch as he pulled away from you, staring down at you with a shy smile.

It was like he was a different man now, smooth hands stroking along your aching thighs as he pressed a kiss to your knee.

“I— uh, can I get you anything?” He mumbled shyly, the powerful intense man gone as he finally revealed the soft glow in his auburn eyes.

“You don’t have to,” You smiled, letting your fingers run through his hair as your nails grazed his scalp. Letting his cheek rest against your inner thigh as he stared up at you.

“Well— do you want to cuddle?” He seemed nervous to even ask.

“Isn’t that a waste of your time?” You whispered, knowing the real reason for why each man was really here.

“It would never be a waste of time,” Kunigami moved to hover above you, his sticky cock pressed against your inner thigh, “And besides, I’ll be back again tomorrow.”

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hello :) could you do a poly!marauders with a reader who has a really bad fear of spiders and then helping her? (Like she will cry at the sight or can’t sleep if she’s thinking of them haha) :))

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: poly!Marauders x Reader

You were tucked comfortably into bed, surrounded by the warmth of three of your four boyfriends—Remus on your left, Sirius on your right, and James sprawled across the foot of the bed, his head resting on your legs. Peter had just popped out to grab some snacks, which left you all in a peaceful, sleepy state.

Or at least, it was peaceful until it happened.

You had glanced up at the ceiling to admire the star-shaped stickers glowing faintly in the dark. But instead of the comforting sight of twinkling stars, your eyes landed on a spider. A big, hairy, terrifying spider dangling right above you.

A spider.

Your heart dropped. It wasn’t just any spider—it was massive. Okay, maybe not massive, but to you, it might as well have been the size of a dragon. Frozen, you let out a small whimper, your eyes glued to the eight-legged terror.

Sirius was the first to notice your panic. He dropped the magazine he was flipping through and leaned closer. “Babe? You alright?”

Your body froze, and a strangled squeak escaped your lips.

"What's wrong, love?" Remus asked, his voice soft with concern. He leaned up on his elbow to look at you, but all you could do was point a trembling finger at the ceiling, eyes wide with terror.

Sirius frowned, following your gaze. The moment his eyes landed on the spider, his own face scrunched up. "Bloody hell, that thing's huge."

That was it. Panic set in, and you scrambled to the foot of the bed, practically clambering over James, who was still half-asleep, blissfully unaware of the eight-legged horror hanging above.

"What—ow! What’s going on?" James groaned as you elbowed him, trying to escape.

"Spider!" you cried, voice cracking as you buried yourself behind him, using him as a shield. "There's a huge spider on the ceiling!"

Remus sat up, sighing deeply. “It’s just a spider, love. No need to—”

But then he saw it, and even the normally composed Remus faltered. "That’s... quite the specimen."

Sirius, already on his feet, grabbed one of James’s trainers off the floor. “Don’t worry, doll, I’ve got this. I’ll be your knight in shining armor.”

James groaned as Sirius stepped on the bed, ready for battle. “Hey! Careful where you—OW!—step!”

But as Sirius swung at the spider, the little devil dropped lower from its web, dodging him. That was enough to send you into full meltdown mode.

“I can’t! I—can’t sleep knowing it’s here! It’s going to crawl on me! I’ll die!” You wailed, tears welling up as you hugged James’s back for dear life. “No!” you yelped, grabbing his arm. “Don’t squish it! Then it’ll haunt me forever. Just—just get rid of it!”

Remus shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “I’ll get a jar.”

“I’m not sleeping if it’s anywhere near this flat, Moony,” you warned. “You have to throw it far.”

James gave you a comforting smile, kissing the top of your head. “We’ll make sure it’s gone.”

Sirius climbed onto the couch, making exaggerated swipes at the ceiling with James's trainers. “I’m gonna get you, little bugger—”

“Sirius!” you shrieked, half laughing, half sobbing as he missed it completely. The spider scurried toward the corner, which sent another wave of panic through you. “Get it away!”

Remus sighed and calmly approached with the jar in hand. “Padfoot, quit messing around.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Sirius said, jumping down from the couch with a dramatic flourish. “You heard the lady, no squishing.”

“Careful, Moony! It’s coming right at you!” Sirius shrieked.

At that moment, Peter strolled back into the room, holding a bag of crisps and a bottle of pumpkin juice. "What's all the noise?"

James, with you still clinging to him, pointed upward. “Spider crisis.”

Peter looked up, spotted the spider, and to everyone's surprise, casually walked over with a tissue. “You’re all acting like babies.” He reached up, gently plucked the spider from its web, and without so much as a flinch, opened the window to let it out.

Silence filled the room as all four of you stared at Peter, dumbfounded.

“Did... did Peter just save us?” Sirius muttered, lowering James’s shoe.

James blinked, still processing. “I’m questioning everything right now.”

You, on the other hand, exhaled a deep breath of relief and finally let go of James, wiping your teary eyes. “Th-thank you, Pete. You’re my hero.”

Peter grinned, giving you a little bow. “All in a day's work.”

Remus chuckled and patted Peter on the back. “Well, thank Merlin someone here can handle spiders.”

Sirius quickly recovered and threw his arms around you dramatically. “But it was me who grabbed the shoe first! I was ready to lay down my life for you, love.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his over-the-top antics, feeling the tension ease from your body. “Yes, Sirius, you’re very brave.”

“Oi, what about me? I cushioned her from all the drama!” James said, twisting around to pull you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you snugly. “Best spider shield in the business.”

Peter flopped down on the bed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Next time, just call me. Spider-slayer Pete, at your service.”

You couldn’t help but smile, surrounded by all four of your boys, safe and sound. “I feel like I should bake Peter cookies now.”

“Hey, don’t spoil him! He’ll get used to it!” Sirius teased, poking Peter in the side.

You chuckled as you started to stand up to bake cookies for Peter when you suddenly looked around, "You guys are sure it's gone right?"

Sirius slung an arm around you with a devilish grin. “Oh, it might have babies. They could be anywhere now…”

Your face drained of color, and you swatted his arm with a groan. “Sirius!”

James shot Sirius a warning look but couldn’t help laughing as well. “Alright, mate, stop scaring her.”

“I’m just teasing!” Sirius pouted, pulling you into a playful hug. “I’d never let a spider near you, promise. Not while Pete's around.”

You buried your face in Sirius’s chest, half-laughing, half-sighing. “You’re the worst.”

Peter sat next to you, patting your knee comfortingly. “You know we’ll always protect you. Spiders included.”

With James still holding you, Sirius on one side and Peter on the other, Remus beside Peter, you finally started to relax, your heart calming down. “Thanks, guys,” you whispered.

James kissed your temple. “Of course, darling. We’ve got you.”

Sirius snickered. “Now, if it was a snake, that would’ve been another story…”

You groaned again, but this time it was full of affection. “Never change, Sirius.”

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 6 with Sanji Character Sheet

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead with One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

In the wealthier district of Sabaody Archipelago, Zoro perches on the roof of a tall bell tower. From afar, he carefully watches a squad of royal guards lead slaves that are carrying two individuals on their backs all the way from Sabao Dome. They finally stop at a particularly large mansion behind high iron gates and thick brick walls. Inside, there is a polished garden that has thick ivies climbing up to the very top of the marble facade of the main building. The slaves set down the heavy carrier by the entrance, then the Celestial Dragon ushers Sanji into his house. The swordsman sighs in disappointment, silently cursing the situation at hand. He’d hoped to have an opening where he can nab the blonde while they’re outside but it never came to, given how many guards there were.

Law continues to speak on the line of his transponder snail.

Law

Don't do anything stupid. Wait for us and just keep tabs on the line.

Zoro

No. No matter what you do, stay away. I don’t think they’ve linked you guys with Curls yet and I'd rather it stay that way. Have you got the rest of the Heart Pirates with you?

Law

They arrived about five minutes ago. They’re…not happy to say the least.

Zoro hears several familiar voices in the background, begging the swordsman for forgiveness and crying out for Sanji to come back safely.

Law

So what now, swordsman? How do you plan to infiltrate the most heavily guarded holiday house in Sabaody Archipelago by yourself? You need my power. It'll take seconds to get him out as soon as I get there.

Zoro

I said, no. Look, these guys don't joke around. If they see you somehow cause trouble for any World Nobles, they'll send an Admiral to hunt you down until you're dead or imprisoned. If I think he's going to do what I think he intends to do, he very well may be turning the entire world against him. 

Law

And…what's that?

Zoro

I think he wants to kill the Celestial Dragon.

—

It was easy enough to hurdle the initial gates, but staying hidden in the enclosed area is proving to be just as difficult as he expected. Zoro can’t rely on staying on the ground as there are too many patrols. And he can’t break inside the mansion from above because that would mean jumping from a far distance and landing with a bang, then dealing with guards on the floor anyway. He decides to push through the only and the most annoying option he has left.

As soon as the opportunity presents itself, he shimmies up the mansion walls, silently praying that the thick ivy vines and trellises that he’s holding onto don't give into his weight. He's never been a fan of stealth missions or anything that required subtlety. Through the windows, he sees Sanji and the Celestial Dragon walking along a corridor and into a room. He follows, traversing through the climbing plants. He stops just under a balcony of the room where he assumed they had gone. He wraps his limbs around one of its support pillars and waits for any sign to see if he was right.

Sanji

Saint Charlos, my dear, I'll need a second to freshen up.

Saint Charlos

Of course! Don’t be long.

There was the sound of a click, presumably the door closing. Zoro jumps and grabs onto the platform above him. He carefully raises himself, enough to peek through the gaps of the balcony’s balustrades. He worriedly looks around when he realises that there’s no one in the open room, so pulls himself up further, shoving a foot between the railing.

Suddenly, a face pokes up in front of him.

Sanji

Hi~

Zoro’s hands slip. He tries to recover himself by flailing his arms around but to no avail. He falls backwards.

Zoro

ACK–!

Sanji snatches him by the collar of his open robe and pulls him back. Zoro takes the opportunity to grab onto the top railing and the blonde’s outstretched arm. He hooks his other foot between another set of balustrades, finally able to get some semblance of stability.

Sanji speaks in a whisper.

Sanji

My god, you are terrible at this. I could hear you shuffling around behind the walls. I had to compensate a lot for you, you know.

Zoro

What–?

Sanji covers his mouth with his other hand, practically slapping it. He tuts, shaking his head.

Sanji

Too loud. But…I can’t help but think how romantic this all is. It’s very sweet of you to put yourself in danger and come all this way, Zoro. You’re not worried about me, are you?

For some reason, the sound of his name coming from the blonde gives Zoro butterflies in his stomach. He blinks dumbly a couple of times, then slaps Sanji’s hand out of his mouth.

Zoro

Curls, we don't have time for this. We have to go now.

Sanji

What, why? I'm in the middle of a heist here. A heist! For money! We're pirates–we like money! Actually, you can clear our way out. At the eastern side there’s a hidden passage that they use as an escape route for emergencies. I've been told it's under a big willow tree. I want you to find it and make sure there are no guards on the way out in two hours. 

Zoro

Two…? Fuck that. Let’s just–

Sanji

You can manage that, can’t you? You know which side is east, right? He won’t know what hit him until we’re way out of here. He’s far too rich to notice anything missing. I’ll have the money and some when I’m through, I promise. 

Zoro

What? Is this really just about…? Curls, this isn't worth it. We can just stick to Traffy’s plan.

Sanji places a finger on Zoro’s lips then gives him a warm smile. The swordsman didn’t realise that the hand that gripped his collar is now splayed over his chest.

Sanji

Shh…too loud. And just…can you just give me a sec to take this in? Please?

Zoro furrows his brows in confusion and looks around, trying to make sense of what the blonde is talking about. Then it dawns on him.

It’s just like what he’d seen on the covers of those romantic books about forbidden love. It’s where the suitor breaks in just for a chance to see his beloved by the windowsill. He played the brave man standing outside on the balcony, trying to win his love’s affection, and Sanji is the girl in a fine dress that he’d been chasing. The cool wind blows calmly through them, giving Zoro the rare chance to see both of Sanji’s eyes up close, bright and blue, looking back at him longingly.

Sanji

Can I try something?

Sanji gently cups both sides of Zoro’s face in his hands then pulls him in, his lips just hovering over Zoro’s own. He pauses there, as if giving the swordsman a chance to back off.

Zoro’s head tells him that he should push him away. By all accounts, with everything that they’ve been through and everything that he’d seen him do, he should be repulsed by this.

But his heart screamed louder at that moment. He finds himself unable to move away. Instead, his open eyelid droops down.

Sanji moves in and places his lips lightly onto his. He parts himself away for a second to look Zoro in the eye, carefully assessing his reaction. When the swordsman tips forwards ever so slightly, he takes the hint. He angles his head and clashes their mouths together.

They start their exchange gently, taking in each other’s sensations. When Sanji teases a tongue between Zoro’s lips, it quickly becomes frantic and desperate. They deepen their kiss as their hands keenly seek and explore each other’s skins, sliding under fabrics of clothing and grasping whatever they can in an attempt to pull themselves closer together.

Finally, Sanji forces himself to pull away before it gets too messy, leaving a trail of spit stretching between their tongues. Zoro couldn’t help but follow the momentum as he craved for more. They both take a second to catch their breaths. The swordsman looks into the blonde’s eyes again, then down to his mouth, trying to process what just happened. The feeling of the softness of his lips and the taste of his tongue on his own linger still.

Zoro

That was…

Sanji smiles fondly and lets out a light-hearted chuckle. He wipes the stain of his lipstick off Zoro’s lips, leaning back slightly to admire the strong features of his face while cleaning any proof of his makeup.

Sanji

Zoro… I…

Zoro slides his hands from Sanji's forearms up to his shoulders, then wraps his hands gently around the back of his neck.

Zoro

Curls…don't kill him.

Sanji's smile fades quickly, then he looks at the swordsman in confusion. His expression turns sour.

Sanji

You're trying to protect them…?

Zoro

No! I–

Sanji pushes Zoro by the chest, jerking himself away, taking backward steps.

Zoro fumbles but manages to catch the top railing of the balcony just in time before he could lose his balance.

Zoro

It's not like that! Curls, I am here because I…. Look, if you kill him, they'll send every Admiral and Warlord to get you and I might not be able to protect you from them. They'll send Mihawk.

Sanji

You think I need your protection? You? The person who's been trying to kill me for–

Suddenly, blood bursts out of his nose, staining the front half of his dress.

Zoro

Woah–!

Sanji

–the fuck?!

Sanji cups his hands over his face and runs inside, looking around clumsily for any piece of cloth to stop the bleeding and to clean himself with. Finally he finds facial tissues stashed on a dresser at the far end of the room.

There was a knock on the door. Zoro was about to hurdle over the railing to help the blonde but quickly skirts the balustrade to hide behind the outer wall instead.

Saint Charlos

Everything okay, princess?

Sanji

Y–yes, dear! Don’t come in yet. I’ll be there soon!

The door bursts open regardless. Saint Charlos saunters in.

Saint Charlos

Are you alright? I thought I heard–why are you bleeding?

Sanji

Of course I am. I’m in the house of a mighty World Noble after all. One has to work up the bravery just to be by your side, Your Grace. Nervous jitters.

Saint Charlos

Ah, I see. There's no shame in admitting it. I am magnificent, especially compared to someone like you. Come on then, my slaves will clean you up.

The Celestial Dragon lays a hand on Sanji’s lower back, ushering him through the door where he came from.

Sanji steals a glance behind him, only to find that there’s no one in the room. He uses his haki but can't seem to sense anyone’s presence. He returns his gaze forwards, feeling torn about the whole ordeal.

—

Thick clouds darken the skies and the rain starts pouring heavily. From under the refuge of an especially large willow tree, Zoro looks up and adjusts his hood frustratingly, trying to keep himself dry. His leg twitches restlessly. He keeps thinking about his last interaction with the blonde and tries to make sense of his own actions. He should hate the guy, but he can no longer deny his attraction to him. When he blinks, he realises that he's running his fingers across his lips, unable to shake the lingering sensation of their shared contact. The worst part is, he didn’t hate anything about it at all, nor did he realise that he had any regrets. He grips onto Wado's handle to keep his hands occupied.

He looks down on the trapdoor located just under the tree trunk, silently praying that the tunnel through it is the correct one that Sanji had instructed him to find. He won't, of course, admit to the other man that he'd gone the complete opposite direction initially. Of course he didn't have much luck looking for any secret passages that way. He just kept wandering around until he found an easy pick royal guard to intimidate so he could show him the way and that's how he ended up here. He almost felt sorry for the poor fellow when he rendered him unconscious and dumped his body somewhere hard to find.

The swordsman quietly wonders to himself if the Sanji had anticipated this kerfuffle, and that's why he had given him two whole hours instead of a shorter duration.

He’s lost track of the exact time, but he’s certain that it’s coming close to the two hour mark that the blonde had set. From afar, Zoro tries to look through the mansion window to check on the grandfather clock he’d been watching, but the rain is so heavy now that it clouded his vision of the landscape, barely able to make the silhouette of the house from where he sat.

The swordsman concentrates on his observation haki, detecting five presences running towards him. He stands and draws two blades, ready to strike.

The group of people come to a halt as soon as they see Zoro up close. They gasp in fear and hold each other's hands. They all have tattered clothes and no shoes, and around their necks are fresh purple and yellow bruises. The swordsman recognises two of the men as the ones that carried the Celestial Dragon and Sanji all the way from Sabao Dome but it looks like they had lost their collars.

When he looks down, he sees a small figure trembling madly behind them. A child with an angry red mark on his chest, shaped like a dragon’s claw, exactly like the one on Sanji’s back. His tan skin isn't textured like normal human skin, but instead, has an iridescent shine to it. On the sides of his face where his ears should be are fins covering a set of gills.

Man 1

That scar and the hair…. It’s–it’s the Demon Warlord–Roronoa Zoro!

Woman 1

What…what do we do? I thought Your Highness said that this path is clear?

Woman 2

The Warlord must be working for the Celestial Dragons and has come to stop us!

The swordsman frowns at that statement. He wonders if he's done the right thing all these years, which is a question that's come up quite a lot since starting this mission to find Corazon.

Man 2

Please–please have mercy! Junior here has never seen light! Just let him go, and w–we’ll stay!

Man 1

No, we've seen what they all do to people like us. We're all dead anyway, but I'd rather die fighting! Son, make a run for it!

The man recklessly charges in with a makeshift shiv in his hand. He lunges at Zoro, who steps aside and trips him with the blunt side of one of his swords. The man falls on his face.

Merchild

Dad, no!!!

The merchild ducks between the other people’s legs and charges angrily. He uses his webbed fists to throw punches against Zoro’s stomach.

Merchild

You hurt him!!

Zoro stares at the small figure and senses that the others are shaking in fear, too frozen and afraid to move. He raises his swords–

The others cry out–

–and sheathes his blades back on his hips. He kneels down to catch the child’s fists with his hands and speaks calmly. 

Zoro

Did the Pirate King free you?

The first man pushes himself up by the elbows on the ground and spits at him.

Man 1

Don’t hurt him!

Merchild

So what if he did?! He’s a kind man and you’re–you’re–

Zoro lets go of the merchild.

Zoro

Your punches are making my belly itchy, that’s all.

The merchild blinks at him, but stops his assault.

Zoro offers a hand to the man he’d tripped.

Zoro

If you’re looking for the way out, it’s just through that trapdoor behind me. We don’t have a lot of time so grab the torch I set up inside and run. Just be careful, I’m not quite certain what you’ll find on the other side of the tunnel.

There was a moment of silence. It takes a second for the group of people to fully realise that the feared Warlord is on their side. The man on the ground takes Zoro’s hand and the swordsman lifts him onto his feet.

Merchild

Dad!!!

The family reunites. They hug affectionately.

Woman 1

You’re…you’re helping us?

Man 2

We know what’s on the other side. I know where we can find a sloop to get out of this island.

Zoro

That’s not a bad idea. That way we can protect you outside too. Just make sure to stay low and quiet until we get back. Do you know where the Pirate King is now?

Woman 2

He said he’s off to the treasure room and then he’d meet us on the way out but…that was about half an hour ago. We thought he’d caught up to us by then so we just ran out ourselves as soon as we could use the rain for cover.

Zoro nods as thanks and proceeds to walk towards the mansion.

—

Not far from the house, a group of royal guards surround a hunched figure wrapped in a large curtain taken from one of the windows inside. The soldiers charge in one after another, relentlessly attacking with weapons on hand. The figure dodges left and right, occasionally taking swipes against them. The figure knocks back clusters of them each time, but in its weakened state, it’s not enough to take them out. They simply stand on their feet again and begin another round of assault.

A royal guard spears right through the figure from behind.

Sanji’s eyes jolt open, the pain that sears through his chest becomes unbearable when the guard twists the weapon while it's inside him then pulls it out forcefully. He screams, his voice breaking. While overwhelmed, he senses another guard somewhere on his left side swing his sword low, slicing the tendons on both his ankles, dropping him to his knees. He readies himself for another direct blow from a guard wielding a heavy mace right in front of him. Over the guard’s shoulder, he sees glints of three lines shine through the mist of the rain.

There was a heavy gush of wind and a flash of green. Sanji was in too much pain to fully understand what's going on but he could hear the clashing of blades and cries for help around him.

Zoro

Three Swords Style…Tatsu Maki!

A powerful whirlwind forms around the swordsman and Sanji, effectively blowing and damaging the royal guards in its wake. They fly up high in the air and fall roughly on the ground, knocking them out. The one who landed right in front of the blonde somehow stayed awake. The guard writhes and attempts to get up, but Sanji throws a heavy punch reinforced with armament haki across his head, cracking his skull. The blonde speaks in a difficult, huffed breath.

Sanji

I…had it all…under control…Shitty Mosshead.

He tips forwards.

Zoro runs, sheathing his swords and catches the blonde before he falls on the ground. When he angles him back, the curtain that wrapped around him slips off his body. The swordsman gapes in horror, shocked at the sight.

Sanji’s dress had been torn to shreds. He’s practically naked under the curtain cover. His heels are nowhere to be found, only having his bare feet to walk with. He has a deep puncture through his upper chest and a nasty cut across his ankles–both fresh and bleeding from the fight just now. The full lengths of his arms are reddened and scratched. One side of his body has a large purple bruise that spans from his ribs right through to his back. He also can’t help but notice evidence of trauma and a messy cluster of teeth marks along his inner thigh towards his groin. As horrendous as the sight of his wounds may be, the worst detail that the swordsman can see is the large metal clamp that hangs around Sanji’s neck. He recognises them as a slave’s chain.

Sanji

Take a picture. It’ll last longer.

Zoro

…Did he do this to you?

Sanji doesn't move or reply. His hair had become heavily damp in the rain, covering his face. When Zoro dips down slightly, he sees the blonde's lips trembling over gritted teeth. He can't tell if the stream running down his nose is from the rain or from his eyes.

Zoro

Did you kill him?

Slowly, Sanji shakes his head.

Zoro’s eye narrows. He feels his hands tighten their hold on Sanji. A pang of guilt washes over him, remembering their conversation earlier.

Sanji

But I made sure that he can't hurt anyone anymore.

Zoro's hands relax.

Zoro

…Good.

Surprised, Sanji lifts his head to look at the swordsman.

Sanji

Just…”good”? You're not going to ask me what I did?

Zoro

Knowing you, it's probably something unpleasant. I'd rather not know.

Zoro notices the curtains that the blonde had used for cover have fallen on the damp grass underneath him, completely soaked in the rain. He removes his own cloak and wraps the blonde in it, making sure that the hood covers his head before scooping him up into his arms.

—

With one of the men holding out a fiery torch, the liberated slaves lead on through the dark winding passageway while Zoro carefully carries Sanji in his arms behind them. He guesses that they’re inside one of the Sabaody Archipelago’s giant roots, hollowed out so that anyone walking through can potentially cross the entire length of the island without anyone knowing. He starts worrying where they may end up but he trusts the people guiding them, simply because there’s no other choice. They all want one thing–to get out of this place alive.

The swordsman is well aware of others’ subtle glances and pitiful looks at the Pirate King but he tries to ignore them to keep his senses focused on monitoring the blonde’s heart rate and breathing. Sanji’s been falling in and out of consciousness and it’s starting to worry him more each time. He wishes his reindeer friend is with them. He’d know what to do.

Zoro dares a peek at the collar around Sanji’s neck. He frowns at the sight then tears his gaze away.

Zoro

You don’t…happen to have a key for this, do you? Or know how to get it out another way?

Man 1

I’m so sorry… it was him who somehow got his hands on one to get us out but we don’t know what happened to it when we parted ways. The last time I saw him, he didn’t have anything around his neck.

Woman 1

It must have happened when he went to the treasure room. We don’t know how to take it off without the right key. We would have already tried to escape if–

Den-den Mushi

Purupurupurupuru

Everyone jumps at the sound, clearly on edge from the potential dangers that could come their way at any second. They all turn to Zoro who fumbles around, trying to answer the transponder snail while carrying the blonde.

Sanji had woken up from the sound and feebly reached inside Zoro’s open robe. He pulls out the den-den mushi from his breast pocket and holds it out for him in his hand, pressing the button on its shell to answer the call.

Zoro

Hello?

Law

Zoro-ya, it's been…

…where are…y…

…did you get…

…there’s news about…

Sanji looks up to the ceiling then around them. He speaks in a weak voice.

Sanji

We’re probably in the dense area of the root system. It’s interfering with the signal.

Zoro

Traffy, you’re breaking up. Can you hear us?

Law

…they know you’re…

…Pacifistas heading your way…

…need to…

…before Admiral…

Zoro

Tra-guy, we have a friend on Grove 44. Duval of the Flying Fish Riders. I want you to meet us at their base if you can.

Law, if you can hear me, go to–

Den-Den Mushi

Click

Zoro tuts disappointingly at the lost signal.

Woman 2

Pa–Pacifistas?!

Woman 1

Wait–a Marine Admiral is coming too?! To get us?!?

The people around them start shaking uncontrollably in panic. The merchild holds onto his dad’s leg desperately.

Zoro sighs but gestures for them to keep moving forward.

Zoro

Let’s pick up the pace. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds us and I'd rather not get caught up in here. We’d get trapped and surrounded pretty easily.

Sanji returns the snail inside Zoro’s inner breast pocket then gives the others a small smile in an attempt to ease their minds.

Sanji

Don’t worry about the Pacifistas for now. We’re not in any danger until they see us. They’re too reliant on their visuals. As for the Admirals…lazy bunch, all of them. Too slow to act. Besides, my friend here will protect us from harm I’m sure. You said you know where we can find a sloop?

Man 2

Y–yes!

The word “friend” echoes in Zoro’s head.

—

They continue their walk in silence, at an increased pace this time. Zoro didn't want to have them running at full speed in fear that it would open up Sanji’s wounds further. Instead, they had to take longer rushed strides.

In one of the brief moments when the blonde is conscious, he breaks the silence by starting a light-hearted conversation, brightening the troubled mood of the crowd.

Sanji

I got loot like I promised. It’s not exactly money but we can sell it for a lot. The surgeon’s going to freak.

Zoro's serious and tense expression softens. He holds the blonde closer, tucking Sanji’s head between the nook of his neck and shoulder after he notices that his body is cold and shivering.

Zoro

I never doubted you for a second. What did you get?

Sanji pulls a small pouch that he'd secured around his wrist by its loops. The swordsman didn’t even notice that he had it on him, too distracted at the sight of his mangled body earlier. The blonde opens the bag with one hand and pulls out a small dark pebble between his fingers with the other, raising it as high as he could muster in front of Zoro’s face.

Sanji

Pure, unadulterated condensed Seastones, baby.

Zoro's eye widens. Then he grins, genuinely impressed at the man.

Zoro

Wh–what? I've never even seen them in that form before.

Sanji grins a toothy smile up to him. Zoro's heart pounds at the sight.

Man 2

Those things?! They’re Devil Fruit user killers–they're worth almost a million Beri each! 

Sanji

I know right! Want one? When we get out of here, you can buy your way anywhere in the world and start a new life.

Woman 1

Your Highness, you can't possibly–

Sanji

Catch!

Sanji flicks a pebble up in the air to the woman who scrambles to catch it in surprise. He does the same to the others. Finally, he gently holds one out to the merchild walking alongside them.

Sanji

Grow up big and strong for me, okay?

The merchild looks at his father, who nods, then takes the pebble from Sanji.

There's a moment of silence, then Zoro hears sniffles coming from one of the women, then the other, then followed by the two men and the merchild that they had freed. They cry their eyes out, thanking the Pirate King and the Warlord as they reach the end of the tunnel.

—

Sanji is unclear what exactly happens next. He knows that he’s been drifting in and out of sleep, blaming his body’s fatigued condition and whatever serum that the Celestial Dragon had injected him with to nullify his strength earlier.

He feels the harsh wind and rain on his face. It looks like the weather has turned for the worst. He hears high pitch sounds of whirring, as if machines are charging up. Then he hears a child scream. Forcing his eyes open, he sees blindingly bright long beams head directly towards them. He wonders if this is his chance to see his mother again.

The swordsman above him quickly takes a step forward, adjusting his hold of him, then swings a sword in three wide movements, redirecting all the beams back to its source. One hits a Pacifista straight onto its face, causing it to explode and knock back the two next to it. Sanji can’t help but smile.

Sanji

Nice… shot….

Zoro

Curls–?! You’re awake! Do you think you can…

Sanji’s vision and hearing gets all fuzzy again, unable to hear the rest of Zoro’s question. His eyes droop weakly, limbs dropping.

Woman 1

…There’s no…

…he’s lost too much blood!

Man 2

…This way, hurry!!!

Zoro

Hold on! Give me…

…anything, just quickly!

Sanji feels a painful pressure against the hole in his chest as the swordsman pushes down a crumpled cloth over it. He thinks that it would be a shame to die now. He doesn’t want to face his mother until he fulfils his promise to help his sister and brothers first. He silently asks her forgiveness for not visiting enough. His world darkens as reality fades once more.

When his eyes open, they’re in the sloop that one of the men had promised. It rocked madly from the torrential weather in the open seas. One of the women and the merchild held him securely in their arms while keeping pressure over his bleeding chest. They’re trying to keep him as stable as possible in the undercover area of the boat.

Outside, he sees the rest of their group all work together to pull a rope on one end of the ship while Zoro pulls a separate one all by himself on the other side. They look like they’re trying to secure the sails above them while dealing with the severe storm.

Sanji

What a nice… family….

Merchild

Hey, uncle! Stay with us, okay?! We’re…

…it’s going to be…

Woman 2

…just about…

…very soon, I promise!

…just hang on!

Man 2

Warlord Zoro! We’re being followed!!

Sanji’s eyes close again. He ponders if the Seastones of the quality he got would help Germa finalise their research. Then he starts wondering if there's a chance that his siblings would enjoy a day out sailing when they finally get emotions of their own without having to rely on those ugly modified helmets. He silently asks them to hang in there.

Sanji

I'm so, so sorry….

When he comes to again, he sees Zoro by himself in the thick of the rain, panting madly. He looks extremely worn and tired.

Bright lights shine from a distance and a continuous barrage of beams break through the fog, directly heading their way. Most hit the water next to them, causing the small boat to rock sideways, almost tipping over the boat at one point. He hears Zoro yell out one of his one-sword style moves as he deflects the beams in one long swipe, sending them off in different directions. He could hear his exhaustion behind his voice.

Man 1

Warlord Zoro! Another rogue wave up ahead!

Zoro

Shit!

Sanji feels the boat shift upwards at a steep angle. He thinks about how much work the swordsman is putting on right now, dealing with Pacifistas, protecting them, and trying to keep their small boat afloat in the storm all at the same time. 

Zoro lowers down almost to a kneeling position and takes out a second sword. He swings his blades synchronously in a circle, creating a massive force of vortex that breaks through the rogue wave in front of them. It corrects the angle of the boat, saving them from capsizing.

Sanji

What a… great swordsman…

His words catch Zoro’s attention.

Suddenly there was a nagging sensation from the right. Another beam is heading their way. Sanji predicts that the distracted swordsman can redirect this attack but the aftershock of the impact would heavily damage the roof of the undercover area and the sloop’s already stressed mast. 

Sanji reaches out and uses his last remaining strength to pull the nearby woman and merchild down to the floor with him.

His prediction is correct, and the events unfold exactly as he saw it through his haki, saving the woman and merchild from getting caught up in the blast.

Sanji worries about the other members of their family. He’s too weak to think about too many people at once.

Zoro rises from under the debris in front of them. Sure enough, he had used his body to protect the others from the blast by pinning them low to the floor. Relief washes over the blonde.

He sees a series of lightning strikes reign down from the sky that makes his hair stand on end, followed by powerful sounds of thunder and huge explosions from afar.

The blinding light of the sun suddenly emerges above them. Sanji welcomes the warm sensation on his skin. The thick grey clouds part, as if being commanded to. The whirring machine noises from the distant seems to have quieted down.

Zoro groans in exhaustion. He looks around and huffs. When he gazes upwards, a large smile forms across his face.

A heavenly being descends from above, waving a long metallic staff in circles. As it does, the clouds part further, creating an area of calm waters in their immediate vicinity. As the creature of light gets closer, Sanji notices long orange hair flowing beautifully in the wind. He catches sight of an impressive tattoo on its arm. When his vision clears a bit more, he finally sees that their saviour is in the shape of a voluptuous woman riding a small bubble ship floating down to their damaged sloop. She waves at them over the side with a bright smile on her face.

Sanji

An angel… from heaven…?

Zoro

NAMI!!!

----------

I like to think that in every universe, Sanji worships Nami in different ways.

I initially really wanted to draw the balcony scene as an opening to this chapter. The whole kiss kiss smooch shebang. But as I was doing it, I noticed some inconsistencies with Sanji's design. I figured I'd do a character sheet for reference to hone down on it first before I flesh things out too detailed.

Zoro's character design definitely needs some love though. Maybe I'll do his next.

[anyarose011]

"There Must Be Something in the Water" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: Many men with one eye have followed you home before...but never one with silver hair. What could he possibly want with you?

Part 1 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Swearing, vulgar jokes, talk of sex, prostitution, and spice (but not smut)

I jumped on the HOTD bandwagon, and even worse (I don't know how it happened, seriously, I don't), I started loving Aemond "Mommy Issues" Targaryen. I came up with this lovely little mini series, and I hope you enjoy it! If you know where the song in this chapter is from, 100 points to *insert your Hogwarts House*! Also, please don't try and keep a timeline of events (the show for sure doesn't), and if you need help on the Westeros money system, use this.

Word Count: 4.2k

You knew a man was following you one lonesome night. It was like clockwork though; you walking through the empty, darkened streets of King’s Landing, a hollow water jug on your hip as if it were a babe.

It didn’t matter if it was the same one who’d been following you all week; what mattered, was what he had. You hadn’t caught sight of him yet, so perhaps he was a different man. Still, if it wasn’t, then simply from how his eyes must traced over you, he’d plan on coming closer that night.

Wearing only your sandals and a thin dress, you continued down the narrow path. It must’ve been…oh, perhaps three hours before sunrise? If you’d gone any sooner or any later, than members of the City Watch would surely be out.

Whether they wanted to aid or hurt you, it would all be the same.

As faint torches began to appear alongside the walls you walked, and you knew you grew closer to the well, you began to hum lightly at first. Then, you sung even softer; no words, just your voice in its purest form. It was only when you finally made it to the well, and after you sat atop the stones, did you finally add a story to your song.

“Father’s hunting in the forest, Mother’s cooking in the home. I must go to fetch the water, ‘til the day that I am grown.”

You cranked the bucket down into the well, still singing.

“’Til I’m grown, ‘Til I’m grown. I must go to fetch the water, ‘til the day that I am grown.”

You glanced up and saw the shadow of the man who had been following you. He was still peeking out from behind an alley, but once he saw your head move, he stepped out. Yet, you merely kept your back to him, cranking the handle on the well to bring the bucket up.

“Then I will have a handsome husband, and a daughter of my own. Then I’ll send her to fetch the water, I’ll be cooking in the home.”

Taking the bucket off its hook, you poured it carefully into the jug. Setting the bucket back, you then stood up, taking the full jug of water into your arms. Slowly, you began to walk uphill and out of the area of the well, singing quietly.

“My own home, My own home. Then, I’ll send her to fetch the water, I’ll be cooking in my home. My own home, My own-.”

You’d gotten better at making it look like an accident when dropping your jug of water. The first time you’d done it, you glanced back to make sure your unsuspecting victim was watching and let go of it. Needless to say, he was the one that robbed you that night.

The jug rolled down the cobbled hill, and ricocheted off the well, spinning in place. Soon, the silhouette of a man became visible as he came closer to the jug. Your eyes drifted up from the ground. When you saw his face, the first thing you noticed was only one eye; the other, his left eye, covered by a humble patch.

Then, the one thing that frightened you: Long hair that was almost the shade of the sun, it was so light.

This wasn’t a drunken man wandering alone at night, this wasn’t a Kingsguard who had an itch to scratch.

No…no, this was Aemond Targaryen, a prince. A prince who could do anything to you, and you wouldn’t be able to resist; even if you fought.

And he was staring at you from the foot of the hill. You weren’t even at the top, only halfway. In actuality, this wasn’t the most afraid you’d ever been in a situation like this. Still, the way he bent down to pick up the jug without his smile wavering, or his eye never leaving yours, greatly unnerved you.

Then, he turned away from you, approaching the well. Setting down the jug, he began to turn the crank of the well, lowering the bucket back down into the water. This wasn’t the first time a man had done this…yet from a prince?

“Come down now,” he beckoned, not looking at you. “I won’t cause any harm. You look ridiculous.”

You hadn’t any idea at the time what words he would say…but those weren’t what you expected at all. Making a sour face, you slowly trailed down the rocky hill until you were at level with him. Aemond stopped cranking, and finally looked at you.

“I know you aren’t a mute.” He taunted. “You wouldn’t sing so sweetly if you were.”

Still, you refused to speak. Instead, you folded your hands, standing tall as if you were an equal to him. This only widened the smile upon his face. He sat atop the rocks of the well, leaving a space for you.

You approached him, but did not sit. Even as his eyes trailed over your figure (and how little of your curves the dress hid), you remained stoic; at least, as best as you could. It certainly wasn’t the first time a man looked upon you with lust…but it felt stranger now.

“Don’t tell me I have to pay coin solely to have a conversation with you?” He laughed.

“No.” You finally spoke. “But you are the second Targaryen I have witnessed to take comfort in brothels whilst mourning his line in succession.”

…If you were going to die at any point in life, you at least thought you would die in a fight. This wasn’t the one you were imagining, but it would do.

He nodded, his voice returning to what you assumed to be normal; a natural edge to it that one would find difficult to discern if he was angry at them. “I assume my brother was the first to receive your comfort then?”

“He has never laid eyes on me.”

“I have heard the stories of you.” Aemond hissed. “A living siren, luring those thinking with the head between their legs, only to rob them of all they have. How is it possible he has not seen you?”

“Perhaps you underestimate the King’s intelligence.”

“You followed me.” You wanted to say, but only did so in your mind.

He sighed, standing up to be almost toe to toe with you. “If you are not a whore, then how did you come to know I have visited the Street of Silk?”

Dropping your eyes to the ground, they were soon brought back up by Aemond’s hand cupping your jaw. You did not know if it was shock or stupidity, but you weren’t the least bit afraid. He wanted answers, and he wasn’t so pigheaded to kill you before you gave them.

You backed out of his grip, sighing as if he was an inconvenience (he was, but you couldn’t tell him that). “For years I have made deals with the ladies of the night. I come to them in the evening, they tell me what men are still sick with lust, I lure those men, rob them, maim them, kill them if I have to, and share whatever I have taken.”

A smile lurked in the corner of his mouth. “You’ve killed men before?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t matter to me what you believe.”

“Did the women tell you to lure me?”

“They did not tell me it was you.”

“But you knew I was in their attendance.”

“Are you going to fill my jug of water or not?”

Aemond turned back to the well, your empty water jug still resting on the stones. “Answer my question.” He gritted his teeth, yet still brought his hands to the crank and turned it.

You leaned against the basin, watching him and debating your words. “Have you spoken to any women outside your house?”

He snickered (to your surprise and your delight). “You’re very strange.”

“Answer my question.” You teased gently.

“Yes, I have.” The bucket resurfaced, and he took it off the hook. “If my frequent visitations to the Street of Silk haven’t made you aware, then I would say that the gods have cursed you with selective attention.”

“Then you must know that women like to talk.” You sat upon the rocks. “That it would be impossible for them to keep quiet about a silver-haired prince with one eye.”

Aemond said not a word as he poured the water into the jug. When it was filled, he set the bucket back on the hook and walked to stand in front of you. His hands resting on the stones outside of your thighs, caging you.

“Do you favor talking?”

“Only when it brings me favor.”

He brought one of his hands up to your thigh, dancing dangerously close to the inside of it. You sucked in a breath as he asked. “This is what it takes to grant you favor? Dressing yourself up like a doll, singing like a bird for men?”

“Why did you follow me?” You brought your face just a little closer for him to hear your whisper.

“I thought I already told you.” He held your face in his other hand, shutting his eye and hovering his nose above yours. “I have heard the stories; I wanted to see if you were real, and as beautiful as many have claimed.”

You brought your hand to grip onto the wood of the well, steadying yourself as you felt his breath upon your skin. “And what are your thoughts?”

He opened his eye, wearing that same smile. “You’re not…unpleasing to look at.” Pinching your cheek, he drew himself away from you to see the state you contorted your body in. He scoffed. “Seven Hells, you thought I’d push you, didn’t you?”

Relaxing, you hopped down from where you sat, cradling the heavy jug of water into your arms. “You can never be careful around men.”

He hummed. “Especially those who look like the monsters mothers tell their children hide that under their beds.”

“I would’ve thought that if I hadn’t spoken to you.” You tried to pass by him.

His hand came to rest on your bare shoulder; his fingers playing with the thin strap. “And now that you have?”

You felt bold that night (if it wasn’t obvious prior). So, holding the jug on your hip, you brought your other hand over his; softly caressing his knuckles as you smiled. “You’re funny.”

He didn’t laugh, not even smiled. Instead, for a moment, you saw his eye grow. You pulled away from him, your stomach churning at what you had just said and done. You offended him, you must have.

“Goodnight,” your curtsied. “your grace-.”

“-Aemond.”

Now it was your turn for your eyes to enlarge.

“You may call me Aemond.”

He said it as if you would surely see him again. Taking a crisp breath, you smiled shyly. “And what if I were to call you ‘Little Prince’?”

“Perhaps when I hear you sing again, I might allow it.”

 “Then I bid you goodnight, Aemond.” You curtsied playfully, quickly turning on your heel to walk away from him.

You heard his footsteps behind you. “You have not told me your name.”

“Perhaps when you hear me sing again,” you repeated his words. “I shall give it to you.”

You expected him to follow you for the second time that night. To maybe pull you into a dark alleyway and make you tell him your name in the most pleasant way possible. Yet, you did not hear a retort as you walked back up the cobbled hill and turned on the first right to where your home was.

The sound of life soon flooded your ears as you walked through the main part of the city. Even with it being almost sunrise, there were still enough people out and about. It was only when you were nearing close to home, did the events of the night truly dawn on you.

You ran into the prince, and not only had you come out of it unharmed but also liked by him. It couldn’t possibly have been anything more than him wanting to wet his cock again (wet his cock with a girl his own age to put it more accurately, but you could never say that aloud). Despite how much the interaction thrilled and entertained you, you hoped to any gods above you wouldn’t see him again for that very reason.

Whilst turning another corner, a hooded man had tried to do the same, causing the two of you to collide. The jug fell out of your arms and crashed onto the road, the water spilling out.

“Cocksucker!” You cursed, falling to your knees.

You glanced up at the man who caused this, but he quickly pushed past you. For a moment, you thought you saw silver hair.

It was an open secret amongst the Smallfolk how…peculiar the Targaryens were.

Sighing heavily, you pulled yourself up along with the jug. When you began to walk though, you heard soft clinging from the jug. Stopping soon as you started, you glanced into the empty jug, and a faint shining momentarily blinded you. You reached in and pulled out five silver coins.

Stags…they were Stag coins.

You could pay half a years’ worth of food, a somewhat nicer place to live, clothes that were your own…but it wasn’t enough for passage on a ship, none the less, a new life.

Sliding the coins back into the jug, you continued on your way home as if nothing had happened. All the while, pondering if running into the little prince again would do more harm than good.

Not the day after you ran into Aemond, but the day after that, you were in the streets with the other smallfolk, weeping with his sister and his mother.

The same night you first met him was the same night Prince Jaeherys was beheaded. You hadn’t an idea how old he was until you watched his little body wheeled through King’s Landing. There had never been a procession like this, and the whole event made you feel ill.

It felt strange to call it an event; to have the same word used for festivals and celebrations describe a funeral. 

As you attempted to escape the crowds that were reaching out to Queen Halaena, a daunting thought dawned on you: Was it Daemon Targaryen, the traitor to the Crown, uncle and husband to Rhaenyra, that you saw the previous night?

Swallowing down the sickness that stirred within you, you decided to cauterize your doubt with work.

“You know,” one of the brothel workers, Valda, smirked. “a certain, silver-haired dragon keeps asking about you.”

Scowling, you looked at her in the mirror while sitting at the vanity, one of the other girls doing your hair. “And what have you told him?”

“I’ve told him nothing. Chansey though-.”

“-You said you wouldn’t tattle!” Chansey, after running a comb through your hair, threw  it at her.

It was dinner for most of the girls, and every one of them laughed as they ate in one of the sitting rooms.

“What did you tell him?” You interrogated.

She sighed. “When he came last night, he asked for ‘The Woman at the Well’, and if I knew your name. I said you’d have to tell him yourself, and that you left an hour before he arrived.”

“So now he knows I’m here right now.”

Valda rolled her eyes, kneeling to your height and wrapping her arms around you. “If he cared so much for you, why isn’t he here right now?”

“I don’t want to know.”

He was more than likely fucking Sylvi as you spoke.

“What did you do to the Kinslayer to make him act like this?” She jested.

There was that name people were calling him. He killed Lucerys Velaryon, son of Rhanerya and probably the reason there would be a war in the coming month. People said that the boy fell from his dragon, others said Aemond’s dragon ate him, you didn’t know at the time. All you knew was that you wanted the conversation to end.

But, Valda persisted.

“I know you’ve never lain with anyone, but I didn’t know you sucked cock like a goddess.”

“What?!” You shrieked, and the girls howled with laughter. “I did nothing of the sort!”

Chansey giggled. “Don’t tell us you let him nurse on your tits like a newborn babe.”

“…Huh?”

More giggles followed as she said. “That’s what he does to Sylvi-!”

“-Who does what to me?”

Four little words silenced the room quicker than a drawn sword would have. All eyes darted to the opened door, and Sylvi entering. She only looked at Chansey.

She swallowed thickly. “No one, Madame Sylvi.”

“I hope you aren’t shaming the activities that I or other girls have done in this house; considering you have spread your legs and filled your mouth for far longer than half of the women in this room alone.”

“I didn’t intend any harm, Madame.” She dropped her head solemnly. “Please, forgive me.”

Sylvi approached her, caressing her cheek. “All is forgiven unless I hear those ugly words from you again. That goes for the rest of you, understood?”

They nodded and mumbled their agreement. Sighing, Sylvi announced. “Take the rest of your dinner in your quarters. If any men request you, tell him to wait, you still have fifteen minutes left. I need to speak with our ‘Woman at the Well’, as the title has been given to her by the prince himself.”

The girls chuckled, offering sincere goodbyes as they passed by you before exiting. When it was only you and Sylvi, she sat down on the long couch just behind where you were sitting. She looked at you through the mirror and tilted her head. You got up and sat beside her.

“Did you get anything from last night?” She first asked.

Nodding, you took out a small pouch from your boot. “It was the man visiting from Essos.”

“The rich one or his pageboy?” She opened it, revealing two copper Star coins, and one Groat. That answered her question.

“Apparently,” you relaxed further into the couch, leaning against her. “the rich one grew a conscience and decided to go back to his wife instead of fucking Valda. Did she tell you that?”

“You know her.” She stretched her arm to hang behind you. “She doesn’t like being left dry.”

“Does anyone?” You giggled.

Sylvi lightly tugged a piece of your hair. “Don’t slouch, you’ll mess up Chansey’s hard work.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you sat up. “It’s already dark, is there someone waiting for an innocent woman at a well?”

She shook her head. “No, not that I’ve heard of now, but tonight, perhaps. There’s so much talk of war, I’m feeling ill already thinking of it. Still, it will bring fortune for the both of us.”

“I suppose so.” You sighed, leaning forward.

Her hand came up to stroke your back, her finger trailing your spine. “Is it true you still haven’t fucked anyone?”

“Sylvi!” You laughed.

“Is it wrong I find it hard to believe?!” She shoved you playfully. “You’ve done so much good for us throughout the years; I’m confident there isn’t one handsome fella who wouldn’t want to bed you. Or one of the ladies, if you prefer.”

“I’m alright.” You had told her that a hundred times prior, and you felt as if you would tell her a hundred times more.

She sighed. “Suit yourself. Come back in an hour or two, we should have someone drunk on cunt for you to sedate.”

“Of course.”

You dusted yourself off and stood, heading to the door. Sylvi called your name, and you turned.

“I don’t want you speaking with the prince.” Her face was sullen. “You shouldn’t have to deal with his burdens.”

Nodding, you opened the door. “Tell him to leave me be if he asks again; I don’t want to deal with him either.”

You had decided on not wanting to see him again; even if he gave you a hundred Dragons (…that’s a lie, you would).

So, after wandering around King’s Landing for another hour, sticking close to the well-lit parts of the city and almost enjoying the merry crowds, you went back to the brothel, changed into your thin dress, and applied a light coat of makeup. Valda had been with a boy who turned two and twenty that night; friendless, wanted to do something extraordinary to celebrate his name day, and she had been the first person who made him cum. He didn’t even get to slip his cock in her, he was so overwhelmed.

She said he was sweet; you almost felt bad as you spotted him whilst preparing around the corner.

You began to sing the same song you sang every other night, carrying the jug on your hip. You were bolder that night knowing he was more innocent than you, so you glanced over your shoulder and beckoned him closer.

As you sat on the well, letting the bucket lower, you could feel the boy’s presence grow stronger. When you finished your song, you finally looked at him, grinning from ear to ear. Then, your eyes fell to a figure in the alleyway behind him.

“Does your mother know you’re here, boy?”

Said boy turned to look over his shoulder and was met with the face of a hooded one-eyed man, grinning like the devil. The boy’s jaw quivered and only stammers escaped. Aemond walked closer to him.

“What did you think would happen tonight?” He taunted. “You’d come up behind her and fuck her senseless?”

“N-no, I-I-!”

“-Leave us.”

The trembling boy said nothing more; only kept his head down and walked quickly away from the well. Rolling your eyes, you drew them away from the prince once it was only the two of you.

“You’re welcome.”

‘You’re welcome’ he said.

You looked back at him, your face falling into disgust. “What do I have to be thankful for?”

“I assumed you didn’t take pleasure luring little boys night after night.” He sat beside you. “Seems like a chore.”

“It’s worse.” You sighed, cranking the water bucket up. “It’s a job; something us smallfolk need.”

He snickered. “You believe I’ve never worked a day in my life.”

“For coin? Yes.”

“Is there anything else you do for work? Or are you just a siren?”

You looked at him, halting yourself. “Why did you pay me that night?”

He shrugged. “You gave me a service.”

“Someone to talk to?”

“Entertainment.”

Leaning against the wooden post of the well, you asked. “So will you pay me in gold this time? Considering you entertained yourself so much I lost a quarry?”

“We’ll see.” He stood up and placed his hand on the crank.

Humming, you stood as well, turning your whole body to him. “And no, I don’t just do this.”

“What do you do?”

“I usually tailor, sometimes look after children; many odd jobs.”

“Where do you tailor?”

You smirked. “Try asking me later.”

He took the bucket off its hook once it appeared. “I won’t, if you tell me your name.”

“How much coin do you have for that?”

“You didn’t have to pay for my name.”

“I already knew who you were.”

“Well, then you didn’t have to pay for the privilege to use it.” He poured the water into your jug.

You shrugged. “You made me lose a quarry, so…”

Aemond rolled his eye, but you could still see a smirk playing on his lips as he reached into his pocket and took out three silver coins; Moons. Your own eyes grew, and like a greedy child, you instantly stretched your hand out to grasp them. He was quicker, holding them closer to his chest.

“Ah, ah, ah, your name, and something else…”

That’s what made you lose interest. You forced yourself to stand taller, but your heart was trying to beat itself out of your chest and run away in terror.

“I’m not going to…to…”

He tilted his head, mimicking you. “To…to do what?”

“How plainly am I allowed to speak to you?”

“As if you were my own brother.”

“I’m not going to fuck you.” You forced out. “And I won’t let you do that to me either.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head. “Is there a difference?”

“Out of the both of us, you’re the only one who’s been in a pleasure house for its intended purpose. I thought you would know.”

“And you have thought correctly.” He pocketed the coins. “I don’t wish for that; only a walk.”

You furrowed your brow. “To where?”

“Nowhere, just around King’s Landing.”

This was stranger than the first night. The coins were meant to be found after you left, but now there he was, paying you directly for a service. He more than likely had his fill with Sylvi earlier, and after you first mentioned him to the girls, one of them let it slip that Madame Sylvi was the only woman he pleasured himself with.

So, despite how much he would deny it, Prince Aemond Targaryen was paying you to be a friend.

And damn it all, even though you had a feeling it would all end in tears, you couldn’t stop yourself from giving him your name.

[flemingsfreckles]

Mama’s Girl

Synopsis: R and Jessie’s daughter has decided she no longer wants to be a princess for Halloween, instead she wants to dress as her favorite person.

Warnings: very very minor injury to R and Jessie’s child

WC: 1.4K

A/N: hi, happy (early) Halloween

“Drew, baby come on, you love your princess dress.” You tried coxing your three year old out from where she hid in her closet.

“I don’t want it.” Her little voice complained through the wall. You had spent the better half of an hour trying to get your daughter dressed for a Halloween party the team was having. She had suddenly decided she had no interest in her costume, taking every chance to run and hide, making a game out of it with you.

“Drew, this is what you picked out. Remember how excited you were to get it?”

“I don’t want it.” She said still hiding herself in the closet. “Want something else.”

“Baby, we don’t have other costumes.” Your daughter had been so set on the princess dress for months, it was all she talked about, she had been so excited the day you and Jessie told her you were finally going to go buy it at the store. Except now she hated it.

“Make my own.” The closet door opens and your little girl bounces by you and out into the rest of the house. You hear a door slam and bring your hands up to your face, taking a deep breath. You were doing your best to stay patient with her, but you just wanted her dressed and ready for when Jessie got home.

Standing up from the floor of your daughter's bedroom you grab the princess dress off her bed and start heading toward the sound of the slammed door. Before you make it out of the room you’re startled by your wife walking into the room, causing you to jump slightly.

“Where’s Drew?” She then sees the dress in your hand and points to it. “Why isn’t she dressed? We’ve gotta get going in a few minutes.”

“I know,” you clasped your hands together. “But your daughter is refusing the costume she begged for two weeks ago and now she said she’s getting a different one, so I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Hmm.” Jessie pretends to ponder, her hand on her chin. “Stubborn, headstrong, indecisive… sounds like your daughter if anything.”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at Jessie before shoving the dress in her direction. “Your turn to try.”

Jessie smiles at you, grabbing the dress from your hands before turning and heading out of your daughter's room with you following close behind her.

“Drew! I’m home, want to come show me your costume?” Jessie shouts in hopes of luring your child out from where she was hiding.

When there’s no response, Jessie starts wandering around the house, looking for your daughter. You hear her calling for your daughter, checking the basement and then she heads into the playroom. As Jessie disappears into the other room you hear the pitter patter of small feet coming your way.

“Want to be Mama!” Your daughter came flying around the corner, you expected her to still be half dressed but instead you’re met with the sight of your little girl swimming in a shirt. More specifically she’s wearing one of Jessie’s jerseys, backwards, waddling toward you.

“Mama!” Her little fingers point at the name and number that are normally displayed across your wife’s back. Her other hand had a tight fist around the laces of one of Jessie’s boots.

You can’t help but giggle at the sight of your daughter in the shirt that was way too big for her toddler body. “Baby, you said you didn’t want to be a soccer player.”

“No soccer player, want to be Mama!” You gently take the boot from your daughters hand, placing it on the ground.

“Drew, you have your own shirt, one that fits, do you want that?” Your hands find the hem of Jessie’s shirt, ready to help untangle your daughter from it. She had her own child sized Fleming jerseys she could wear.

“No!” She squirms from your grip before taking off running down the hall again. You watch as the fabric of Jessie’s shirt catches under your daughter’s foot, causing her to trip landing hard on the floor. Her immediate wail has you running to her and you hear Jessie’s footsteps behind you as you both rush to her side.

Quickly sitting your daughter in your lap you hold her sad face. Looking her over you notice the small cut and bump forming on her cheek, just under her eye. “Did you hit your face baby?” Your daughter gives you a nod, her bottom lip sticking out as she sniffles. Jessie turns and hurries away before returning.

“What happened?” Jessie stares at you wide eyed, handing you the ice pack and towel she had run to get. You gently place them on your daughter's face.

“Mama.” Your daughter extends her arms in Jessie’s direction, hands grasping at air, reaching for her. Jessie sits down next to you and you let Drew crawl from your lap into Jessie’s.

“She was in our room. I guess she wants to be you instead of a princess, she tripped on your jersey, it’s too long for her.”

“Want to be Mama!”

“Okay Drew, you can be like Mama.” You say, not about to argue with your injured daughter. “But we have to make sure this is safe, we don’t want you falling again okay?”

“Okay Mommy.” She mirrors your nod with a smile.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up.” Jessie says tickling your daughter's sides causing her to squirm and shriek with laughter. She picks Drew up, carrying her to the bathroom and sitting her on the countertop.

“I got an ouch.”

“You did babygirl.” Jessie says as she gently blots your daughter's cheek with a wet washcloth. “But guess what?”

“What?” You watch your daughter look up at Jessie, eyes wide waiting to hear what she had to say.

“You know how you wanted to be like Mama?”

“Yes!”

“Remember when Mama had the purple spot around her eye?” Jessie asks, referring to the black eye she had gotten back in February.

“Yes.”

“You might have one of those too in a couple days, just like me.” Jessie says finishing cleaning up your daughter’s cheek. You loved watching Jessie with Drew, it was a privilege to get to parent with her and watch her become the mother she was to your little girl.

“Just like Mama!” She claps her hands together, letting her legs swing a little bit, overwhelmed with excitement that she’d be even more like Jessie.

“Yes baby.”

“Okay all clean.” Jessie says before scooping up your daughter to give her a tight hug.

“Mommy hug?” Your daughter looks over Jessie’s shoulder to where you stood in the doorway watching your wife and baby. Her little hands reached for you. She had always been Jessie’s little girl, clinging to her side, but it was nice that she wanted your hug too.

“Come here my tough girl.” You take her, giving her a tight hug.

“Tough like Mama!” Your daughter waves her hands about in excitement.

“You’re so tough.” You say to her, bending over to place her feet on the ground. “Okay, you can go as Mama for your costume, but can I help you? We don’t want you getting another boo boo right?”

“Okay Mommy.” She lets out a tiny huff and rolls her eyes. Jessie’s eyes widen and she stifles a laugh at the sass from Drew.

“See, your daughter.” Jessie says with a smirk on her face before she kisses your cheek and heads out into the living room. You quickly help your daughter turn around and tie up Jessie’s adult sized jersey, tricking her into tucking it in, the same way her Mama tucks in her training kit and everyday shirts.

“Okay baby, go get some socks on, and then you’ll be ready to go.” You pat her on the back as she runs to her bedroom to get a pair of socks.

You arrive at the Halloween party, a tiny bit late, but no one minded. You and Jessie walk hand in hand, letting Drew run ahead of both of you. She immediately runs up to Jessie’s teammates, turning around and showing them the name on the back of her shirt.

“She’s such a Mama's girl.” You shake your head before resting it on Jessie’s shoulder.

“I know.”

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You give her hand a squeeze.

“Me either.”

[mockerycrow]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a one shot with gn!reader who gets hurt in a mission trying to save Ghost and as he feels bad for it, so he gets reader a small plushie (kinda like those for the key chain) and when reader wakes up doesn't know it was ghost how gave it to them

💙

KEYCHAIN (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist — 1.3k words

authors note; it’s your local author criticizing their writing non stop again!!!!!! i feel like i could’ve written this better idk i’m sorry, anon! i wrote this whilst focusing on other projects </3

[WARNINGS; violence, descriptions of stabbing and choking, gore, hospital settings, fluff at the end.]

Ghost did not expect you to do what you did. Someone somehow managed to get the jump on Ghost from behind, wrapping their arms around the man’s neck with a knife in their hand. It was right in the middle of Ghost claiming he cleared a building; in his defense, he had cleared the entire building of every hostile for the exception of one. You heard him grunt and choke before going radio silent, you decided that you were on your way to his location the second something sounded wrong.

Ghost gasps for air and reaches for a knife of his own, trying to stomp his foot down on the man’s foot, but the man grunts and laughs when Ghost discovers he’s wearing steel-toed shoes. Ghost struggles against the man, his head beginning to swim—when is the last time he’s been overpowered like this?—and Ghost manages to grab one of his knives, taking it out of the sheath—

Ghost’s vision goes white for a moment when he feels the man’s blade sink into his abdomen, the man shushing him in his ear. “It’ll be over soon, big boy.” The man hisses, carelessly ripping the knife out of Ghost’s gut, making his legs buckle. Ghost must have blacked out for a moment because the next time his vision and hearing work, he’s on the ground in immense pain, witnessing a figure fighting off the strong, armored man. Ghost hears someone cry out—is that you??—but his vision won’t focus just yet.

His ears are ringing as he puts a forearm against the ground, a groan leaving Ghost as his other hand goes to his gut, and he winces as he applies pressure to his stab wound, hot thick blood trickling between his fingers and onto the ground. Ghost’s throat aches terribly, so he clears it as his vision finally focuses and it’s you fighting off a man that’s bigger than him. His eyes widen as he shouts your name, his voice hoarse and broken, laced with panic.

There’s blood staining your uniform as Ghost lets go of his stab wound, and he groans loudly as he leans down and grabs his handgun out of his ankle holster. Ghost inhales through his teeth and he shakily aims his handgun, and holds his breath to steady his aim, and he pulls the trigger.

The bullet ripples through the air and rips through the man’s temple, causing him to stumble for a second before crumpling to the ground like a ragdoll. Unfortunately, you follow suit, a loud pained gasp leaving you as you land on your side. Ghost holsters his handgun and he calls your name again, fighting through the pain to quickly crawl over to you, blood trailing him. “Oi, oi—“ Ghost hisses, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to roll onto your back.

There’s blood caking your uniform so horribly he doesn’t know where your wounds begin. It’s smeared against your neck and face, your eyelids fluttering from the pain. Your lips part and shut multiple times as your mind tries to comprehend what just happened. Ghost calls your name, a loud noise of pain leaving him, one hand pressing against his own wound whilst the other grabs your jaw to keep your head still.

Ghost hears Price shout your name through comms in an angry and panicked tone. “Ghost?? Fuckin’ hell, someone come in!” Ghost pants before he begins to tear the velcro straps off of your vest as he needs to know where you got hurt. He moves his hand off of his own stab wound—he is a bit lightheaded—and he presses down on his radio. “Ghost to Price, we’re both injured. One SW for me, I’m not sure how many for them.” Ghost croaks into the radio, trying to multitask.

“Bloody—where are you two?” Price demands through the radio, sounding a bit breathless. Ghost inhales sharply as he leans over, his body bending the wrong way as he grabs the front of your vent and he grunts loudly as he drags it off of you with one hand. He’s lost a bit of strength with the blood he’s lost. You gasp and grab for Ghost’s wrist as he begins to press down on one of your multiple stab wounds near your vital organs. “Building two, third floor.” Ghost responds with a strained voice. He notices your head rolling back, and you barely hear Ghost yelling.

Don’t let this be the end.

You ended up passing out from pain and blood loss, despite Ghost’s best efforts of keeping you awake. You slowly awakened in a plush setting, slight pain humming through your veins, your throat dry and aching. You twitch, your muscles heavy from not being used for a bit. You hear a monitor or two, which gives you an indication you’re in the hospital. Your eyelids fluttered open and luckily, the overhead light in your hospital room was not on. The curtains were drawn open, and the light streamed into the room.

You glanced around, seeing Soap with his journal in his hand, sketching something. It gives you a warm feeling in your gut and you glance over to your other side, seeing Gaz sitting there, holding.. your keys with a little fuzzy thing?

“What’s that?” You croak, causing both Gaz and Soap’s heads to snap to look at you. “Aye, look who’s awake!” Soap exclaims, grinning. He closes his journal and puts it on the ground next to his chair before he grabs a foam cup. Soap brings it to your lips, and you realize it’s water so you greedily gulp it down, the water soothing your throat. Gaz lets out a breath before he scoots closer, the crease in his eyebrows finally relaxing. “It’s nice to see you awake.” Gaz murmurs with a soft smile of his own.

Soap pulls away the cup and sets it back down. “How long was I out?” You question. “What even happened? It’s in sections for me..”

Soap and Gaz share a look before Gaz fiddles with the fuzzy thing in his fingers, your keys clinking around. “You saved Ghost. He was being overpowered and you found him, but uh..” Gaz winces a bit, causing your eyebrows to furrow as bits and pieces begin to flood back to memory. “—But you got injured yourself. Luckily lil’ ol’ LT got off with one stab wound. You? Ya got off with six.”

You blink for a moment. “Oh.” You utter, taking a moment to process that. “You had to have surgery which is why your throat aches so much, the tube.” Gaz explains, putting your keys and the fuzzy thing in your lap. “They said everything should heal normally, but you'll be out of commission for a while.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and you nod, your hand reaching out and grabbing your keys. “And Ghost?” You ask, your tone tight, expecting the worst. “He’s alright,” Soap assures, causing you to look at him now with a look of relief. “He just left a bit ago to get some rest, since he can’t stay and lay hunched over.” Gaz chuckles and you can’t help the smile that appears on your face. You finally look down at the fuzzy thing attached to your keys; it’s a little keychain plushie of a black and white cat. You let out a soft “aww” before looking at Gaz, and then Soap. “Who gave me this?” You ask.

Soap and Gaz share a knowing look—a glance you can’t quite yet decipher—before they shrug and mutter stuff like “i don’t know..” and “no idea” when in fact they watched Ghost, in a wheelchair, wheel himself into the room and grunt for your keys. Soap had wordlessly handed them to the man, and they watched him put on the kitty keychain and made them promise to not tell them he gave it to you.

[stevieschrodinger]

Link to Part One

Link to Part Two

TW mentions of human trafficking, rescue, injury, trauma

Steve locks Eddie in the car which, yeah, okay, it makes Eddie jump a little reflexively at the quiet click of the lock. And it might just be habit, or whatever, because it’s a really nice car.

Or maybe he’s even doing it for Eddie’s safety.

It still feels like he’s been locked in, though, and Eddie finds he’s...really not a fan of how this feels.

Either way, when Steve comes back less than ten minutes later and opens Eddie’s side of the car, Eddie’s still not sure how to feel about it. Suspicion is hard to shake.

Steve kneels right there on the floor of the lot, “swing around,” Eddie does, watching as Steve pulls antiseptic wipes out of the bottom of the bag, opening a packet and lifting Eddie’s foot. Eddie hisses when the wipe makes contact, it’s cold and, even though surely most of the wounds have scabbed by now, it still stings quite a bit, “sorry.” Steve looks up at Eddie earnestly, big eyes and floppy hair and, well, the moles are cute.

And having an Alpha kneel on the floor for him, that’s kind of nice too. Maybe Steve really is that good looking.

He wraps Eddie’s feet in a bandage, some tube bandage over the top, Eddie still slurping on his peanut butter chocolate shake. He’s going to have the absolute worst shit later, he knows it, too much rich food all at once, after a really long time of non at all, but honestly, so worth it.

“When we get home, I’ll set you up in one of the spare rooms, and maybe we can order you some clothes?” Steve pulls the bandage comfortably tight around Eddie’s foot, a nice gauze pad wrapped around the sole for cushioning.

“Errr, I mean, I, before, I was usually a good will kind of shopper, you know? Maybe Target on a good day?”

Steve just blinks at him for a second, before that clearly sinks in, “don’t...don’t think about the money, if that’s what you mean, we can get you some clothes, really, I don’t mind.”

And Eddie’s sure as fuck not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, Steve’s already broke the bank on Eddie, what’s a little more, right?”

Eddie whistles, he can’t help it. Objectively, obviously, he knew Steve was loaded. There’s a difference between knowing that and…seeing it. This is like a fucking mansion. Well, it’s not like a mansion, obviously. It is a mansion.

Automatic electric gates, a drive that’s got to be a half mile long...and lawns. Trees. Land stretching off into the distance.

The house is fucking nice. It’s kind of sprawling...just the garage looks fucking massive on it’s own.

Steve sort of hovers around Eddie as he limps over the threshold, and, yeap, just as nice inside as it is outside. Very sleek and modern, big open spaces, lots of glass. Dark wood and bookcases filled with leather books and big paintings that look impressive but aren’t...well. Eddie’s not a fan, really. Eddie spies a building out the back, also lots of glass...Eddie’s money is on indoor pool.

“Something smells good,” Eddie says, as he limps further into the house, “smells kind of homey.” Which is true, something here smells vaguely relaxing. Kind of...comforting. Safe.

Eddie looks around as he gets further in, and the place is so big it is kind of a walk, it’s...really nice, but also kind of soulless. It doesn’t look lived in at all. And, Eddie frowns, something occurring to him for the very first time. Steve’s a good looking Alpha, and he’s fucking loaded, “will your, erm,” Eddie flounders, “partner, mind me being here?”

Steve laughs, seeing Eddie through to the lounge to sit on the couch, “don’t think I would have been able to play my part today if I were in any kind of serious relationship. Hagan would have known if I was seeing anyone, the press loves that shit.”

And yeah, all of that makes total sense, and Eddie feels kind of stupid for not putting that together. But it...doesn’t really make sense, considering Steve is, still, clearly, very hot and very loaded.

“Okay,” Steve plops a laptop into Eddie’s lap, open to a clothing website. “just open tabs on some stuff you’d like, and then give it back to me when you’re done. You’re going to need some clothes while Hopper tracks down your uncle, okay? I’m going to go and set up a room.”

Eddie’s just sort of rolling with it at this point, so he nods and smiles and then blinks down at a Tom Ford Slim-Fit Button-Down Collar Checked Cotton shirt...that’s nearly seven hundred dollars.

And Eddie would never, in a million fucking years, be caught dead in it. Honestly, he thinks he actually prefers the white nightdress.

Eddie looks at the drop down menu, clicks on ‘cashmere’ for shits and giggles, and then laughs to himself when the very first listing is a black turtle-neck...for over a thousand odd dollars. Fucking rich people are batshit.

Eddie manages to find a drop down that lets him filter out everything over two hundred and fifty dollars, and then he searches by lowest price first. He starts opening tabs, mostly inoffensive lounge wear – a large portion of which is very, very unfortunately beige.

Eddie hears Steve coming before he sees him, “just do it please Carol,” and he sounds...exasperated by whoever Carol is. Steve comes back and takes the laptop. He very very briefly frowns at Eddie over the top of the screen, but it’s over so fast Eddie’s not entirely sure he saw it, “you think you’ll want something more to eat later?”

Eddie did eat his weight in McDonalds a couple of hours ago...but he hasn’t been really full for years, “uhm, yeah, in a bit, maybe?”

“Sure, I’ll see what we have.”

And then Eddie just...sits there. He can’t actually remember the last time he just...sat on a couch. The only place the Omega at the ranch are allowed to sit is either the floor, when they’ve been told to, the table, but only when eating...and probably their beds in the dorm.

Sitting here feels kind of naughty, actually, sitting here, relaxing, comfortable and warm. Eddie touches the lush, velvety feel of the couch, it’s really nice, really soft-“chicken and pasta?” Eddie nearly jumps out of his fucking skin. Like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Logically, he knows that isn’t the case, but his feet are tingling regardless.

Steve can actually cook, who knew? Well, it might only be a simple dish, browned off chicken chunks in something creamy and mushroomy, sitting on some pasta, but it’s absolutely delicious.

“We should probably get someone to look at your feet tomorrow.”

Eddie shrugs, nearly vibrating with excitement at the sight of garlic bread and trying his best to hide it, “always been fine before.”

“Still, I wouldn’t want them getting infected. Do you want me to tell Hopper anything about your uncle? I presume he will be busy for a little bit but…?”

Eddie swallows but...nods, Steve getting his phone and Hoppers card, “he’s called Wayne Munson, he’s my dads brother. He lives in a trailer park in, uhm, Hawkins. Indiana.”

Steve taps at his phone, “that’s not actually that far, we could...probably drive that, maybe in a day, once you feel up to it. I’ll see what Hopper says, see if he gets back to us tomorrow, I figure we've both had a long day.”

And that sounds...well. Eddie's running out of reasons to be suspicious, to question this, to question Steve. He has a little kernel of hope, real, genuine hope, growing inside him now...that this is true. That he's going to be free. That he's going to see Wayne.

Eddie nods, keeps eating, is thrilled when Steve offers him a beer, nodding happily. Steve withdraws it at the last second, “wait, just how old are you?”

“Errr…twenty one?”

Steve laughs, “try again,” but he does hand over the beer.

“Eighteen. I was there for a couple of years, maybe a bit longer, they got me walking home from school. Pretty sure my parents wouldn’t have, you know, noticed, probably best I don’t go back there, anyway. Quite a few Omega came through in the time that I was, you know, there...”

Steve’s staring off into space though, looking somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder, clearly not listening.“-oh.”

“Errr...Steve, you okay?” Steve looks like his brain has just stalled. Like completely shut down, “Steve, man, you’re freaking me out a bit here.”

Steve frowns, finally showing some life, his fork still literally hanging in air, half way to his mouth, “Tommy Hagan is probably being arrested.”

“I, err...I mean, yeah? I fucking hope he is?”

As Eddie watches, a bit of chicken falls off Steve’s fork and splats onto his plate, “right now, other than me, you, and the FBI...no one knows that. That Tommy’s being arrested, arrested for something fucking terrible.”

“Riiight…”

“He’s being arrested for something he can’t come back from. It’ll got public. His names about to be mud. His stocks are going to tank. Every part of everything Tommy owns is about to go up in flames.” Steve’s fork clangs onto the plate, “I’m so sorry, I have to go to work.”

“I...what?”

Steve’s already picking up his phone, his keys, sliding on his jacket, “help yourself to anything you need, I’ll be back...at some point.” Steve’s already calling someone, “I need you in the office, right now. I want Wheeler, from legal, make sure finance is there, actually, make sure Henderson has availability tomorrow,” Steve comes back from the front door, sliding a business card in front of Eddie, “no, right now, I’m on my way, twenty minutes.”

Eddie looks at the card; it’s Steve’s, has his email, office number and mobile on it, presumably so Eddie can get hold of him. Eddie’s pretty sure he just witnessed the first steps of a hostile take over, or something.

And now he’s in this massive house, all alone.

Link to Part Four

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