#i just tear it all off when i get sick of it enough and re do it hopefully w better tools and know how | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Note

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had.

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you.

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.”

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered.

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.”

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse.

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!”

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains.

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest.

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away.

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you.

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive.

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours.

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second.

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds.

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood.

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through.

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did.

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming.

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips.

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest.

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them.

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas.

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar.

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too.

Everything would be done if another city fell.

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry.

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down.

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him.

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another.

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm.

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike.

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that.

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do.

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness.

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up.

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did.

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!”

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock.

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious.

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream.

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static.

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead.

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out.

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t.

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life.

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.”

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile?

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky.

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him.

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine.

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact.

Your face gains heat.

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment.

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow.

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?”

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began.

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died.

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar.

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found.

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.”

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk.

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls.

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.”

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around.

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more.

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water.

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering.

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet.

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important.

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything.

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course.

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious.

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years.

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place.

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet.

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds.

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?”

You weren’t going to stop until you found it.

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet.

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him.

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you.

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you.

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don��t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard.

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?”

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it.

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.”

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.”

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after.

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question.

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile.

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building.

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told.

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood.

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch.

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago.

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system.

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real.

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three.

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices.

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.”

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible.

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet.

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?”

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years.

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?”

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh.

The man forces a weak huff.

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you.

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same.

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you.

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck.

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?”

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.”

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you.

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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konigsblog · 4 months ago

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I feel like Konig would watch you sleep very intently due to his somnophilia kink.

One night when you can’t sleep, he just asks “what’s wrong?” Which startles you bc you would think he’s sleeping with how quiet he is being

You tell him your neck/ lower back is aching and he responds with ‘relax’ so he can message it .. or do more

Somnophilia with Loser!König. 💤

TW: SOMNOPHILIA.

There's something so addictive about taking you non-consensually while you're fast asleep and unsuspecting that drives König utterly insane. Perhaps it's the thrill, or maybe it's his perverted and sick brain urging him to re-enact his darkest fantasies.

His half-hard, meaty cock twitches and pulsates at the sight of you like this; fast asleep, snoring away peacefully and quietly, and at ease. Knowing that you feel safe enough to fall asleep around a depraved and deranged bastard like König riles him up, leaves him riddled with guilt and the need to have you. His heavy balls are achingly tight and full, with his cock twitching slightly as he breathes in your sweet, hypnotising musk. He gazes over at you through the lenses of his glasses as he begins to unfasten his leather belt, slowly unzipping his jeans, before the sound of your tired, soft voice snaps him back to reality.

You complain that you can't get back to sleep, that your lower back has been tense and sore for the past few days. König immediately freezes in his tracks, holding one thick finger to your soft lips with the promise that he'll fix that ache if you fall back asleep. He peels off your tank top, exposing more of your nude skin to himself. That tank top is useless anyways, it's see-through and barely covers those cute and perky nipples. König's warm and calloused hands massage your lower back in soothing and pleasing circles, his rough fingertips working out any aches in your back. König feels so close to you, with his hard bulge pressed against the curve of your rear and his filthy, grimey hands wandering over your soft, bare skin.

Your skin is so soft and warm in comparison to König's. His hands are littered with scars, the skin texture rough after years in the Military. He slowly begins rocking his broad hips into you as he watches you doze off, falling into a sleepy haze at the relaxation of König's large hands on your skin. His eyes don't leave your figure. Not once, not at all. König watches you sleep pretty often, claiming that he's just checking up on you when you find yourself awake. You feel König's watchful eyes burning holes into the back of your head, like a wolf stalking its next victim, and you're König's prey.

König slowly begins taking out his painfully hard, leaking cock from his stained, ruined boxers and pulls down your pyjama shorts almost desperately. He pushes his girthy, meaty shaft between your ass cheeks, starting to hump your rear and lose himself in the pleasure. You mumble and whine between quiet, adorable snores at the sensation of König violating your sleeping, unconscious body. He can't stop himself, with each thrust driving him closer to that release he yearns for. You're exactly what he craves...

He's beyond desperate as he rubs his cockhead against your tight and unused asshole, teasing himself at the thought of just pushing inside. He couldn't, you'd scream out at the agonising intrusion if he did, whimper out a string of pleas that would tug at his heartstrings. He quietly gushes about how adorable you look on your stomach, with your back arched and your ass pressed against König's hips. König continues pumping his swollen and bulbous dick between your cheeks, his eyes becoming glossy with his tears as he feels himself grow overwhelmed and breathless. His broad and fat hips jerk into your ass one last time before satisfying König's perverted needs.

He coats your skin in ropes of his creamy, slick cum, watching as it runs down your back and into asshole slowly, the sight almost intoxicating. König's calloused fingertips leave indents from his firm and tight grasp, leaving a sticky mess on your soft, adorable body.

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throneofsapphics · 9 months ago

Text

finding you again prologue

Azriel x f!Reader

summary: after he ended your relationship, you didn’t expect Azriel to pop into your life again - and you’re not happy about it

warnings: angst, drinking

a/n: here's the start to the mini series from this poll! if anyone wants to be added to a taglist, you can comment under here or send me an ask/message!

series masterlist

“Why?” You ran a hand through your hair. “Can you at least give me a reason?”

“I told you. It’s not working.” Pity shone in Azriel’s eyes, and it made you want to break something. There was more he wasn’t saying, it was obvious to you, just as it was obvious he wouldn’t deign to share.

“Then get out,” your voice was colder than you’d ever heard it. Enough that he blinked, and it brought a sick sense of satisfaction to you. “Out,” you repeated, not sure how much longer you could keep the tears in.

He backed up slowly, one hand reaching behind to open the door, before slipping out. You missed the lingering look they shot your way, already having turned your back. With the click of the door, you grabbed the nearest glass and launched it across the room, a guttural scream leaving your chest.

He lingered in the hallway, listening to shattering glass, your scream of pure pain, and hated themselves for a brief moment. He hadn’t lied to you, it wasn’t working.

Whether you knew it or not wasn’t of any consequence to him. He did love you, genuinely, and part of him ached at the pain he was causing, but it was better than drawing out the inevitable. He’d loved you, but not enough to spend the rest of your lives together. It didn’t feel right to keep going when he knew you felt differently.

Still, he had to fight the desire to go back in and comfort you.

His footsteps were soft down the hall, the stairs, the street, to the night that left an uncomfortable itch on his skin.

Everything seemed fine. Not a damn indication something was wrong, but you should’ve known better - he was trained to hide his emotions, to keep secrets, but for a few years you’d let yourself believe you meant something to him. Let that pathetic hope fill you, that it might evolve into something more, that you could be his one.

His face flashed across your mind, unwelcomed. That pity, like you were some miserable creature that would be broken by this

Maybe you were broken, right now, but you decided to give yourself a day. 24 hours, and then you’d pull yourself together.

But for now … a perfectly good bottle of red wine sat on your counter, one wine glass left standing. It would do.

His shadows, half with a mind of their own, still followed you - still trailed to check you were fine. It was normal, expected, of course. You’d spent a few years together, although in secret, it was natural he’d still care for you.

But, after a year passed he started to … wonder. Had he made a mistake? Through whispers in his ear, he trailed your life. Healers training, like you always said you would, a few new friends, new lovers that came and went, and eventually your departure from Velaris - sent to an outlying island as a new healing post. There was pride, pride he didn’t have any claim to feel, but it persisted nonetheless.

Prythian shut down, and you were one of the few who knew of a safe haven - although you couldn’t speak of it, or recall how to access it. Velaris. Each time the word came to the tip of your tongue, each time it was prominent in your mind, your throat dried up - chest clenched hard enough you lost your breath. It happened frequently enough your friends worried there was some sort of medical issue, and you forced yourself not to think of it.

There’d been one last command from your High Lord - to lie low, and stay away, with one image flashing through your mind - the Holy Mountain for all of Prythian. Now cursed. Four simple words, one horrid curse, and you were cut off from all of your family and the friends you’d known for years.

After 45 years, you wondered if they would still remember you like you did them. If one day you’d hug your little sister again. Would she remember you? She’d only been 10 the last time you saw each other, a day before you left, your chest clenched, throat tightening. Before you’d left home.

You’d ached to leave the city and explore, and now all you wanted was to return.

He thought of you often. Stuck outside of Velaris, with no way back. Not for the first time, he resented the decision Rhys made to keep them away. He hoped you’d gotten some kind of warning, that you were still alive out there.

Azriel found himself checking on people he’d only heard of in passing. Everyone who’d been important to you in your life. Your younger sister growing, how your name was always met with worried looks and hushed tones, how over the years she stopped asking after you, how you seemed to disappear from everyone’s minds.

Sometimes he wondered if he was the only one who remembered you.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar fic #azriel x you #azriel acotar

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dutiful-wildcraft · 11 days ago

Text

I re-emerge with a soft and vaguely angsty Nik/Price/F!Reader

Unedited, 1k, enjoy <3

It's not unusual for Nikolai to look after her while Price is away. As a matter of fact it grew common, the burly Russian staying with her more often than not, even when John was home.

And what had originally been a friendly extension of John, extra security at her call, had evolved into another soft body in their bed, both men's mingled cologne sinking into her sheets as she slept tucked between them.

However, these last few days had been devoid of soft embraces and stolen kisses, but rather wretched coughing and sniffly noses.

Nikolai, has been sick as shit for days.

Thankfully, he'd been minding her with only a small amount of caterwauling. Huffing and puffing about her not sleeping beside him, whining as sickly boys are want to do.

His raspy voice somehow stupidly effective in getting him his way.

Can I have more blankets lisichka? he rumbles pitifully.

What will we have for lunch? he asks with big brown eyes.

As if he could keep anything more than cheese and crackers down.

Unable to sleep due to Nikolai’s chainsaw level congestion snores, she slinks down stairs in the wee hours of the morning. Having already decided to make her favorite comfort food. Something simple, savory and carb heavy for the pair of them.

On a whim she gives John a video call, setting it up on the counter while it rings and rings.

She hardly expects him to answer, he rarely does. And considering he'd already been gone 4 out of his supposed 6 week stint, she was sure her man was still up to his chest in work.

She's got a maw full of shredded cheese when John's voice rings through the receiver.

“Hello darling”

She sputters, recovering quickly to flash him a big goofy smile.

“Hey love” she whispers back, heart fit to burst as she takes him. There isn't much to see, just the pale light of his phone illuminating his features in the darkness. His beard is scruffy, bags under his eyes far too heavy for her liking.

“Hello” he repeats again, an infinite fondness in his voice. His sweet cheeks pulled up into that little smile that still makes her blush. She sheepishly brushes the remnant shredded cheese off her tits, tries to quickly adjust her hair.

She can see her own image reflected in the top corner of her screen, she looks like hammered hell honestly. Hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes, clad in ratty stained oversized shirt. She almost feels a little guilty for not looking more presentable for him when he chimes in again.

“Missed that sweet face.” he murmurs, and all those nagging thoughts plop right from her noggin. The goofy man would think she'd look hot in a trash bag.

“Missed your face too baby, you okay?” She knows better than to ask about the op, instead lets him pick and choose what he likes to talk about.

“Much better now, might even be home sooner than we thought.”

Her ears perk at that, spiritual tail wagging hopefully. She missed him dearly, occasionally shed tears in the lonely showers away from Nikolai, when the weight became to much for her to bare. She does her best not to say anything, doesn't want him to feel bad for being so far away. Instead she sends him updates, pictures of the animals, of her meals, this weeks favorite song.

He doesn't reply, she knows he can't, but he does read them, follows up with each one in a big text or call when he can. Somehow holding the details despite whatever hell he sees.

“What you makin’ over there?” he cuts in, trying to eye the counter with a raised brow through the screen.

“I was hankerin’ for some potato soup, thought the patient would like it too.” she chuckles a bit.

“Mmm, sweet thing aren't you? How is he?”

“He's only a little whiny, spends his day trying to coax me close enough to cough on me, claims he just wants a cuddle” she laughs.

John chuckles too, shaking his head with a fond exasperation.“Well, you gonna show me how to do it?”

“Huh? Right now? I was just calling…you can get your rest babe, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I'm far from tired with a pretty thing cookin for me, now go on.”

She flashes him a knowing look. John Price was no chef, he did well enough, but she'd caught him on more than one occasion following along to the little cooking videos he'd dug up on the internet. Especially those made by other soft southern women.

With an expectant look she continues her work, cutting vegetables and getting the stock pot ready.

“Talk to me love, need to hear your voice.” he reminds her.

Not want. Need. And who was she to deny him? So with a little fumbling she starts narrating, mimicking the smooth diction she'd often heard in those same videos, biting back a smile as she watches John fight sleep. Tired baby blues drooping lower and lower, closing briefly before the sharp snick of cut carrots stirs him again. Eyes straining to keep watch.

Sweet man.

She knows he's exhausted, more so than she can probably imagine. What hell he's had to dodge up until this point, and possibly a few days more until he can see them again.

Something in her chest stirs at how he stills for her, easily drawn into the soft bubble of comfort she can provide at such a distance. Lulled easily by a silly soup recipe, simply because it's her voice. She wonders now if he uses her voice messages similarly. She wonders if he would let her read him to sleep.

She files it away. Along with the thought of sending him softer voice messages for when he's away.

She looks to him again, bristly face squished against his pillow. Eyes closed serenely.

“Wanna know my secret?” she asks, soft and playful, watching one of his pretty blue eyes creak open at her tone.

“W'sat luv?”

“I use instant mashed potatoes to thicken up my soup, makes it extra potatoe-y” she giggles.

“My clever girl” he mumbles dreamily, followed by a string of more barely intelligible praise. It rolls easy and proud from his chest, voice no more than a sleepy purr that makes a grin split her face.

By the time she's finished up John is fully asleep, his measured breaths pouring through the receiver just shy of a real snore.

Her heart aches deep in her chest, a chunk of it long gone and far far away in the form of one John Price, and while she can see him now, know he's alive and relatively well, she longs more than anything to crawl in next to him. Hold him close tucked beneath her chin, where she can keep him warm and safe herself.

As if on cue, a pair of strong arms wrap around her middle, Nikolai’s hot cheek pressed to her temple where he briefly lays a kiss. This time she doesn't fight him.

Getting sick be damned.

“Pretty thing isn't he?” Nikolai rumbles quietly, eyeing the phone screen with those fond brown eyes.

She simply hums an affirmative in his arms, words caught in her throat by the emotion that's threatening to escape her.

Nik seems to catch on, giving her a soft squeeze. “How is he?” he whispers instead, voice low to not wake the man on the other side of the world.

The question is able to at least shake a little out of her. “He seems okay, worn out, fell asleep watching me cook.” She watches John for another moment before sucking in a deep sigh, squirming around in Niks arms to face him, tuck herself into his arms.

“I'm just ready for him to be home” she mumbles into the soft plush of his chest.

Nik pulls her in closer, warm hands petting along her back, squeezing the back of her neck soothingly. “Me too, malyshka” he returns, the weight of John's absence equally heavy in his own voice.

The pair stay there for some time, swaying gently in each other's embrace, listening to John's soft snores until the sun paints their meager kitchen gold.

#abrupt ending bc I cant end things for shit #nik is some kind of baby #price is too #price x reader #john price #nikolai cod #nikprice #nikolai x reader #call of duty #cod #captain john price #wildcraft writing

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plussizefantasia · 2 months ago

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Hey! Can I get a Thorin x f!reader where the company doesn’t believe in her because of her size and the fact that she’s a woman and then she totally kicks ass and doesn’t care what they think. And he totally regrets ever doubting her? Fluff ending if you can please!!

You Saved Me

Thorin x Warrior!reader

WC: ~3k

warnings: violence, death, it's essentially a botfa re-write so...

a/n: thank you for the request, this was entirely written in a burst of passion at midnight so if they're are any typos I'm sorry, let me know and I'll fix them <3

You were a feared warrior, one with skills you’d been honing since you could walk. Your parents had been killed by an orc pack when you were but a baby and you were taken in by the rangers who found you crying by the bodies of your loved ones. Almost a year ago you were sent a letter by that blasted grey wizard, an invitation, or maybe a plea you weren't sure anymore. Join a company of dwarves on their quest, and keep them safe. That is all he asked of you.

You had tried, you really had tried to keep them safe but when those blasted dwarves took one look at you and decided that there wasn't any possible way you knew anything about fighting, it became difficult. You had several moments where all you wanted to do was clobber them over the head, but you refrained.

The whole journey was wrought with their endless need to remind you that you were a woman, a bigger one at that. They must’ve thought you hadn’t noticed or something of that nature, for surely they wouldn’t keep bringing it up if not to hurt you on purpose. They never forgot to tell you how much they thought you were soft, incapable, fragile.

You’d shown them time and time again that this wasn't the case, incapacitating two of the trolls when they were all tied up in sacks ready to be cooked for dinner. You were defending Ori when you were discovered by the warg scouts before your arrival at Rivendell. You were the first to join ranks and fend off the hundreds of bloodthirsty goblins in Goblin-town. Not to mention how you risked your life for Thorin’s when Azog attacked. You had run in with no weapon, just pure adrenaline and a need to save your leader.Not that you would ever tell him that. Tell any of them that.

Thorin was certainly one of a kind. He was undoubtedly cold, it was his nature, he had lost too much in too short a time to be willing to open himself up to others. Especially when the ‘others’ consisted of a woman ranger he hadn’t wanted on the quest in the first place. You understood though, you too had lost too much.

You wouldn't say that he warmed up to you, but it didn’t seem like he hated you as much as he did in the beginning. You had even caught him smiling once or twice when you cuffed Fili and Kili over the head at their cheeky remarks about your size.

Over and over again you’ve defended these idiotic men, and yet nothing changed, they still had no faith. Most of them treated you horribly not that you think they noticed. It was hard to ignore their callousness when it came to you, especially compared to the warmth they shared with one another. There were several nights when their words became too much and you had to stray from camp in order to let the tears fall out of sight. But you had promised Gandalf that you would protect them, and if that meant staying even when it was obvious you weren't wanted, then that is what you’d do.

It wasn’t until Thorin, overtaken with his dragon sickness had cast you out that you had finally decided you were done. Done with dwarves, done with being underestimated and belittled at every moment.

“You will never be good enough, you are a burden to all those around you, a burden I no longer wish to be saddled with!” He had yelled from his position on the ramparts as you descended from the same rope that the hobbit had used just moments before.

Thorin had never been cruel, aloof maybe, but never cruel. You knew deep down that it was his addled mind that allowed this cruelty to spew from his mouth. Thorin may not have known you loved him, but you had thought the two of you had reached a sort of understanding, a mutual bond forged by the danger you’d overcome together. Apparently not.

You joined Gandalf’s side as he spoke to Thorin. You bit your tongue to stop yourself from yelling back at the King Under the Mountain. It wasn't until you heard Thorin’s reply that you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“I will have war!” He yelled.

“You will have death!” You had screamed back “You will have death for you and your kin if you do not stop this foolishness Oakenshield!” With that, you turned and headed back towards the gates of Dale. If there really was to be a war you would be needed, to protect those who could not protect themselves.

You heard the horns of war in the distance and shook your head. Foolish dwarves doing foolish things. You kept running towards Dale hoping to be of some use.

Arriving at the old armory, you pulled out an old steel sword, one dating back to before the fall of the city. It wasn’t as good as the eleven blades that the elves of Mirkwood confiscated when you were captured, but it was well-balanced. The hilt was wrapped in old black leather, well worn and rough against your skin.

You didn’t have time to sift for a better weapon, so you took the sword and ran. Bursting out onto the street your eyes scanned for danger. You took in all the rubble, some new and some old from the dragon attack years ago. The screaming of a group of people made you cease your reminiscing and run towards them.

Taking down several enemies as you run, you finally round the corner into the main square. Landing your sight on Bain, Sigrid, and Tilda. Bain doing his very best to defend his sisters. You run forward without hesitation and trade blows with the monster in front of you, taking him down in no time at all.

“Are you all alright?” You ask rushing towards the girls and helping them down from the cart they had used as a hiding spot.

“We’re fine ma’am” Tilda responds in a shaky voice

“You all were very brave, but now it's time to head to the hall where everyone else is. Take cover, the battlefield is not safe for children I assure you.”

“But-” Bain had cut in.

“No, Bain, I know what your Da has asked of you but I’m telling you to take cover.”

He hesitated but nodded and took his sisters towards the main hall where the rest of the women and children were hiding.

You continue to take down the orcs and their armies as you run toward the main battlefield.

“Y/N! Y/N!” You hear your name being called, rotating quickly your eyes fall on the hobbit who had become very dear to you over the course of the Journey.

“Bilbo, are you hurt? What’s wrong?” You rushed out

“No. No, I’m fine it’s Thorin.”

“Thorin? What’s happened with Thorin where is he?” Your questioning picked up in intensity.

“The Pale Orc is atop Ravenhill, and Thorin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili have all gone to kill him.” The Hobbit responded just as rushed.

Without another word, you grab the back of the Hobbit’s coat and drag him behind you. Your eyes quickly scan the horizon, taking inventory of anything that could get you to the top of the Mountain quickly. You spot Lord Dain, on his royal ram, and make a plan in your head.

Hobbit still in your grasp you sprint across the field towards the Dwarf Lord,

“Lord Dain! I need your ram.”

“W-What?!” He sputters.

“I am not asking.” You huff out a frustrated breath and use the hand not currently gripping your friend to shove the dwarf off of his steed, quickly taking his place and beginning your trek to the mountain. Sending a quick prayer to whatever being there might be to keep your love safe. Just long enough for you to kill him yourself.

Once you are sure he won’t fall off you let go of your hold on Bilbo and scan the ground flying past you for any more weapons you could use.

Seeing a discarded elven bow and quiver ahead of you, you steer the ram towards it and scoop it off the ground and into your grasp. Five Arrows, you’ll have to use them wisely, but it’s better than nothing.

You look towards Ravenhill, watching as the dwarves you have reluctantly come to care for dismount their own steed. Pushing your heels into the sides of your own ram you pray to any gods out there that you’ll make it in time.

You meet a few obstacles on your journey, the occasional orc arrow to be deflected, and even a troll who had fallen right in front of you. Nevertheless, in no time at all you reach the peak and search for the men you came to aid.

You only see Thorin and Dwalin as they fight their way through hordes of creatures of the dark. You leap into the fray and call out to the two warriors

“Where are the princes?”

“They’ve gone to search the structure.”

A yell coming from the tower quickly puts that thought to rest. You slash down the last monster before you quickly shift to see a sight that you’ll have a hard time forgetting. The pale orc holds Fili in his grasp. You immediately grasp your bow and nock an arrow.

The pale orc is too absorbed in his victory speech to notice you pulling back the string. With a deep breath, you let an arrow loose and send a quick prayer that it hits its target. Not a second later you hear a deep grunt and see that your aim is true. The arrow lodged itself deep into the meat of the arm holding the dwarf prince. He drops Fili in surprise and your eyes widen in fear. However, it is short-lived as Fili pulls a dagger out of nowhere and wedges into the stone of the tower, slowing his descent.

Four arrows left.

Azog staggers back and he catches himself on the wall behind him. His eyes find yours and you try not to shudder at the rage within him. This is a benefit you tell yourself. An angry enemy is a distracted enemy. His rage will be his downfall, you’ll make sure of it.

Fili lets go of the dagger and drops the rest of the distance, landing on his feet and quickly running to your side. Moments later, Kili runs from the tower and practically lunges for his brother.

“You idiot Fee.” The brother's embrace is hard and you’re a little worried they’ll suffocate each other. Eventually, Kili lets go and turns to you, “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

“No need for apologies Kili. Gandalf asked me to protect you, and that’s what I’ve done.”

“Still, I underestimated you, I won’t do it again.” You nod at the prince and clap a hand on his shoulder.

“I have to go help your uncle, don’t follow me, and whatever you do don’t split up. You’re stronger together.”

“Aye.” They both reply and send a single nod your way.

You clutch your bow and scan your surroundings, a trail of black blood and a broken arrow stem point the way to the Pale Orc’s location.

“Fili, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra dagger would you?” You turn and ask. He smirks and opens his coat.

“Take your pick Lass.”

After grabbing two matching daggers from Fili you begin jogging towards the frozen waterfall. You are single-minded in your task, ignoring the shouts of battle from below and the wails of the dying. You cannot let yourself get distracted. Distraction means death and you can’t help anyone when you’re dead.

You come upon a scene that you’d only ever had nightmares about. Thorin and Azog facing off on a barren plane. Neither is holding back and you force yourself to push past the terror that grips your heart. As you run towards your king you begin releasing arrows one after the other.

Four. Three. Two. One. None.

Each arrow pierces the flesh of the monster pushing him back and back. Blow after blow sends him staggering and gives Thorin the advantage. He swings his sword and slashes at the beast. But Azog does not fall.

He yells. He stands and he starts returning blows. They are sloppy, his mace has no aim. It doesn’t need to, the force he puts behind it means he really only has to land one blow.

You can’t run fast enough to cover the distance, especially not on the ice. Nevertheless, you keep pushing. Your legs burn and so do your lungs but you keep going. You race against time and fate to reach the dwarf you love.

Thorin falls. The orc closes in. You run.

And run, and run, and run.

You don’t notice the battle cry that rips from your body, but the orc does.

He looks up and a sneer crosses his face.

You get closer.

You pull your daggers.

The orc stands.

You take a running jump.

Azog runs.

You smile.

This is foolish. You understand that, not even you as skilled as you are could take down a beast such as this. But you’ll try because you made two promises. One to Gandalf, that you would keep the company safe. And another to yourself, that if you survived this you would stop being afraid, you would tell Thorin you love him and…

Your daggers land in the Pale Orc’s shoulder blades. You hold on for dear life. His roar of pain nearly deafens you but you hold on still. Ripping one blade from his body you jab it at his neck. He grabs the back of your coat and pulls you away, you scratch him but nothing more. He lifts you into the air and looks into your eyes. The rage is still there, along with smugness, bloodlust, curiosity, and then - shock. His grip loosens and you fall to the ground.

You scramble away from him, grasping the ice with shaking hands. You stand and turn. Azog is still, frozen in time. Except now, there is a sword piercing his chest. Right where his heart should be, protrudes a sword you know very well.

Azog grips the blade and looks at you, then falls. He doesn’t get up.

Behind him stands Thorin, looking mightier than you’ve ever seen him. His hair is a mess and there is blood on his face and hands. Yet he’s never looked better. You run towards him and throw yourself into his arms. A laugh escapes you and you let yourself feel for a moment. Feel grateful, and scared and everything you’ve been holding back for the past few days.

Thorin’s grip on you is strong and you can feel the tremor in his hands as he guides them up and down your back.

“You saved me.” His deep timber pulls you from your thoughts. “Why?”

“I made a promise to Gan-”

“No, you fulfilled your pledge to the Wizard the moment we made it to the mountain, yet you stayed. Why?” Thorin pulls his chest away from yours and attempts to catch your gaze with his.

“Is this really the time?” You ask.

“When else?” He cocks his head to the side.

“Perhaps after the battle is over?” You fully pull away from him then.

Thorin pauses, perhaps like you, he had briefly forgotten the battle warring on below you in a moment of joy. But he nods to you and walks back toward the lifeless body of your foe. He rips his sword out of the body. He flips Azog onto his back so his lifeless eyes gaze emptily at the sky. Thorin turns to you, “Perhaps you should look away.” he addresses you.

You simply raise an eyebrow at him. He nods and grasps the sword firmly. From one moment to the next Thorin separates Azog’s head from his body. He takes hold of it and walks towards the edge of the frozen lake, which looks out onto the field below.

He lets out a mighty shout and hoists the fallen orc’s head into the air. Shrieks echo from below and the enemy begins to retreat.

You’ve won.

Thorin drops his head and turns to face you, a rare smile graces his face and for the first time since you met him, it truly seems like the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders, for at least a moment.

It takes you three seconds to get in front of him, one second to grab ahold of his head, and another to kiss him. Five seconds, five seconds of bravery that you will probably never be able to muster again.

Thorin kisses you back with fervor, gripping you as through he thought you might fade away. Eventually, the need for air separates you.

“That is why I saved you,” you whisper into the space between you, “because a life without you in it is one I do not wish to bear.”

“You’ll never have to.” is his reply before his mouth is on you again. Where the first kiss was full of passion, a burst of adrenaline between two people. This one is slow, like Thorin is savoring the moment like he is trying to memorize what it is like to have you. The moment is bliss, it's everything you wanted and thought you couldn’t have.

And then it is ruined. A sharp whistle and laugh from across the lake separates the two of you once more. You turn and see Fili and Kili, holding each other and worse for wear but alive and smiling which you’ll take as a win.

The boys make their way towards you, Thorin never releases his hold on your waist.

“Is it over?” Fili asks.

‘It is now.” Thorin responds.

“Now what?” Kili pops up. Scanning the area around him.

‘We live.” Is your simple reply. Like Kili, you take a moment to look around you. And you really like what you see.

#plus size reader #plus size!reader #fanfic #x reader #requests open #requests wanted #thorin oneshot #thorin and company #thorin x reader #thorin oakensheild x plus size reader #thorin oakenshield x reader #the hobbit thorin #thorin #thorin oakenshield #botfa au #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #thank you for the request!

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 1 year ago

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"Fine, I'll go with you." Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F! Reader

Summary: It was exciting waiting for your boyfriend amongst the sea of families. If only your boyfriend didn't have a whole family waiting for him too. Thank god Lt. Seresin is there to save the day.

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x F! Reader

Warnings: Language, Cheating (not Jake!), protective Jake, asshole ex-boyfriend, military inaccuracies I'm sure.

Cross Posted on AO3

The homemade sign feels heavy in your hands. Your heart pounds steadily in your chest as a sea of blue uniforms begins to unload from the massive carrier. It feels incredible to be drowning in this sea of love and reunions. Families crying in each other's arms as they make it through another deployment, another separation.

It would only be a matter of time before you could feel the same euphoria. You step on your tip toes, trying to seek him out when someone stumbles into you from behind. “Sorry,” she shakes her head, “I’m a mess right now.”

She certainly looks it, a newborn strapped to her chest in a carrier and a toddler barely holding on, trying to bolt every chance he gets. “No worries,” you’re quick to reply, glancing down at the large sign and balloons in her hand.

You pause, reading and re-reading it over again. Nicolas Arias. There is no doubt you could be reading it wrong and when you get a glance at the toddler again, your stomach churns. He is a spitting image of Nick…your Nick. You carefully fold up the sign and go to turn when you hear the little boy shout, “DADDY!” at the top of his lungs.

Why you glance back, you don’t know but your chest aches when you see him, his smile blinding as he bends down to pick up the little boy. “Hi buddy,” you hear him shout, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around. He looks back at the woman, his eyes softening at the bundle against her chest, “and hello Princess,” he coos, “nice to meet you, I’m your daddy.”

The tears spring to your eyes, and you quickly suck in a deep breath when his eyes lift to meet yours. He pauses, a deer caught in the headlights, you can see it, the raw panic on his face. Before you turn and walk away, you’d be damned if you were going to ruin this happy homecoming. While Nick is a fucking cheating bastard, and you would certainly be sending an anonymous letter to his wife later, they didn’t deserve this today.

All around you is love and reunions, but instead, you just feel sick. The parking lot is jam-packed and you look around before stepping onto the road, letting out a gasp when someone grabs your arm and quickly pulls you back into a broad chest. A truck roars out of the lot, a handful of sailors inside shouting about freedom and shots.

“Fuck,” you turn, taking in the man before you, he’s gorgeous; with blonde hair and eyes that look like the sea after a storm, “thank you,” you whisper, taking a step back when you realize you’re still in his arms.

He smiles, but it doesn’t really meet his eyes, “not a problem, darling,” his accent surprises you, maybe Texan with a slight twang. He points down at the sign crumbled in your hand, “Didn’t find who you were looking for?”

“Oh,” you glance at the sign, tossing it into the nearby trash can, “I found him alright. Along with his wife, newborn, and toddler.”

He grimaces, “What a fucking turd waffle.”

You can’t help the giggle that escapes, “a turd waffle?”

He grins, “if the shoe fits.” Suddenly you notice a figure rushing towards you and you groan, turning quickly away mumbling obscenities under your breath.

“Sweetheart,” Nick runs to your side, pulling you in for a hug, but you stay stiff as a board. “I can explain everything.” You step out of his arms putting some distance between you, the mystery man steps up behind you, towering over you like a looming bodyguard.

“I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other Nick,” you wrap your arms around your waist, “seeing you married with two kids was enough of an explanation for me.”

Nick stares down the man behind you, “Hey buddy, can you give us some privacy?”

“Lieutenant Commander Seresin to you, Ensign,” he stands straighter, Nick pailing as he recognizes the name, “and I’ll leave when the lady tells me to.”

“Please don’t go,” you whisper stepping back closer into his arms, one of his massive hands resting on your waist, strong and sure.

“Seems like she’s made up her mind,” he grins, confidence coming off him in waves. “Why don’t you go back to your family and save this young lady the trouble of putting up with any more of your bullshit.”

“I’ll go when I’m good and ready,” Nick takes a step closer, reaching for your arm, “sweetheart you just have to let me explain.” A wall of man blocks his path, “get the fuck out of my way,” Nick seethes, “I want to talk to my girl.”

You step around the Lieutenent, “I’m not your girl anymore, you’re married for Christ's sake, with TWO kids,” you hold up two fingers for emphasis.

“It didn’t bother you before,” he shrugs, “why should it now?”

“I didn’t fucking KNOW,” you shout, drawing attention from several others around you, “do you really think I’d be here standing like an idiot waiting for you if I knew you were married?! Do you really think I would be dating you or sleeping with you, if I had any idea you had a wife?!”

Nick looks around at the onlookers before letting out a scoff, “I knew you were a whore. Looks like you already replaced me, ain’t that right? And with someone of higher rank.” He laughs, “Keep this up baby and you can fuck an Admiral before the year ends.”

“Stand down, Ensign Arias,” your protector steps closer, his jaw clenched, “go back to your family and leave now. Before I court-martial your ass.”

“What the hell for?” Nick shouts.

“Harassing civilians, disgracing the uniform, threatening an Officer, the list goes on and on.” Nick pales before he spits at the ground.

“You can have her,” he glares at you, “wasn’t that good of pussy anyways.” The Lieutenant takes a threatening step closer, and you grab his arm while Nick scurries away like a rat.

You both watch him walk away before you let go of his arm, “thank you,” you whisper, feeling the tears well up in your eyes, “I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here.”

“He really is a turd waffle,” he mumbles and you burst out laughing, the tears spilling down your cheeks. He hesitantly lifts a hand, brushing the tears off your cheeks, and you lean into his palm closing your eyes, his thumb brushing back and forth. “Jake,” he mumbles and you slowly open your eyes, blinking at him, “My name is Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin.

You tell him your name and he repeats it back, the words like honey on his lips. “It’s nice to meet you,” he repeats it again making you shiver. “Would you like to join me for a drink? I know this really great Navy bar called the Hard Deck, and I was going to meet up with a few of my fellow officers and their families.”

“One question,” you step closer, and his hand drops from your cheek, moving to your waist as he whispers anything under his breath. “Are you married or currently seeing anyone? No secret mistresses or lovers I should be concerned about?”

He grins, tugging you by the hooks in your denim jeans closer his lips ghosting over yours, “no, ma’am, I’m a one-woman type of man. And right now,” he presses his lips to yours in a soft kiss, stars exploding across your vision, before pulling back, “I’d like that woman to be you.”

“Fine, I’ll go with you, but only on one condition,” you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down and closer to your lips.

“What’s that?” he smiles, all the way up to his eyes, glancing down at you like you’re the only one around for miles.

“You do that again,” and he does.

A/N: Comments are appreciated, and yes this is me begging.

#jake hangman seresin #Jake Hangman Seresin x Reader #Female Reader #Top Gun #top gun maverick fanfiction #Autumn Writes

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celestiaras · 7 months ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ making a run for it ]❜

ft. mysta rias, ike eveland, vox akuma, shu yamino, luca kaneshiro (separate) x gn! reader — luxiem, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ how difficult is it to escape from them?┊3k words

contains: yandere!! obsessive & possessive behavior, kidnapping & isolation, chains, mention of death, delusions, forced physical affection, overuse of the word “love”, overprotectiveness, probably inaccurate vox lore, possibly ooc, not proofread or beta-read, this is a train wreak of sewn together thoughts

➤ author's note: the image quality is so bad ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ i don’t watch luxiem that much and don’t really write for them as a result, but that should change because they are cuties

you lost track long ago of how many days it’s been since you’ve been captured, morning and night blurring together since your enclosure had no windows— it must have been nearly a year since you remember him saying something about your first anniversary coming up. the cold metal cuff around your ankle was just as heavy as when it was first fastened, the chain just long enough for you to reach the corners of the room and the bathroom while being fastened to the leg of his bed. you had every inch of it memorized and explored: the books were worn from being read so many times, the area was spotless without a speck of dust because you kept cleaning the place up, and the most excitement you ever got was from another movie getting added to the streaming service on the television since he didn’t let you have any access to the internet.

just like a bird in a cage, you’ve been locked away and isolated for only your captor’s eyes at night when he comes home from his daily activities. you no longer had any other purpose in the world than to be his to adore and admire, to spoil with material gifts that couldn’t fill the empty hole in your heart, and to be the object of his delusions that you feel the same. the thought of remaining here for the rest of your life as his ‘lover” made you shudder and feel sick to your stomach, a thought that you simply couldn’t get used to even though all hope seemed to be lost. you missed your family and friends dearly, already beginning to forget their faces and the sound of their laughter to your horror. you had to escape somehow no matter what the cost may be, preferably alive and fully intact, but you had no idea if their love for you would be greater than their rage when they found you missing.

━━━ .°˖✧ mysta rias ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ once you had a general idea of what you do, you were a bit hesitant to put it in motion since you didn’t have the specifics in mind and terrified that it would all go wrong with how flimsy it was, but you would never be able to leave if you didn’t take courage. however, if you knew that it would have been so easy and that everything went exactly as you planned, you would have done it ages ago. you couldn’t describe the euphoria you felt when the warm rays of the sun kissed your skin and the gentle breeze welcomed you to the outdoors, practically skipping off to make your long-awaited escape. truly, you were a fool to think it would have been so simple when you were up against a genius detective.

╰₊✧ maybe mysta let you run away on purpose just so that he could drag you back for the fun of it, would you believe it? running away was the easy bit, the real challenge is staying away. despite his laid-back and careless attitude, he’s quite the sadist who loves the image of happiness draining from your eyes and being re-filled with sheer terror when he finds you in the next country over. you’ll be completely helpless against him as he drags to back to his home, tearing you apart from new loved ones just as he did before. it’s so easy for him to destroy all the optimism of being free and sinking back into the despair of being his. it doesn’t matter how much you try to cover your tracks, how far you run, how much you alter your appearance with an identity change, he’ll track you down because the red string of fate always brings him back to you.

you can’t help but feel cold when he holds you, useless as the feeling of desolation rendered you unable to fight against him. you just let yourself be limp and wallow in how pathetic you are, trying to muffle your cries against his shoulder even though you soaked the orange fabric. he didn’t even bother saying any words of comfort and just patted your head your head with his gloved hands, but you both knew that it was an empty gesture that wouldn’t console you in the slightest. there was nothing he could due to make you feel better when he’s the source of all of your woes, so he doesn’t really bother with it.

for any normal person, the tears of their partner would shatter their heart to pieces, especially if they were the reason for it. they would apologize, buy gifts, and do anything they could to show their remorse because they love them. mysta loves you too, he loves you so much, but he loved your misery even more. there’s nothing that he enjoys more than your teary eyes like little crystals brimming over and the cute little sobs you would let out while trying to hide how much he influenced your emotions. he’s sick, so sick, but there’s nothing that could cure him, not even attempts to snap him out of his cruel ways and make him love you in a healthy manner.

━━━ .°˖✧ ike eveland ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ a man with intelligence, but no remarkable prowess to stop you from leaving. he doesn’t have extraordinary deduction skills like mysta, magic like shu, an influence like luca, or inhuman powers like vox, but he has his own charms that work in his favor and keep you by his side. he’s just so… sweet and gentle. you can feel his love radiating in his actions and his words, almost making you forget about the fact you were being held captive entirely. his kindness is the main hurdle, making guilt pool in your stomach because you feel like you were betraying his kindness when he took care of you and treated you like a queen.

╰₊✧ you thoroughly believe that you would have fallen in love with him properly if given the time to do so, but unfortunately, he turned out to be batshit crazy and no amount of bonding is enough to make you completely forget that. once your resolve is solidified that it wasn’t love he felt for you but was instead pure unaltered obsession, putting your plot into action feels more possible. it’s more difficult than escaping from the detective who purposely let you go, but if you manage to outsmart the novelist, you’ll finally find yourself free.

he whistles as he walks down the corridor, holding a silver tray in his hands that has a glass of strawberry lemonade and two decadent slices of cake in your favorite flavor. there’s nothing like spending time with the one he loves the most and a sweet treat in the mid-afternoon, a little pep in his step to show just how excited he is for this routine that occurs about twice a week. in his satchel, he holds a few novels that he thinks you would enjoy and will be asking for your thoughts about the previous books he gave you as he always does. everything was perfect from the weather to his mood to your love life, he doesn’t think anything would be able to ruin it.

at least he thought there wasn’t anything that could ruin it, unable to explain how far his heart dropped when he couldn’t find you anywhere. he ran about the manor in a frenzy, thoroughly searching through every room and crevice while calling out your name. rushing back to your shared bedchamber to properly examine the scene of the crime where he last saw you, he realized that the chain had been broken somehow. he felt dizzy and ill, falling into an armchair and throwing his head back to try and make the world stop spinning.

he couldn’t believe this was happening after everything was going so well! did he do something wrong? did he upset you or offend you in some way? he racks his brain for anything he might have said or done for you to leave him, so deep in his delusions of true love that he doesn’t even consider the fact that kidnapping you and holding you against your will for about a year would have anyone running for the hills. maybe you would come back on your own, finding it in your heart to forgive him and return to be his again? who is he kidding, you’ll never come back unless he looks for you himself! he’ll go and give you flowers and chocolates, and if you still reject him, he’ll simply persist until you remember how much you love him! he’ll follow you to the ends of the earth to remind you of your relationship with him because the two of you were always meant to be together!

━━━ .°˖✧ shu yamino ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ similar to ike, shu is a very smart and clever person, but unlike the novelist, he has quite a few tricks up his sleeve. for instance, his home is laced with so many traps that are installed by his magic, like a temple straight out of indiana jones to protect his treasure. of course, he is the only one who can enter and exit as he pleases— the protection spell isn’t just there to keep you in, it’s also there to keep anyone who may be looking for you out. once he detects that someone is in his property, a simple snap of his fingers teleports you somewhere else until they leave. sometimes you find yourself in an abandoned city or the middle of a grassy field without warning, terrified but unable to find help no matter how far you try to run. wherever you are, he always knows the exact location and can summon you back just as easily as he banished you.

╰₊✧ he acts as though nothing happened, chatting just like he did before you found out his true colors. you can hardly even tell that he has such a manic love for you, remaining awkward as ever while referencing memes that you’ll never understand since you don’t have any interaction with the outside world. he isn’t half as delusional as the other boys, knowing that his affection for you is completely unrequited and will never be reciprocated, yet he still did it anyway because he just couldn’t help himself. you don’t understand this enigma of a man in the least bit, shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t completely alter the course of your life and give you lasting trauma, but at least he doesn’t force affection on you… which is the bare minimum and you are still set on leaving.

the creaking of the door was enough to make you panic a bit, filling the disturbingly quiet house. you weren’t quite sure where shu was, but if he wasn’t with you, then he wasn’t here at all. this was the first time you had left the room and the first time you were exploring the house since you were unconscious when he brought you in. it looked standard, like your average, run-of-the-mill home that you would see in television shows, and impossible to guess that there was a prisoner inside. as a result, it was pretty easy to navigate the place and you found what you thought was the exit within minutes. you found a set of keys hidden in a living room drawer and decided to test them out in the front door, not knowing of the traps and naively thinking it would be simple.

unable to contain your excitement, you prepared to inset the first one into the knob, but before it even touched it, the sound of alarms like a thousand cymbals blaring through your ears and making you drop everything from the surprise. you had no idea where the noise was coming from nor did you know how to stop it, quickly dawning on you that you fucked up. running towards a nearby window, you attempted to push it up to climb out of it, but it only seemed to make the sound louder. when you saw a neighbor walking by with a dog, you tried banging on the glass to grab their attention, but it was like you were a ghost and they continued on with their day not knowing they were being begged for help. clearly, his magic was surrounding and you were too stupid to remember that, seeing flames of purple beginning to form near you and signifying that he was home to see what the commotion was about. you can only hope that he won’t be too upset with you.

━━━ .°˖✧ vox akuma ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ how unlucky are you to be the object of the great voice demon’s affections! he rarely ever lets you out of his sight as being a demon in the modern era means that he too must stay hidden from the public eye. it’s suffocating being under his observant eye, something as much as blinking doesn’t go under his radar. since he isn’t human, his senses are heightened with him being to hear so much as a floorboard creaking or smell the blood of you getting a paper-cut from a different room, leading him to be able to just sense your presence no matter where you are since you’re never far from him anyways. you don’t quite understand it, but what you do understand is that it makes escape much more difficult.

╰₊✧ he’s just so overprotective of you and you get it, having heard the story of his clan and how he lost them when they were all so dear to him, but it’s no excuse for his extremely possessive behavior. you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been outside and touched grass that wasn’t in his garden. he’s always by your side and never leaves unless you need to use the restroom or something, like a guard dog that doesn’t understand boundaries, yet even dogs could be forgiven for not knowing any better. the only time you don’t feel watched is when he’s asleep, with an arm thrown around you, but unconscious nonetheless.

you were more aware of every shift of his body and every breath he took than you would be if he was really your lover, unable to get a second of rest when being coddled like this. you feared that if you squirmed at all, he would automatically tighten his grip around you, but was pleasantly surprised when you were able to wiggle free. hearing him grunt made your heart stop, but he stayed asleep until you tried to get off the bed and stepped on the ground. hearing him ask where you were going made you sweat bullets, but you just said you were off to get a glass of water.

unfortunately, he decided to get up himself to go get it for you, leaving you sitting on the Alaskan king-sized mattress thinking about your fate. you doubt that you’ll ever get away from him, he’ll just track you down and bring you back. the world is massive, but so is he and you won’t make it very far. you can’t hide from a demon, not for long enough to sigh in relief anyway. if walking on wood with bare feet was enough to wake him from his slumber, hearing you open a door or window would be enough to have him running.

━━━ .°˖✧ luca kaneshiro ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ your prison is a palace dusted with gold, you’re served the finest food on silver platters, you’re decorated with jewels that are worth millions, but the splendor isn’t enough to distract you from the fact that you’re a prisoner. normally, you could only dream of living in a place like this where you’re doted on by a lover and spoiled rotten with whatever you want, yet you would do anything to trade this life for the people he had his men wipe off the face of the earth to have you to himself. it can’t be a paradise when you know it’s stained with the blood drawn by a mafia family.

╰₊✧ escape is next to impossible, as expected of the kaneshiro family. hidden cameras watch your every step and guards are lined up in every hallway to make sure that no one aside from their masters gets in or out, armed with weapons that they wouldn’t hesitate to use if necessary. even if they have strict orders not to use them against you for any reason, they are still allowed to use physical force to bring you back and any injuries will be regarded as collateral damage.

your legs dragged across the polished marble floors of the hall since you refused to walk back to your room, carried by two burly men in suits who caught you trying to run away for the -nth time. just like all previous attempts, you were caught within five minutes, which is an improvement to last time yet still not even close to enough to reach the pearly gates of freedom. knowing that you’ll need more then double of that to get out is disheartening, but everyone knows that you’re going to try again. you’ve learned that it really doesn’t cost anything to make a run for it, they don’t even punish you for it since luca loves you too much for that so they just throw you back on the bed before leaving.

there are a few bruises from their rough handling, but nothing too serious. you’d be willing to walk out of there with a broken arm if needed, you just wanted to go home and see the remaining few who weren’t picked off by the mafia again. later that day, you’ll be gifted with new dresses and shoes that shimmer in the light of the grand chandelier of your room to try and convince you to stay, however, there isn’t any use for such items if others couldn’t see it as well. if you keep trying, you’ll make it a little further as you learn from your mistakes, maybe even one of his men will feel pity for you or get sick of your antics and just let you go. you’ll only know if you keep trying.

#📜. her works #ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #mysta rias #mysta rias x reader #vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #luca kaneshiro #luca kaneshiro x reader #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #luxiem #luxiem x reader #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #tw: yandere

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fuckmycrane · 1 year ago

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Close Enough — Neil Lewis.

— CW: 18+, smut. Masturbation. Neil is a little pervert panties stealer. | word count: 1k. [Not proofread!]

— a/n: Thank you to everyone in the discord server who helped me, like I want to kiss you all religiously. I love Neil being a pervert, so I'll definetly will continue this legacy.

Best friends don’t do this, or at least that is what Neil thinks as he stares at the pair of dirty underwear in his hand.

His knee bounces anxiously, gulping and running his hands through his hair— everything about this is wrong, the reasoning behind his actions, the stealing, the straining bulge against slacks… everything is bad.

A little voice inside his head rings like a broken record.

“This isn't what best friends do”

Yet, the yearning is burning his skin, his soul, and the thought of having you so close to him in such a secret, borderline perverted way, works wonders to wash away the guilt, while his fingers pop open the button of his pants.

He stands up, almost hesitantly. Kicking off his worn sneakers, he keeps your panties in his hand while the other struggles to drag down his pants and push them aside with his foot. He doesn't own a full-length mirror, but the small rectangular mirror in his dresser will work just fine. Neil stares at his reflection, and what does he see?

A whore.

The same feeling of guilt returns when he removes his blue checkered boxers, staring at his hard cock twitching against his flat abdomen. He is about to do... something… something. He slides your panties on slowly, testing the waters. They fit tight, and when he reaches his thighs the fabric is starting to stretch out. Struggling with his narrow hips, Neil exhales shakily pondering his actions once again. Best friends don’t do this— But he does.

Your underwear fits tight, the elastic digs into the freckled skin of his hips and it comes to a point where he can differentiate his reflection from the porn magazines he had seen in the drug store near the video store. Neil’s fingers trace his abdomen and hook slightly at his belly button, the faint patch of hair guiding down his navel to the confines of your underwear. His cock is painfully visible, his leaky head peaks from below the cream fabric— he feels so dirty.

And so hot at the same time.

Neil bites his lips as his index finger traces the outline of his length, he lets himself savor the sensation, not sure when he will experience such pleasure again. His balls barely fit the pair, squeezing them upwards and leaving him breathless, his blue eyes stay glued to his reflection.

He is aware that if he tries to move or stretch the fabric will probably rip, which would be difficult to explain— Getting rid of his shirt, he cups his crotch with his palm while his free hand reaches for his chest, pinching his rosy nipple causing him to thrust his hips forward. A soft pant cascades down his lips, erotic, perverted. Neil continues teasing himself for at least five more minutes until his abdomen is glistening with the constant precum leaking from his cock and smearing it all over himself with every twitch, until both of his nipples are so hard they hurt. Practically edging himself at this point, he rubs his length against the heel of his palm with a strained groan, closing his eyes and hanging his head. The sick pleasure he is experiencing from slutting himself out is too much to even allow the remorse to come back. His legs are wobbly and could give up at any second, but he doesn’t cease his movements, in fact, he speeds his rubbing, stopping for a brief moment to caress the pinkish tip with his thumb and hissing from the raw stimulation. Neil knows he won’t last long, and a reasonable thought would be to take these off, hide them, damn, even return them— but no— he is out of reasonable thoughts.

Desperately, he hooks both thumbs on the elastic and yanks your panties off his hip, ignoring the faint sound of the stitches tearing at his sides; His cock bounces slightly, urging a sigh of relief as he wraps his right hand around the base, and begins to slide it up and down vigorously. Your panties cup his balls, absorbing his sweat and no doubt, keeping the musky scent of his crotch. He is jerking off faster than usual as if he was trying to speed up the process, but he is just that needy and horny and…

What would you think?

What would you say?

Neil imagines you walking in, gasping, cursing. Asking him if he is that much of a sick pervert, and lowkey? He is. He wants you to call him names, laugh at him, mock him for acting like a bitch in heat at the mere sight of your dirty pair of underwear laying on top of the laundry basket, so tempting and alluring he couldn’t help but grab them and stuff them in his jeans pockets when you weren’t watching. He imagines you yelling at him to take them off and plugging the fabric inside his mouth to stop his sobs and apologies.

Bringing his hand to his mouth he spits on his palm, dragging the saliva up and down and moaning weakly at the feeling. He is cumming, he is so close, he is— Neil’s knees give up and he sits at the edge of his bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. His feet are shaking and his toes curl at the immense delight. The wet sound of his obscene jerking is embarrassing, making Neil blush and gasp, This is bad, this is so bad, this is so disrespectful to you, to your friendship— he can no longer see his naughty act in the mirror on the dresser, he can only see his face. Those parted lips, watery eyes, and flushed cheeks. Leaning one hand to support himself, he curls, just in time for his cock to twitch one last time and give up, orgasming for dear life. His fingers tighten around his throbbing dick, spurring and prolonging his climax, closing his eyes shut to not see the ropes and spurts of hot, sticky cum that stain his thighs, his abdomen, and your underwear.

Laying on his back, he stares at the ceiling, watching the fan go round and round while he catches his breath. Draping an arm over his face, Neil groans in frustration, biting his forearm and cursing himself because, once again, he succumbed to his dirty fantasies.

How is he gonna face you now?

#— ✏️ anya writes!#— 📼 Neil Lewis!#neil lewis x reader #neil lewis smut #neil lewis x reader smut #pervert!neil lewis #neil lewis x you #neil lewis x y/n #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader

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incorrectbatfam · 2 years ago

Note

Tim and Jason headcanons 👀

One morning during breakfast Tim keeps excusing himself to go to the bathroom to fix his boxers because they must've stretched in the wash. Meanwhile, Jason can barely move and waddles into the kitchen like he has a rubber band around his legs. Imagine the horror when they connect the dots and realize their underwear got swapped

One day Tim's room suddenly starts to smell like tomatoes and he tears it apart trying to find the source. Turns out Jason put soup in the humidifier

Jason: *gives Tim an iced coffee*

Tim: "You put salt in it"

Jason: "No I didn't"

Tim: "I can literally see the crystals"

Jason: "What crystals?"

Tim: "Right there, all settled at the bottom"

Jason: "That's how the coffee is"

Tim still owes Jason for the time Jason stopped him from faceplanting in Alfred the cat's litter box

Contrary to how it appears, Jason's hair is thicker. It's so thick that Tim accidentally drops a glob of mayonnaise in it and Jason doesn't notice until he combs his hair hours later

They get bunk beds on a mission. Tim gets the top bunk after losing rock-paper-scissors. While he's asleep, Jason moves the ladder to the other side

Jason puts a cockroach on Tim's desk thinking he'll freak out. Tim, who's on his third day without sleep, looks Jason dead in the eye and eats it

As a kid, Jason often re-wore dirty clothes until he absolutely had to go to the laundromat meanwhile Tim washed his more frequently in small batches so he wouldn't get told off for having a huge pile. Cut to the present day where Tim's sifting through a mountain of Jason's laundry for a pair of socks and Jason is offering zero help whatsoever

They stand out in the rain to see who gets drenched first. It's usually Tim—he absorbs water like a paper towel. Jason then gets in trouble because Tim could've gotten sick ("Thanks, Bruce, not like I'm soaked to the bone too")

And when Tim gets sick, he refuses to take his meds unless someone sneaks it into his food. Finally, Jason has a use for the NyQuil Chicken TikTok

Jason drives three hours from an out-of-state safehouse to hide in Tim's closet and scare him. Little does he know, Tim is in the closet at the safehouse, waiting to pounce on Jason

Jason peels a pride sticker off a villain's car and gives it to Tim

Jason mixes all the Goldfish crackers into a dough and bakes them into a single giant Goldfish. Why? 'Cause he can, and Tim needs something to test his new food pic filters on

In March their patrols end by meeting at McDonald's for Shamrock Shakes

Tim prank calls Jason and convinces him he's lost in Metropolis. Eight hours, countless Bizarro flights, and two unfortunate geese encounters later, Jason storms into the Batcave while Tim simply grins and asks, "What'd you think of my new VPN?"

Tim and Jason find a wheelbarrow at a crime scene and keep it after the case is closed because it's a free wheelbarrow. This happens twice more and now they have enough for a family wheelbarrow race

Bruce makes them spend more time together, so Jason decides to teach Tim the Three-Card Monty. Tim just nods along because he doesn't know how say that he already learned it by watching the second Robin out-con a conman

Jason wakes Tim up one morning by chucking a feather duster at him, saying Alfred wants everything clean. So Tim gathers all the dust in his room and dumps it on Jason's bed before going back to sleep

The Ferris wheel has a clear "no food" policy but Tim doesn't listen and sneaks a chili dog anyway. Jason's in the seat below him, and it's the second time something falls in his hair without him noticing

Jason: "Red Robin, do you read me?"

Tim: "Affirmative. What do you need?"

Jason: "Pick a different gargoyle. That one's mine"

Tim: "I don't see your name on it"

Jason: "Check the underside"

Tim: "It just says Robin, so technically it's both of ours"

At one of Jason's safehouses there's a mysterious bucket in the corner of the living room. No one but Tim knows what it's for

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wizzdot · 3 months ago

Text

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch24

Description: poor Laika’s self doubt raises its ugly head again. John is a sweetheart. Kyle is upset. Lots of angst, fluff etc xoxo

Laika's POV*

I must have fallen asleep. I wake up next to Kyle, the others had left.

Oh god.. what have I done?! I've made a huge mistake forcing myself on them like that.. worthless stupid mutt, no one would ever want a stray like you. Why did you ever get your hopes up in the first place?!

Physically, I feel so much better - almost as if the heat fever hadn't happened at all. I slowly and softly lift his arm from around me and try to crawl from the bed. I need to hide from the rejection. I won't let it find me. I know it's coming. I just know it..Kyle's only here because he was literally stuck to me, because I practically forced myself on him.

I feel sick. Disgusting mutt!

I stand from my bed and don myself in my own clothes, feeling far too revolting to even dare to pull on anything of theirs..

I sneak out from the room, taking a final glance at Kyle, a tear falling from my cheek as I scamper away from the pack's private quarters.

As I reach the familiar hallway of the mess hall, I take a sharp left and go to the infirmary. I make sure to ask for the same kind nurse who had checked me when I first arrived. I trusted her - sort of..

She pokes her head out from behind a door and furrows her brow..

"I'm not aware you had an appointment Miss..." she doesn't remember my name

"...Laika" I supply for her "..and I don't.. I need to talk to you.. and ask for help.. please" I whisper, eyes darting to make sure no one is listening in or watching.

"Oh.. okay, you better come in then, I can call the Capta-" - "NO.. I mean, no, it's okay.. he wouldn't want to waste his time on something so stupid.. honestly"

I lie through my teeth with a fake, tight lipped smile on my face. She buys it though.. thank god.

"What did you come here for then, Laika..?" she asks, casting an eye over me, clearly checking for any external injuries.

"Uhm.. well- you know how you did the blood tests.. and they came back as sort of inconclusive but swaying towards Omega.. well - I want suppressants..just incase"

She narrows her eyes at me, confused by my request.

"Laika, from what I recall, the unknown drugs that you have been exposed to while in Russia haven't left your system yet. It would be dangerous to mix suppressants in while we still aren't entirely sure what you are.."

"I don't mind.. I'm happy to risk it.."

"Where has this all come from, honey? You are stressed and nervous, I can see your eyes darting all over the room, you've not made eye contact with me once, you're being deceitful and you're clearly panicking over something.. I want to help you, I do.. but I need to know a little more about what's happened.. do you understand where I'm coming from, honey?"

She leans forward in her chair and places a gentle hand on my leg. Just above my knee. She smiles, a trust worthy smile.

"I-I need to leave and I don't want anything to happen before I'm ready to deal with it.. I just want the suppressants, then you'll never see me again.. I'll be out of your hair...please..?"

"Okay, honey.. Let me just go outside and think this through.. I need to have a quick re-read of your file just to make sure you're not allergic to anything or if anything would be incompatible to your blood type.. just give me a few minutes, sit tight.."

She stands from her chair and gives me a squeeze on my shoulder and a smile as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Thank god - she is helping me. As soon as I get these suppressants, I'm calling Kate and requesting an immediate pick up. I don't care where to. Just away from here. I've already done enough damage here. Filthy, disgusting mutt.

*John's POV*

I had left Kyle and Laika together, sleeping it off. They looked so comfortable and settled when I left. I decided to take Simon and Johnny to the gym - we'd been lifting weights - spotting each other. Simon is quite close to improving on my personal best but he hasn't managed it yet, thankfully.

As we walk back towards our quarters, I can smell a subtle hint of her scent in the hallway. I ignore it, and put it down to the fact that we probably have carried her scent around the base, having spent the morning in her bed.

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. I glance at it and see that it is Dr Lewis. What does she want? I thought my check was next week..?

I slide the green tab to answer "Captain Price speaking.." I greet.

"Captain, it's Dr Lewis.. I need to keep this quick because she isn't in a stable mood. I've got Laika here - she is in a bit of a state, rambling about needing suppressants and said something about never seeing her again.. I think she is planning to run away.. I'm not sure what's happened, but she needs someone to talk to. She is very fragile at the moment, Captain.. I sincerely hope nothing bad has happened to her under your watch.."-

"I'm on my way" I growl out, hanging up the phone. "JOHNNY, SIMON FOLLOW ME"

I storm my way to the medics, barging angrily past rookies. When we arrive, I order Johnny and Simon to wait at the entrance.

The Doctor is standing in the middle of the waiting room, no Laika to be seen.. "Where is she?" I grumble.

I can feel my palms splitting - my nails digging harshly into my skin. "Captain, she is in my office - I suggest you calm down.. she isn't going to take this well - I didn't tell her I was calling you.."

"You've done the right thing - I need to see her, where is she?" I ask again, quickly, trying to hurry things along.

"Follow me.."

I walk directly behind the slightly older Doctor, Fuck I wish she'd hurry the fuck up..

*Laika's POV*

I hear the door handle rattle slightly and then the Doctor steps into the room. What I don't expect is an angry looking John following closely on her heels..

"What on earth do you think you're playing at, Love..? Suppressants and threatening to leave..? Why...?" he barks at me.

I stare at the Doctor, my lip quivering and my eyes wide and red, from unshed tears. This isn't the first time I'd been betrayed..

She gives me an apologetic smile, mouthing 'sorry', before turning and leaving the room. Coward..

"...Laika?" John steps closer when the door closes.

"Speak to me, c'mon, Love" - "Stop calling me that" I whisper.

"I didn't hear that, speak up, Love.. I want to hel-"

"I SAID, STOP CALLING ME THAT.. IT'S NOT TRUE.." I shout.

John visibly recoils at my tone, tilting his head to one side and furrowing his brow. The tears start flowing freely now, I stubbornly turn away, refusing to face the Alpha.

"Look at me.."

"Laika..? C'mon, whatever this is about.. we need to talk about it..."

"Th-there's nothin' to talk about, Captain.. I need to leave"

"Nonsense.." - "S'not, I don't belong here.." my hands shake as I throw my arms in the air, exasperated. Defeated.

I hear him step closer again, then I hear his knee hit the floor in front of me. Alpha's don't kneel.

"Look at me.."

"Please, sweet girl.." - "don't call me that, either.."

"Jus- Just look at me.. please"

He kneels in front of me for at least two minutes, while I stubbornly refuse to face him from my seat. He doesn't move, doesn't sigh, doesn't so much as move a muscle. He waits for me..

I sit, sniffling snot and tears into the sleeve of my own jumper. He just kneels there. Unmoving.

"You can go.. I don't need babysat.. You've got better things to do.." I eventually argue, still not looking at him.

He doesn't reply, still kneeling and silent. What is he trying to achieve..?!

"Captain.. I said, GO!"

Silence, just the sound of his breathing..

I break. I look at him, he is already staring back at me. Why are his eyes slightly red..?

He still doesn't say anything.

"What do you want..?!?" I choke out, tears still pouring from my eyes.

"Get up.. stop kneeling.. speak.. SAY SOMETHING" God, I'm desperate.. I don't know why I'm reacting like this..

He gently reaches out, slow enough that if I truly wanted to, I could have moved, hell - I could have slapped his hand away..

He entangles his fingers in mine and squeezes, softly, just once. He guides my hand towards his lips. He kisses every single knuckle, I look away, not deserving of his tender touch.

As soon as I look away, he releases my hand. I furrow my brow. He still hasn't said anything..

He stands and walks towards the door. My eyes widen, anxiety heightening.

"John..." I say in a small voice, as his hand reaches the door handle.

He pauses, but doesn't turn to face me.

"I'm sorry.." I whisper. He still doesn't turn, but he also doesn't turn the handle.

"I - I don't know how to.. how to do any of this.." I finally admit. His shoulders relax, dropping slightly, yet he still doesn't speak..

"I'm broken, John.. you.. your pack.. it's better without me..."

He lowers his head, I can see that he is shaking it. His hand pulls away from the door handle, dropping back to his side. He takes a half-step back into the room, still facing away from me.

*John's POV*

I couldn't speak. I couldn't find the right words. One wrong move and she'll leave. She thinks so lowly of herself. She doesn't think she is worthy of anything but pain and sadness.

I can't let her go.

I clear my throat and turn to face her, almost unable to continue when I see that broken look on her face, staring right back up at me.

*Laika's POV*

He clears his throat and turns around. This is it, he is saying goodbye.. brace yourself, don't let him see you cry..

"My pack would tear heaven and earth apart to find you if you left us now.."

What?!

"My pack.. they want you.. emotional baggage and all.. we've all got some.."

I gulp

"and my pack - it could be your pack too - if you can stop punishing yourself for things you had no power over."

"We both know it isn't your fault. And I'll kill the bastards. You just say the word. I'm at your command.."

"Love" he tacks on to the end.

I have nothing to say.. I'm stunned.

"What if I mess it up..?" I whisper

"You won't.."

"But what if I do..?"

"We'd figure it out.."

"Why me..?"

"You may not see it, Love.. but you're perfect for us.. if you'd let us prove it to you. I'll tell the boys.. we will take things slow.. court you properly.. let us at least try..?"

"John..?"

"Yes, sweet girl.." he replies instantly, kneeling back to the ground, taking both of my hands in his..

"I'm scared.. I'm scared I'll mess up.."

He cups my chin softly.

"Beautiful girl, there is nothing you could do.. nothing.. that would change my mind on this.."

My eyes trail from his eyes, to his facial hair, to the freckles on his nose and then down to his lips.

"John..?"

"Yes, Love..?"

"I-I'll try.. I want to try.." I sniff.

He breaks into a soft smile, his dimples showing. He wipes the tear lines from my cheeks with his thumb.

I stand on the balls of my feet to kiss him on the cheek. I wobble slightly and end up kissing the very corner of his lips. He purrs, but doesn't push for more.

"C'mon, I want to take you back.. never liked Doctor's offices anyway.." he grumbles lowly.

He reaches and grabs my hand, squeezing it softly once, giving it a quick kiss on my knuckles again.

He turns the door handle and leads me through the waiting area.

He nods a quick 'thanks' to the Doctor.

As soon as he steps foot into the main hallway, I'm greeted by a pacing Johnny and Simon, who looks.. anxious.

He immediately steps forward and holds my face firmly in his large hands, crouching down so that we are eye to eye.

"Are you hurt? What happened? Who do I need to fuckin' kill?"

"Calm down, Simon".. John reaches over my shoulder to squeeze Simon's arm.

"We're all okay now.. That's all that matters.."

Johnny squirms his way behind me and lifts me into his arms, carrying me like a groom would carry a bride.

"Johnny!" I yelp.

"No princess of mine walks when she is hurt! Whit happened, lass. Si will sort the fucker out.."

"N-nothing happened!" I giggle.

I notice, from the corner, how John and Simon both relax at the sound of my laughter.

"Wh-where's Kyle..?" I ask, guiltily.. that same feeling of dread washing over me.. what if he hadn't wanted it.. what if he regrets it..?

As soon as the words have left my mouth, a frantic figure skids around the corner, wearing just loose sweatpants slung lowly over his hips.

"JESUS FUCK, LOVE!!" He pants, actually clutching his chest, where his heart beats rapidly.

He rushes towards me and pulls me from Johnny's hold and into his own, tight and suffocating arms. It was oddly grounding. Until I felt his hands shaking, and his panicked breathing...

"When I woke up.. and you weren't there.. I looked everywhere. FUCK!" he weeps into my neck, rubbing my lower back gently, more for his own benefit than mine, I assume..

"Thought you'd gone.." He glances up then, and notices that we are outside the infirmary. He freezes and drops his arms immediately.

"Shit.. fuck.. tell me I didn't hurt you..? Please tell me I didn't..." He looks completely lost in his own panic.

I step towards him, with tears in my own eyes..

"Kyle.. Kyle.. Alpha..?" He backs away from me.

I scurry forward and cling to him, trying to hug the anxiety from him.

"Alpha.. you didn't hurt me.. I promise.."

"You sure..?"

"I'm sure, Kyle.. not at all.." I reach up and kiss his cheek. He looks me up and down, making sure that I am telling the truth.

"Why'd you run off..? You weren't there when I woke up..." I gulp

"I- I was running away from rejection.. didn't want you to regret it.. so I - I ran.."

"Why would you think..-" he starts with a furrowed brow, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Oh, you silly girl.. come here.. I'd never regret even one second spent with you.." he whispers into my hair as he hugs me tightly.

He pulls away from the hug and looks around at his pack..

"Dinner..?" John suggests.

The Alphas all nod, and I feel a gloved hand take mine and drag me back towards their private quarter. I turn my head back to the others and stumble after the hand that is pulling me. It's Simon.

"Gave us all a hell of a fright there , little bird" he grunts..

"Sorry.."

"I don't want your apologies, love. Just need you to stay, yeah..?"

"Yeah, Simon. I'll try staying this time. no more running away.." I whisper

"No more running away.." he repeats, softly.

I feel the softest squeeze on my hand.

I squeeze back.

A silent promise to each other.

We are both ... damaged.

But Christ, we'd try...

#abo dynamics #john mctavish x reader #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle garrick x reader #omega reader #poly 141 #simon riley x reader #task force x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john price

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