#now its like the crushing weight of my entire life is pressing down on me

[pending-trans-action-2]

God I hate having emotions and feelings and being an actual human being

Being a soulless robot was so much fucking easier

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

141 + Königs Reactions To Reader Asking Them To Lay On Them

Warnings: swearing, mentions of crying

Based on the following request from @gaymistakeboi , I accidentally hit post before I was finished, so the actual request vanished🫠🫣

Request- Hi! Second request that I was gonna ask for! Reader with the 141+Köing where reader has a bad day and gets overstimulated and just looks at their boy and goes "lay on me" and the boys are like "sorry what", reader just looks them in the eys and says "did I fucking stutter? Full weight. On me. Now." I want nothing more in life than just have the crushing weight of a guy a lot bigger than me just crushing me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon Ghost Riley-

You'd been watching Simon for the better part of an hour as he sat across from you on the other couch. He was hunched over slightly, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to finish the Sunday paper's crossword puzzle.

You smiled to yourself, realizing in that moment how much you loved him.

"Si, can you come here?" You asked, your arms stretched out, hands making a grabbing motion toward your husband.

Simon looked up from the paper, a ghost of a smile on his lips, and stood from his spot on the couch opposite of you. He walked over to you and sat down by your feet as he grabbed your hand to place a delicate kiss in your wrist.

"No, not like that." You whined.

Simon's brow quirked as a sly smile fell across his lips. "Like how?"

"Lay on top of me." You asked, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "Please?"

"You're serious?" He asked, slightly concerned. "Sweetheart, I'm like three times the size of you."

"Simon fucking Riley just get over here and crush me with your body, damnit."

Simon let out a hearty chuckle as he threw his hands up in mock defeat. "You asked for this, kid."

He pulled away the blanket that was covering you and proceeded to lay himself fully on top of you, his entire body weight pressed firmly into yours.

You sighed in content as you pressed kisses to the exposed flesh of Simon's neck. "You're so handsome, you know that?"

"You tell me this, as my body is crushing yours?" He chuckled softly. He shifted his weight slightly, causing you to groan beneath him.

"It's every person's dream, to be crushed by an amazingly attractive, built military man, is it not?" You giggled, running your hand along his cheek.

"Can't say it's mine, sweetheart. But I wouldn't mind you laying on top of me." He pressed a warm kiss to your temple before flipping the two of you over, so your weight was now on him. "I love you, kid."

"I love you too, Simon."

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

To say you couldn't get comfortable in bed tonight was an understatement. You tossed and turned endlessly, unable to get into a position in which you could fall asleep.

Halfway through the night, you rolled over on your side, facing your boyfriend Johnny, who was passed out. You began to tug on his shirt, causing his eyes to blink open slowly.

"Y/N, babe, you alright?" He asked, his voice gruff from sleep.

"Can't sleep." You murmured.

"How can I help?" He sat up slightly, wiping at his face.

You kept wordlessly pulling on Johnny's shirt, hoping he'd get the hint.

"Babe, speak up. I don't know what you want." Johnny chuckled as his eyes raked up and down his figure.

"Lay on me." Your voice barely above a whisper.

"Lay on you?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Did I stutter? Thought my request was pretty clear." You bit, but Johnny could sense the playfulness in your tone.

"Oof, listen to that attitude." He quipped, a devious smile making its way on his face. "Fine, you asked for it."

He sat up, making his way over to you, before plopping his full body weight on top of you. You let out a small squeal as he landed on you, turning your face slightly as the hairs from his mohawk began to tickle at your nose.

It was pleasant at first. The only sounds that filled the rooms were soft breathing and the sound of Johnny's heartbeat. Johnny, being Johnny, then decided to push his weight into you just a bit more causing his weight to be too much for you.

"Okay, wait, wait, you're too heavy now. Get off." You chuckled, shoving at his chest playfully.

"Nah, this is what you wanted brat, you gotta deal with it." He teased, slowly rolling himself around on your form. "Maybe you'll think next time before giving your amazingly awesome boyfriend attitude."

"Johnny!" You choked out a laugh as he finally pulled himself off of you. "You're a jerk!"

"Only doing what you asked of me, babe. Now get your pretty ass over here and cuddle with me."

König-

"Köönnniiigggg." You called out, wiping away the stray tears that fell down your face. The day you had was horrible. It was one of those days where nothing seemed to go right, and all you wanted was to go home and lay in bed.

"Maus? Is everything okay?" He came into the bedroom quickly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern as he took in your crying state.

"Can you..can you come lay on me?" You asked, your cheeks burning a crimson red. It wasn't something you'd ever asked him before, but you wanted nothing more than to be crushed by your giant lover.

"L-Lay on you? Schatz, I'll crush you. I don't want to hurt you." He stuttered out, slowly making his way to your side of the bed. "What's going on?"

"I've just had a shit day, and I really want you to lay on me." You blinked up at him, as your bottom lip trembled.

König regarded you carefully for a moment, trying to see if you were messing with him. He truly was worried he'd crush you, but he couldn't ever say no to you.

He took off his shoes and hoodie before climbing over top of you in the bed. "If I get too heavy, pat my back and I'll get up, okay Maus?"

You nodded as a victorious smile lined your lips. Your arms and legs securely fastened around his body, as he slowly laid himself down on you. You could tell he was holding back, though, and wasn't putting his full weight on you.

"This is what you wanted?" He asked, chuckling slightly as he heard your giggles from underneath him.

"Yes." You replied, taking the deepest breath you could with your mass of a boyfriend on top of you.

"Am I...hurting you?" He asked, timidly.

"Not at all, Kö. This is nice." You hummed, relishing in the feeling of some of his weight on you. It was clear he still wasn't okay with putting his full weight on you, and a lot of it was shifted to his arms, which hovered around your head.

You absentmindedly drew random figures into your boyfriend's back with your fingers, as you felt the stress of your day begin to wash away.

"Let me hold you, Maus." König said softly, his lips grazing your neck. He felt you nod against his chest, so he sat up slightly and laid on his side before pulling you into his chest. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shook your head wordlessly as your fingers laced with his.

"Okay, well, when you want to talk, I'm here, always."

And when you were ready to talk, he listened.

John Price-

"Sorry it took me so long to finish up. The paperwork took longer than I would've liked." John whispered in your ear as he came up behind you while you were washing your face.

You gave him a smile in the reflection of the mirror, before patting your face dry. "It's alright, love."

"Are you okay?" He asked, as his brows furrowed slightly.

"Just a long day. Nothing a good cuddle with my husband won't cure." You turned to wrap your arms around his waist and stared to pull him backward toward the bed.

As you fell back onto the bed, your grip on your husband's waist tightened, and your legs latched around his lower abdomen, effectively locking him in a tight grasp.

"Baby, what are you doing?" John chuckled, pulling away slightly to smile down at you. "Did you want something?"

"Just stay like this with me. It feels good." You breathed out, your lover's weight fully pinning you into the bed.

"Sweetheart, I'm crushing you."

"It's okay, I like it." You spoke as you nuzzled your face into your husband's chest.

"Anything you want to talk about?" He asked, as his fingers stroked at your face mindlessly.

"Just a long day. Just wanna lay here like this with you." You replied, nuzzling your face into John's hand.

"I can do that."

~

It was a few moments later when John spoke up again. "Love? Are you still with me?"

Instead of a verbal response, he heard a soft snore emit from your lips underneath him, causing him to chuckle softly. "You will be the death of me."

He rolled over gently so as not to wake you as he pulled you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your temple. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

Kyle had been gaming nearly all night, and you were desperate for his affection. It wasn't often he had game nights like this, and you were happy he was enjoying himself, but you were unable to prolong your neediness any further.

Once he got to a saving point, you pulled the controller away from him, setting it on the table in front of the couch. He turned to you with a confused expression, the slightest bit of a smirk evident on his lips. "Babe?"

"Lay on me."

Kyle blinked a few times, trying to process your request. "What?"

"I asked you to lay on me." You huffed, pouting out your bottom lip in the way he liked.

Kyle gave a hearty chuckle before grabbing a blanket and throwing it on the floor. He picked you up bridal style, while grabbing a pillow, and moved to lay you on the makeshift bed he created on the floor.

"You're sure?" He asked, his lips upturned in a devious smile.

"Yes."

He moved to lay on top of you, spreading his body weight throughout the length of your body.

You erupted in a fit of giggles as Kyle shifted his weight on you. "Wait, Ky, you're doing it wrong!"

"How on earth am I doing it wrong? You asked me to lay on you!" Kyle couldn't help the laughter that escaped his lips.

"You're supposed to lovingly lay on me!" You gasped out, Kyle's weight becoming too much for you. "This isn't loving!"

Kyle roared with laughter. "How am I supposed to lovingly lay on you, you wanker!"

Giving up on trying to appease your wishes, he took matters into his own hands. He slipped his fingers under your shirt and began to tickle at your sides, causing you to squeal in delight. "My little pet wants attention? I'll give em attention."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thanks for reading!🙂

[likeastarstar]

Needy- NAMJOON

"Hi baby."

Namjoon's deep voice rumbled in your ears, an almost pavlovian response triggered in your body.

You'd think by now, this far into your relationship, the crush you had on him would've worn off. Instead, it seems to have gotten even stronger- your mouth watered whenever he was in front of you, your entire body lit up with anticipation- hoping, wishing, begging for him to come closer to you.

Joon covered your body with his, wrapping you into a secure hug. A smile grew on your lips as you felt his long, strong arms wrap around you and his weight in your body. He put pressed on you as you pushed your face into his chest, breathing in his scent. His lips pressed to your cheek, then your jawline, then your neck- making his way down as he squeezed your body like a snake wrapping around its most precious prey-

"I missed you," He mumbled against your skin, breath sending goosebumps down your spine.

"It was only a couple hours-"

"And here I raced home for you," Joon tssked, "Thought about you the entire way, figured we could do date night here at home, yeah? Maybe watch a movie together, take a bath later? I'll wash your hair for you, remember how much you like that?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the memory of the last time your boyfriend washed your hair. A psychological study had to be conducted about the aphrodisiac properties to a head massage and lavender soap.

You exhaled slowly, Joon's eyes tracking yours with the upmost concentration. The heat of his gaze warmed your belly and you tilted your head at him, wondering what exactly it was that put him in this kind of a mood.

"What was Yoongi's show about again? Did it happen to involve something with alcohol maybe?" You hummed, feeling his hand dip under the hem of your shirt and massage your lower back.

His hand crept upwards, calloused fingers rubbing your soft skin with all the desperation in the world. The way he touched you was like a starved man, begging, aching for any crumb of you that he could get.

"What are you insinuating?" Namjoon said suspiciously, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra.

"That every time you drink you get needy," You teased, letting him wrap his other arm around your waist and hoist you into the air, carrying you with ease.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and gripped his arms, face so close to his your lips grazed each others', teasing each other endlessly.

"Don't you need me baby?" Joon mumbled against your lips.

You held him there, close to you, where you could feel his body heat warm you up and smell him- that spicy, woody smell that was all his and now it was spiked with liquor.

"Of course I do," You assured quickly, "You know I do."

He smirked up at you, pressing his lips to yours in a possessive, greedy sort of way that made your head spin. It was like you were the one who was drunk, the way he set your body on fire as he set you down gently, spinning you around so fast you had to catch yourself against the wall, back arched as he pushed your legs apart roughly.

"Lemme go down on you, please? Can I please put my mouth on you?" He asked, large hand working your pussy through your pants.

You moaned, nodding half a second before he ripped your pants halfway down your legs, mouth kissing down the length of your spine almost immediately. He ate you out like that, chest shoved against the wall and holding on for dear life. His tongue was rough and thorough, leaving no part of you untouched.

You felt like a bolt of lightning had struck from your head to your toes, opening up for him as he thrusted in and out of your pussy. He added his fingers as if his tongue wasn't enough, thumb flicking and prodding at your clit until you were cumming against his face, back arched so sharply you were sure to feel sore tomorrow.

It was like all the air had been sucked from the room as he manhandled you, lifting you back up in his arms to take all the work away from you, "You still with me?" He asked, looking down at you with an exhilarated, chaotic look on his face.

You hummed in response, nodding at him as he gathered you in his arms. He gave you his cheekiest grin before you heard the clink of his belt hitting the floor, slamming his hips up into you in one fell thrust. You moaned loudly, raking your nails down his back so sharply it would've broke skin if he wasn't wearing a shirt still.

There was something so satisfyingly lust filled about the way your bodies moved against each others, rough and intense like you hadn't seen each other in ages. He fucked into you hard, filling you in every way possible and then some. The pace Namjoon set was ruthless, burying his head in the crook of your neck and sucking bruises into the skin that would last days.

You grabbed at his hair, tugging on thick black locks with no reservations as he pushed your legs even wider, one pinning your thigh out and the other keeping you half wrapped around him, ankle hooked against his lower back.

"I'm so c-close," You whined, your voice hoarse and dry from moaning out his name.

"Tell me how much you need me," Joon demanded, "Tell me how good you feel and I'll let you cum."

You obliged immediately, never turning down and opportunity to praise your boyfriend. You whined and begged and pleaded for him to make you cum, to touch you the way only he could, to cum inside of you so that you could be his and his only the way you knew you were.

He kept his eyes on your as he touched your clit, thrusts quickening as you came all over his cock, Namjoon finishing closely behind you. The two of you basked in the afterglow, your breathing synced as you floated back down to earth. He didn't bother setting you down, instead simply adjusting his grip on you so that he could carry you more securely.

"Time for that bath, huh?" He suggested, carrying you off towards the bathroom you shared.

It was going to be a long night...

masterlist.

[bluekittyworld]

Still with YOU. [6, End]

Masterlist

Chapter 5

Warning: smut (it's filthy) 18+

As the warmth of the sun caressed your skin, you luxuriated in the comfort of the plush pillows cradling your head and the softness of the mattress beneath you. A gentle sensation enveloped your feet, as if they were being tenderly massaged by invisible hands, sending waves of relaxation rippling through your entire body.

With your eyes closed, you surrendered to the blissful sensation, allowing it to wash away the remnants of stress and tension that had plagued you before. Each ray of sunlight felt like a soothing balm, easing every ache and worry until you were enveloped in a cocoon of tranquillity.

It was a moment of pure serenity, and you couldn't help but bask in its warmth, reluctant to disturb the peace by opening your eyes. For in this tranquil haven, time seemed to stand still, and all that mattered was the blissful sensation of being completely at ease.

“Princess?” you heard Jimin.

As you gradually parted your eyelids, the soft glow of the room greeted you, and there, sitting before you, was Jimin, his presence like a familiar embrace in the midst of your awakening, it was him massaging your feet gently. A faint smile graced your lips as you took in the sight of him, your heart fluttering with a mix of comfort and curiosity.

It didn't escape your notice that you were once again in Jimin's bedroom, the familiar surroundings wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Despite the haze of sleep still lingering in your mind, you felt a sense of reassurance in his presence, as if being with him brought a measure of solace to your soul.

With a gentle nod of acknowledgment, you silently conveyed your gratitude for his care, your eyes speaking volumes as they met his gaze. In that moment, you knew that whatever lay ahead, you were not alone, for Jimin was there, a steadfast anchor in the ebb and flow of your journey.

As the fog of sleep lifted, a wave of realization crashed over you like a torrent, bringing with it the memory of your own demise. The peaceful atmosphere of Jimin's bedroom suddenly felt suffocating, your heart hammering in your chest as panic clawed its way into your consciousness.

In that moment of stark clarity, you recoiled, the weight of your mortality pressing down upon you with crushing force. The knowledge that you had died, that you were no longer among the living, sent a shiver down your spine, chilling you to the core.

Frantically, you tried to piece together the fragments of your fractured memory, searching for answers amidst the chaos of your thoughts. How had you ended up here? What had led to your untimely demise? And most importantly, what did it mean to be in Jimin's embrace now?

“It’s all over my princess” Jimin rocked you gently in his tight embrace. With each gentle stroke of his hand, Jimin's touch seemed to beckon you into a realm of darkness, where shadows danced upon the edges of your consciousness, threatening to consume you whole. And though his words promised an end to your suffering, a part of you couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a far more sinister journey.

Yet in the warmth of his embrace, you found a fleeting moment of respite, a brief reprieve from the relentless pull of despair. And as you clung to him, your heart heavy with the weight of your newfound reality, you couldn't help but wonder what fate awaited you in the embrace of the demon who claimed to be your saviour.

“Jimin what happened?” you whispered.

“_____, you are here with me for eternity, you will be my princess and we will reign over hell together” he kissed your forehead.

In the midst of your confusion, a strange sense of relief washed over you, Jimin the love of your life was with you. As you gazed into his eyes, you found comfort in the depths of his gaze. Despite the darkness that lurked within him, you couldn't deny the warmth of his touch or the sincerity of his words, each moment spent in his embrace offering a glimpse of the heaven you so desperately craved.

And so, in the paradoxical embrace of the demon who claimed to be your saviour, you found yourself torn between the allure of his love and the fear of what lay hidden beneath the surface. Yet for now, as you basked in the light of his affection, you couldn't help but surrender to the fleeting bliss of the moment, trusting in the devil's embrace to shield you from the shadows that threatened to engulf your fragile heart.

As Jimin guided your trembling hand to your head, a shiver ran down your spine at the unexpected sensation beneath your fingertips. With a tentative touch, you traced the outline of something foreign protruding from your scalp, your heart quickening with each passing second.

And then, as your fingers brushed against the unmistakable shape of horns, reality crashed down upon you like a tidal wave. Shock and disbelief warred within you as you struggled to comprehend the implications of this newfound revelation. How could it be possible? How could you bear the mark of the devil himself?

Yet as you gazed into Jimin's eyes, searching for answers amidst the swirling chaos of your thoughts, a strange sense of acceptance washed over you. For in his presence, surrounded by the echoes of your shared destiny, you realized that your fate had been sealed long before this moment.

With a heavy heart and a newfound resolve, you allowed yourself to succumb to the truth of your existence, embracing the darkness that coursed through your veins. And as the weight of your horns bore down upon you, you knew that this was only the beginning of your journey into the depths of hell.

In that moment of quiet acceptance, as you grappled with the reality of your newfound identity, Jimin's smile offered a glimmer of reassurance amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. With a tender touch, he leaned in to press his lips against yours, a silent promise of companionship in the face of the darkness that now enveloped you both.

As his kiss lingered upon your lips, you felt a strange sense of peace wash over you, a sense of belonging in the arms of the one who had guided you to this moment. And though the path before you remained shrouded in shadows, you knew that with Jimin by your side, you would face whatever trials awaited you in the depths of hell.

With a whispered pledge of devotion, you returned his kiss, sealing your fate with a bond that transcended the realms of heaven and hell. And as the echoes of your love reverberated through the darkness, you knew that together, you would conquer the depths of despair and emerge stronger on the other side.

Caught in the heat of the moment, Jimin's touch ignited a fire within you, awakening desires that had long lay dormant beneath the surface. As his lips claimed yours with a fervent urgency, you felt the strength of your newfound demonic nature surging through your veins, fuelling the flames of passion that raged between you.

With each kiss, each caress, the boundaries that had once separated you from Jimin melted away, consumed by the primal hunger that now bound you together. No longer held back by mortal constraints, you surrendered yourself fully to the intoxicating allure of his touch, revelling in the raw intensity of the connection that pulsed between you.

In that moment, as the world around you faded into obscurity, there was only Jimin, only the fiery passion that consumed you both, drawing you ever deeper into the abyss of desire. And as you lost yourself in the heady embrace of your demonic lover, you knew that this forbidden union would only grow stronger with each passing moment, forging an unbreakable bond that would endure for eternity.

He undid the belt on your silk robe, you were bare under it, you let it slip off your shoulders, lost in the kiss with Jimin, you felt hungry for him. You pushed Jimin on his back, straddling him in the process, you took control, a sense of empowerment flowed through you. With newfound confidence, you leaned down to capture Jimin's lips in a fiery kiss, revelling in the taste of his forbidden desire, making him smirk.

With each touch, each caress, you explored the contours of his body, tracing the lines of his form with a hunger that bordered on insatiable. Beneath you, Jimin surrendered himself willingly to your command, his own desires laid bare as he yielded to the intoxicating allure of your dominance.  

The flames of lust consumed you both, you lost yourself in the heady ecstasy of the moment, not taking the time to unbutton his shirt you ripped it off him, he chuckled “Princess that was my favourite shirt”.

You didn’t respond instead you attacked his neck, sucking on it marking it with hues of deep blue and purple, Jimin’s hands caressed your back as you painted him, making him moan your name repeatedly.

Your hands travelled down to his trousers, you cupped his dick, pressing on it, making him groan “______, naughty princess”. He reached to caress your face, you held onto his hand and kissed him, while grinding you naked pussy on his clothed dick, a wet patch was starting to form on his trousers from your arousal, he could feel it. He wanted to take control, but he held himself back, today you were in charge, he waited in anticipation to see what you had to offer.

You took his belt off, and with the same belt tied his hands together, tit for tat, you enjoyed taking a little revenge, Jimin enjoyed your bold move, nobody had this much power over him but you. You slid off his trousers and to your surprise he wasn’t wearing underwear, he smirked back at you, so this was all planned by him? You giggled at the sight, Jimin joining in on your laugh.

You brought your mouth down and kissed his pelvic area, but not touching him where he needed it most, Jimin was moaning and groaning in pleasure and pain, you enjoyed his turmoil. You had tortured him enough you thought, so you left kisses along his whole length, taking the tip in your mouth. You suckled on it like it was a lollypop, Jimin wanted more, he needed more.

“Please princess” he begged you.

“Please what?” You repeated the words he once said to you with a wicked smile, revenge was sweet.

He whined, so you gave him what he needed, taking his dick in your mouth as far as you possibly could, he moved his hips, hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. You let him enjoy himself, but when you felt like he was about to cum, you left his dick with a pop.

“Not so easy” you mocked him.

He closed his eyes and a smirk spread across his face; his princess wasn’t going to give him an easy night.

You held your boobs together and nestled his dick in between, moving them up and down his shaft, the warmth and the soft cushion of your breasts around his dick made Jimin moan so loudly, pre-cum was seeping between your boobs, making the movement even more slick, he was almost screaming your name at this point. You halted your actions again just before he could reach his high, leaving a kiss on his salty tip.

His wrists had dark red marks where the belt was restraining him, blood threatening to break through, you set his hands free, he groaned in relief, as he was recovering you held the base of his dick and lowered your pussy on him, taking him raw into your tight walls, he squealed and moaned, that feeling was too much for him.

You felt so devilish, you placed your hands on his chest for support as your hips got into action, bouncing on him insanely fast, the room filled with slapping sounds as your bottom hit his balls. Jimin was so lost in pleasure he almost lost his breath, you kept going without holding back, your own pleasure reaching a high.

Jimin squeezed your ass, kneaded your boobs, pulled your nipples, scratched your back, tugged your hair, how he wished he had more hands to feel you all over, it was becoming very difficult for him to hold back, and you knew.

“Loser comes first” you stuck your tongue out, slamming on his balls even harder this time. He came, you also let yourself go, coating his dick, creating a creamy white ring. He kept filling you with his cum, the warmth hitting in all directions, painting your gummy pink walls white. Your arms gave up and you fell on his torso, he snaked his arms around you stroking your hair.

“Princess, I admit, I’m the loser, you did so well, even better than me” Jimin fuelled your ego, you smiled into his chest.

 “Thank you, my Prince, since you lost, I’ll decide your punishment later” you replied.

You laid in that position for a few minutes until your heart rate stabilised again. You raised your hips to let Jimin out of yourself, white liquid trickled out of your hole and onto his dick, darkening the colour of the silk sheets beneath. You got off the bed to put on your robe, Jimin’s cum was still seeping out of your pussy, creating a trial all the way down to your ankles, Jimin laughed, pulling you back on the bed to lay with him he wanted to relax with you, basking in the afterglow.

“Jimin its so much” you pouted, you felt his cum leaking out of you with each movement.

“I know I’m sorry baby, you just do that to me” he caressed your face, placing a kiss on your forehead.

He stroked his hand across your leg scooping his cum, then without warning he pushed it back into your hole, making you shriek and look at him in disbelief.

“What? It belongs there, I’m putting it back in its place” he looked down at you mischievously.

He continued to 'put his cum back’ into your hole, it was just an excuse to lazily finger you, but you didn’t mind, it felt nice. Once Jimin had made you come again, he cuddled you in his warm embrace as he fell asleep. In the tranquil aftermath of your fiery passion, you found comfort in his arms. Wrapped in the soft embrace of silk, you nestled close to him, you felt a sense of peace wash over you as sleep claimed you.

In the infernal realm where sin reigned supreme, life took on a different hue, one tinged with the allure of darkness and the seduction of temptation.  Amidst the fiery landscapes and shadowy corridors of the demonic realm, you lived with your favourite demon Jimin, known as the Prince of Lust.

Under Jimin's guidance, you learned of the seven sins, each governed by its own devil, and revelled in the intoxicating power they wielded. Amidst the fiery dominion of hell, you found camaraderie and companionship in the most unexpected of places - the company of the partners of the other devils. Despite the tumultuous nature of the underworld, these women became your confidantes, allies, and cherished friends.

As the Prince of Lust, Jimin embodied the essence of passion and desire, his presence igniting flames of longing within you that burned with an insatiable hunger. In his embrace, you discovered a world of forbidden ecstasy, where every touch, every kiss, was laden with the promise of boundless pleasure.

Life in the demonic realm felt exhilarating, each moment filled with the thrill of indulgence and the intoxicating allure of sin. And as you walked hand in hand with Jimin through the shadows of hell, you knew that together, you were destined to reign supreme, rulers of a kingdom forged from the depths of desire.

As time passed, you became accustomed to the intricacies of life in the demonic realm, navigating its treacherous paths with Jimin by your side. For in the infernal realm, where the boundaries between good and evil blurred and temptation lurked around every corner, your love shone brightly, a testament to the power of passion and desire to triumph over even the darkest of forces.

And so, with your hearts entwined and your spirits ablaze with the fires of passion, you embarked on a journey that would defy the very fabric of reality itself, forging a love that would endure for all eternity in the depths of hell.

Masterlist

[din-miller]

Hey! Love your content! Idk if you're requests are open or not so feel free to ignore this if not. I was hoping to get wrecker with a busty femreader? It can be NSFW or SFW that's entirely up to you!

Cheers have a wonderful day/night!!

Let’s see what I can do for you my love and thank you for your support.

Simply The Breast

Pairing: Wrecker x F!reader

Word count: 900

Warnings: 18+, tit fucking, foreskin plays a supporting role in this, blow job, married couple, BIG BOOBIES, I want wrecker to be happy

A/N: Divider by @djarrex

You watch, heat coiling in your abdomen as Wrecker’s palms rub together, the oil between them warming up. He’s above you, thigh spread out over yours, his body weight barely on you afraid that he’ll accidentally crush you. He won’t but you appreciate his concern.

As you watch his hands, your own play with your breasts, putting on a show while you can, pulling moans from your mouth when you apply just the right amount of pressure.

“Look at you,” Wrecker purrs, eyes following your moments, “So beautiful like this.”

With a hand pressing on the mattress beside your head, Wrecker shoos your hands away, your tits bouncing to the sides now that there’s no support holding them together. They don’t stay like that for long though, not when Wrecker is so desperate to have his length between your tits.

Big hands rub the oil onto your breast, his hands barely able to hold all the flesh in his hands. It’s a challenge to him and he loves it. You can only imagine the feeling. You’re breast slick and warm with the oil seeping into your skin.

“Hold your tits together for me, mesh’la.” Wrecker says oiling up his cock before sliding his length into the gap you’ve left for him.

Once he’s settled you press your breast together tightly, covering his entire length with the size of them. Being busty has its advantages.

“Fuck my breast. Don’t hold back.”

With those words Wrecker begins to thrust upwards, your chest squeezing firmly around his cock, creating a lovely suction. He gasps, his arms keeping him upright quiver momentarily. He watches almost memorized as the base of his cock the only thing visible as he sets the pace of his thrusts.

You shift yourself on the bed to move in sync with him, apply more pressure around his girth and he gasps and grunts with every jerk of his hips, desperate for release he’s knows you’ll bring him.

A thought pops into your head and you tilt your chin down enough up that on Wrecker’s next thrust up. Your lips meet his tip.

His hips come to a stutter, eyes blown as a wreck groan falls from his lips, “Kriff, mesh’la, you have to warn me before you do that. I almost came like a shiny and I am not a shiny.”

Shiny. A derogatory term veteran troopers use to refer to their less-experienced clone rookies. Basically their way of saying ‘teenager’.

You smirked around his cock, your lips sinking down on his length, until, with a wet pop, your lips cover the tip of his cock. The oil isn’t the tastiest of things, but the loud moan Wrecker lets out makes it worth it.

His free hand comes up to cup your tit, fingers ghosting over your nipple, teasing you the way you’re teasing him. His eyes darken when his hand doesn’t cover your breast fully, leaving parts of your flesh to spill out of his palm, “I could spend my entire life worshipping your tits and it still wouldn’t be long enough.”

You stare up at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips before bopping your head, expertly sucking and licking at the slit, gathering the pre-cum pooling there. You tap on his thigh and his eyes close with a breathy moan, hips once again jerking into the heat of your breasts.

Knowing he’s close, you teasingly swirl your tongue around the head and under his foreskin on his thrust up. He bucks his hips, lips sweeping down to capture yours in a messy kiss, moaning as the taste of the oil mixes with your own unique taste.

He struggles to keep himself in pace, keep himself from cumming. Your neck gives an uncomfortable twinge but you’re not done yet. You sink as far down as possible, tongue licking a strip up his cock as you pull back before repeating the action again.

Above you he’s letting out a string of curses, filthy enough that would have Hunter’s jaw dropping as you keep him as still as possible in your mouth, tongue once again slipping under his foreskin, licking eagerly underneath it. The tip of your tongue circles in-between the head and foreskin, applying more pressure when you reach the nerve at the bottom of his head.

The sound of wet lips around his cock echoes through the small room, downright filthy as you squeeze your breast around his length just shy of painful. Soon enough Wrecker’s hips stutter, it all too much.

“Cyar’ika, mesh’la, kriff im gonna-,” It’s all the warning you get before his hips jerk forward and tears prick his eyes. You keep your mouth around him, greedily milking his cock as you swallow his release.

You pull off with a wet slurp, using the back of your hand to wipe the mess off your face. Then you pull Wrecker down for a heated kiss.

He moans into the kiss, “Let’s get you cleaned up. Bath or shower?”

You hum, pretending to think even though you had an answer before he asked, “Fingers.”

That earns you a laugh from your riduur and a pinch to your side, “You little minx. How can I deny you anything when you're spread out beautifully for me. How about I rock your world now, then we have a shower and finish with a hot bath?”

“Sounds perfect, my love.”

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her majesty || The Re-Write

Snippet of “her Majesty” rewrite. I have absolutely loved re-writing this fanfic in my spare time and it has been one of my favourite secrets to keep, as I have changed the storyline. It has taken me quite a while to write the chapters I have, but I have throughly thought this process out. I’m still trying to figure out some details and plots but I’m ready to share a small snippet of what arose today. I’m not entirely sure I want to keep the title as “Her Majesty” or if I want to change the title to “Veil of Glass.” Feel free to let me know your thoughts and ideas!

Also, I adore the new portrayal of Anna and Harry. He’s soft but not too soft and she’s determined to stand on her own two feet and not have Harry save her every time she needs a saving grace.

Snippet of chapter 4

He walks back towards me, his steps deliberate, his gaze unwavering. Taking my hand in his, he speaks softly, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that tugs at my heartstrings, "If you want me to stay, tell me now."

It feels as though the tenderness of his voice is ripping me open to my core, forcing me to fall within his trans, and my turmoil threatens to boil over me.

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within me. I yearn for him to stay, to wrap me in his embrace and chase away the shadows of doubt. Yet, I hesitate, unable to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings that hold me back.

Caught between the desire to be strong and the fear of revealing my vulnerability, I falter. The words catch in my throat, a silent plea lingering on my lips, as I struggle to make sense of the tumultuous storm raging within me.

As I watch him step back, a wave of panic crashes over me, threatening to drown me in its suffocating embrace, breath my breath, slowly drowning me. I've always prided myself on standing strong, on never needing anyone to lean on. But now, in this moment of uncertainty, I feel the ground beneath me slipping away, leaving me teetering on the edge of an abyss I never knew existed.

What is going on? I’m suffocating on my own air.

Amidst the opulence of this royal court, where every move is scrutinized and every word is weighed, I've never felt more alone. The weight of my position, the burden of expectation, it all presses down on me, threatening to crush my lungs beneath its relentless force.

And yet, amidst the chaos of my own inner turmoil, one thought burns brighter than all the rest: the fear of losing him. Not to the monarchy, not to the whispers of court intrigue, but to the vast expanse of uncertainty that lies beyond these gilded walls. What if he walks away and never comes back? What if I'm left to face this world alone, with nothing but memories to keep me company? What a painful and sorrowful life that would be to live.

The answers elude me, slipping through my fingers like grains of sand, leaving me grasping at shadows in the dark. All I truly know is that I want him to stay tonight, to chase away the demons that haunt my dreams and soothe the ache that lingers in the depths of my soul. But I can't bring myself to ask him to put off his plans, whatever they may be, to sacrifice his own desires for the sake of my fleeting whim.

So I stand there, silent and still, my heart aching with a longing I dare not voice, as he waits for my answer, his eyes searching mine for a glimpse of the truth that lies buried beneath the surface of my stoic facade.

Finally, I find myself. I swallow hard and I shake my head, “I will be just fine,” I fake a smile, praying to the man upstairs that I can compose myself and keep my integrity intact. I am not going to stumble over my own emotions. “You’re going to miss your flight if you keep standing here waiting for me to break down, telling you that I need you to stay.”

He heavily sighs, aware that not only am I lying, but I am also telling the truth— a true paradox and conundrum of unknown, undesired emotions that I cannot piece together.

End chapter

I would like to add that I played around with an AI to help convey the emotions more effectively and to escalate the tone I was trying to persuade. I’m utterly impressed at how much it truely helped and how it guided the vision I had and helped articulate it into words. All of these chapters, I visually see in my head and sometimes it’s hard describing the exact emotion my characters are feeling or describing exactly what I see. Anyways, if you’ve managed to read this far, thank you! I hope you have liked my sudden sharing of a chapter I’ve kept hidden for over a year. Oops.

[seasonal-writes]

"Jimmy barely has a second to think before he’s fully tripped, shrieking as he falls face-first into the grass. His arms crush beneath him, bouts of dull pain racking his upper half and triggering a groan. That feeling of being chased still courses through him, unable to wipe the giddy grin from his face as he attempts to get up. Something keeps one leg down, though, causing further prevention. 

When he turns to look, he sees Tango with a rather predatory glint in his eye, holding his ankle. 

“Got’cha.”

“No, Tango, no-”

“Nuh-uh! You wanna play like that, you’re gonna pay,” Tango says, now crawling forward and over his legs. When Jimmy’s ankle is free, the only thing he can do is flop over and attempt to scoot away. 

And oh, does he try to get away. He tries so very hard, but suddenly Tango is halfway up his body and keeping him caged. The only option is to hold onto the map for dear life, as his back finally presses against the ground. 

Then, still grinning, Tango is looming over him. He rests on one arm, while the other hand pins down Jimmy’s wrist of the hand that holds the map. Tango stares down with an alarming expression that Jimmy can hardly place as his brain runs a million miles an hour. He feels Tango’s weight, surprisingly strong legs pressing at the sides of Jimmy’s legs and keeping him from moving. 

Both of them breathe heavily, hot air mixing with the late afternoon’s breeze in the bit of space between their faces. Tango doesn’t get too close, but just close enough that Jimmy can make out the beads of sweat on the sides of his temples, the little red marks in his cheeks looking so bright. There is heat beneath Jimmy’s collar, making him feel as though they are not outside, laying in a field—but rather, suddenly back in a closet in the palace. 

“I told you, I got'cha,” Tango says, “Now hand over that map.” 

Even with the sudden wave of nervousness that rushes from his stomach, Jimmy smirks. He clenches the map harder in his fingers. 

“You’re gonna have to take it yourself.”

“You think I can’t, huh?”"

(being anon...can't send screenshot so deal with the text instead FHHFHF)

I NEED TO KNOW. EVERYTHING. ABOUT THIS. ITS ONE OF THE PARTS OF GOLDEN RINGS THAT WONT LEAVE ME ALONE, ROSE.

-‼️

the way i didn't even read through the entire first paragraph before knowing EXACTLY what scene this was from, haha! fear not, excited anon, as you are not alone—i genuinely think about this scene all the time and it still is one of my favorites. Yeah, so I will be completely honest when I say this scene was... entirely unintentional aside from me saying, very specifically, that I needed a distraction for the horse to run away. But I went into it not knowing a damn thing about what would come of that requirement, and this just.. fell out of my brain. It's very much turned into a super pivotal moment for them, I think, in Tango and Jimmy's level of comfort with each other? In the way that even in the midst of a little tiff, they ended up letting it go and playing around? Like they're no strangers, in this fic, to messing with each other. But this whole scene felt like a step further, y'know? Just some good ol' fashioned friendship development. ... yeah, okay, fine I'll talk about. um. their precarious positioning. I am.. a huge sucker for a lighthearted (and tiny) power dynamic, in the way that Tango is so determined to get the map that he has Jimmy literally pinned down but Jimmy's so stubborn that he still refuses, despite clearly being very flustered. to ME it is also that jimmy is like, inherently in the lower part of the dynamic, but still fights it and that just feels very jimmy to me, y'know? This exchange—

“You’re gonna have to take it yourself.”

“You think I can’t, huh?”" —is my favorite. They are just FEEDING into each other's weird, charged, playful stubbornness and it's sooo good. That was always something I wanted to capture, was both of their stubborn natures (despite being manifested in very different ways) and that feels really present in this part. I feel like it came across fairly well throughout the fic itself, but this scene specifically is where I feel I nailed it. Even if it's not a super serious scene. also: god that callback to the closet in "There is heat beneath Jimmy’s collar, making him feel as though they are not outside, laying in a field—but rather, suddenly back in a closet in the palace", a scene which shares the same energy... past rose, you're a fucking genius. I remember very specifically referencing that on purpose, once I had decided this is the direction I wanted to take. Because it's just!! it's a killer callback!! it's a theme with tango and them being playful and revealing the more fun, innocent (to an extent..) sides of themselves! AND THEY'RE BEIN' REAL GAY ABOUT IT- gets shot

genuinely, i was just so giddy that i had managed to create a sense of tension, y'know? like, i love reading really charged scenes, and that was the perfect opportunity. especially because it was necessary for plot development in this case. if you remember too, just after this, we have the part where tango bears his teeth. and i just. they. i'm. i'm JUST. ahem. anyway. if anyone hasn't seen it, my beloved bestest friend has made some really amazing art of this scene. go check it out, it's just. i'm. they're so gay. in complete honesty, that's kinda all i have to say about it for now! if i think of anything else i'll just put it in a reblog, but like. yeah. i love this scene a LOT and it's just like.. i was so excited when i posted the chapter with this bit because all of you LOVED it. thank you for the ask, excited anon! hopefully this was a good lil sneak peek into some of my thoughts about it. <3 if anyone wants to send in a scene for commentary, the ask game is here! i might take a bit to get to it, but i love doing this!! so!! please do :D

[spectraldeception]

Chapter 3: The Abyss Within

As the days turned into weeks, Alexander's quest for redemption consumed him. The weight of his actions bore down on his conscience like an oppressive fog, and he could no longer bear the burden of his secret. He knew he had to confront the shadowy figure and find a way to release himself from the grip of the malevolent pact.

One moonlit night, Alexander ventured once more into the heart of the woods, guided by the faint memories of that fateful encounter. The forest seemed to whisper its warnings as he walked deeper into the shadows, but he pressed on, resolute in his determination.

As he reached the very spot where the pact had been sealed, he stood before the darkness and called out, "Show yourself! I demand to know the truth of what you've done to me and the consequences of my actions."

The forest seemed to hold its breath for a moment, and then the shadowy figure emerged from the depths of the night. Its crimson eyes bore into Alexander's soul, and its voice echoed with an unsettling calmness, "You willingly made the choice, Alexander Greyson. The pact we forged is unbreakable, and the souls you offered are now bound to me."

Dread clenched at Alexander's heart, but he refused to succumb to fear. "There must be a way to free myself from this curse," he pleaded. "I cannot live with the knowledge that innocent souls suffer because of my desperation."

The figure chuckled darkly, its voice dripping with malevolence. "You have received the fame, fortune, and love you desired, but such gifts come at a price. There is only one way to release yourself from this burden. You must find souls of equal purity to those you have taken, and they must willingly offer themselves to take the place of the ones you condemned."

As the gravity of the task settled upon him, Alexander's heart sank. How could he possibly find souls untouched by darkness, willing to make such a sacrifice? It seemed an impossible feat, and the weight of guilt threatened to crush him entirely.

Determined to atone for his mistakes, Alexander turned to the wise elder of Havenbrook once more. The elder spoke of an ancient ritual that might offer a glimmer of hope—a path to cleanse the souls he had entangled in the pact. But the ritual required an unwavering heart, a true desire to make amends, and a willingness to confront the darkest corners of his own soul.

Together with the elder's guidance, Alexander set out on a perilous journey, seeking individuals of genuine goodness who might be willing to offer their souls as a sacrifice. He travelled from town to town, listening to the stories of kind-hearted strangers, looking for the flicker of selflessness that could match the souls he had taken.

As he traversed the lands, he encountered various challenges and obstacles. There were those who misunderstood his intentions, believing him to be a dark force seeking to deceive them. Others were too lost in their own pain and despair to recognize the light within themselves. And yet, Alexander persevered, his resolve unwavering.

Amidst his travels, he encountered a young woman named Evelyn, whose heart was as pure as the morning dew. She had dedicated her life to helping the less fortunate, healing the sick, and comforting the grieving. Her selflessness touched Alexander's soul, and he knew that she possessed the very essence he sought.

With trepidation, he approached Evelyn and revealed the truth of his past, baring his soul in search of forgiveness. To his surprise, she listened with compassion and understanding, her gaze unwavering and unafraid. "If there's a chance to right the wrongs you've done," she said softly, "then I shall stand by your side."

Encouraged by Evelyn's support, Alexander continued his search and found others who shared her spirit of benevolence. Slowly but steadily, he gathered a group of individuals willing to offer their souls to undo the consequences of his ill-fated pact.

The night of the ritual approached, and with each passing moment, the darkness around Alexander seemed to grow thicker, challenging his resolve. But he knew he had to be strong, for the fate of innocent souls depended on him.

As the moon reached its peak in the night sky, Alexander and his companions stood in a circle within the heart of the woods. They chanted ancient incantations, their voices blending into a harmonious melody that resonated through the night. The ritual required an outpouring of pure intentions, a collective will to transcend the shadows that had engulfed them.

With every word spoken and every heart laid bare, the darkness began to recede. The souls that had been bound to the shadowy figure were released, their anguish replaced with an ethereal light. As the ritual reached its climax, the shadowy figure's presence waned, its hold on Alexander weakening.

In that moment of liberation, Alexander felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The burden he had carried for so long lifted, and he knew that he had taken the first step towards redemption.

But the price for freedom had been high, and the consequences of his choices were far from over. The shadowy figure, weakened but not defeated, vanished into the night, leaving Alexander and his companions to face the aftermath of their actions.

(And so, the third chapter of Alexander Greyson's tale came to a close, as he began to rebuild his life, seeking forgiveness and seeking to right the wrongs he had committed. Little did he know that his journey of redemption was far from over, and the shadows of the past would continue to cast their dark tendrils upon his path.)

[38riku]

athletic! aot men pursuing you (or something like that)

info: headcannon format (includes connie, armin, levi, jean, eren, and porco). use of she/her pronouns. mentions of blood.

riku says: hey … how y’all doin … haven’t posted a work in a minute. just think my brain has maxed out capacity for smut for awhile. anyways, thanks for reading!

tags (work in progress): @gabzlovesu @tsukihime25 @endeav0rsb1tch join my taglist here

— baseball player connie! who is the best hitter in the league. this is still his rookie year but the people can’t get enough of the talented player that took his team (a mediocre one at best) to the grand slam.

— baseball player connie! who hated the press with his entire being until a pretty reporter conducted the pre-game interview and suddenly, his smiles turned boyish and laughs genuine, getting lost in her eyes and asking her to repeat multiple questions.

— baseball player connie! who finds her in the stands and winks directly at her before he hits, the bases loaded and two strike outs on the board. what do ya know? its out of the park! jogs languidly.

— baseball player connie! who is delighted to know that she’s in charge of the post-game interview too and shamelessly flirts. yeah he’s covered in the reddish dirt from the field, war paint smudged and he’s oh so sweaty. fingers crossed his charisma is as good as they say.

“you’ve ever been on a date with a champion sweetheart?”

— mma fighter levi! who keeps a stone cold expression, even when his nose is leaking blood and his left eye is beginning to bruise he never wavers until his opponent is out cold. breaking all stereotypes around his weight class and gaining notoriety.

— mma fighter levi! who hates it when he gets hit but the on-site doctor makes up for it. despite his status as invincible she treats him like porcelain, apologizing when the cleaning solvent stings or when the stitches cause his breath to hitch.

— mma fighter levi! who does his best not to get too injured to make her job easier. unfortunately, a rather hard blow to the head made that impossible. he won the fight but he was seeing double, his head was pounding, and he collapsed soon after his opponent.

— mma fighter levi! who sees the doctor when he regains consciousness. she made sure he was hydrated and fed, his well being a priority before any tests or reports, expressing her worry and making his heart skip a beat.

“join me for dinner? as soon as I’m cleared to go, that is.”

— swimmer armin! who is the pride and joy of his country, practicing day in and day out to perfect his craft. he won by a landslide his first tournament, and goes on to participate in the Olympics two years of winning left and right later.

— swimmer armin! who has had a crush on his trainer’s daughter for awhile now. always helping her father with equipment and pulling him aside to aid him. wanting to see him reach the level she knows he can and he is on cloud 9.

— swimmer armin! who is nervous to preform at the Olympics but remembers she’s watching; counting on him and believing in him, no matter what he places if at all. and when he emerges from the water and sees he placed first? a gold, Olympic mentalist? through the roof.

— swimmer armin! who, when he returns from the locker rooms, is tackled in a hug. tears of happiness streaming down her cheeks and saying how amazing he was while pulling him ever closer, and today is undoubtedly the best day of his life.

“couldn’t do it without you cheering for me out there, you know. had to win for my biggest fan!”

— basketball player jean! who is the captain of the no.1 collegiate school that all nba requiters have their eyes on. defensive and offensive power have make him a force to reckoned with on the court.

— basketball player jean! who comes back to his apartment, tired from practice and a butt load of homework, but perks up to see his roommate finishing up with dinner and asking about his day. they weren’t dating, just friends who roomed together to save money but times like this made him want to take that step with her.

— basketball player jean! who is down two players because of an injury, slouching on the bench and on the brink of accepting defeat. until his teammates taps him on the shoulder, pointing in the stands and he sees her, mouthing a “you got this” that made all the difference. as cliche as it was.

— basketball player jean! who delivered a buzzer beater and those two points made them national champions. scoops her up when she’s in arms reach, twirling her around and kissing her out of sheer adrenaline.

“my bad! just super excited I get to experience this with you … but you liked it, right?”

— soccer player eren! who is straight talent. recruiters all over wanted him at their school and not to mention the national soccer team wanted him. to him it was just a hobby, something to keep him in shape that he just happens to be amazing at.

— soccer player eren! who, whenever asked in interviews, says his best friend is his inspiration. she never fails to call him when the interview airs, telling him that she did nothing and barely kicked the ball around but he insists there is more too it then that.

— soccer player eren! who is surprised to see her at the first soccer game of the year, her school back in their hometown and he is determined to put on a show. does an array of tricks and headshots, so out of character for him but he just had to.

— soccer player eren! who finds her leaning on his car. he drops everything to hug her and eating up the compliments of his performance. convinces her to stay at his place and not some hotel, wanting to spend as much time as he could with her before she had to go.

“there’s this spot that I’ve been wanting to take you to forever! i haven’t tried it because, well, I wanted to taste it together.”

— hockey player porco! who is confident and every sense of the word. his play style is rather aggressive, never hesitating to pick a fight or prove how much better he is on the ice. at first, many figured it to be an act. three seasons later he is still the cocky player the people love.

— hockey player porco! who flirts with their team social media manager whenever he sees her. the first time they met, he asked her out on a date, which she declined but he still tries. always lighthearted and playful, not wanting to scare her off but he swears just one night out would change her mind.

— hockey player porco! who gets pissed when he sees another member of the rival team trying to flirt with her. cornering her and being a douche. steps in, itching to fight but decides to sweep his team 0-6 to prove a point. he was vicious out there. slamming them to the walls left and right.

— hockey player porco! who is surprised when she walks up to him, thanking him and asking if the proposal of dinner and a movie was still on the table. she was flustered, and he found it adorable. thankful that she couldn’t see his reddened ears over his muffs.

“the offer never left the table pretty. although, it did take you long enough.”

© 2022 38riku. Do not copy, repost, or plagiarize my work.

[bougiebutchbitch]

Have you ever written anything for MerMay?? 🥺 Because I would fucking OBLITERATE PLANETS to read how you'd describe a human and a mermaid falling for each other orcoughcoughorfuckingeachother, like a mermaid AU (or merformers AU in a transformers case) for any fandom? Even if you only wrote, like, one paragraph, literally anything, I'd eat it up!! I'm such a sucker for that kind of thing and if you ever do some type of writing commissions I'd throw so much money at you dude.

BROOOOO THIS GOT AWAY FROM ME KDFLGHKLJDFHLGKDFHGKJDFG

Thanks for the prompt!

A note: I can't promise to fill every prompt, but this one caught my fancy!

T-rated, 4180 words of merman!Obito/Kakashi. I have no self control. Help.

#

Kakashi loves the sea.

To listen to it: the hush of foam over shingle and sand, the curl and slap of waves, the cries of the gulls and the bellow of the wind.

To smell it: the brine and saltspray, the faint mineral odour of wave-tumbled pebbles, the sulfur of rotting weed.

To touch it: paddling in cool pools piled high with colourful stones, watching tiny shrimp dance around his toes. Feeling salt prickle in the grooves on his palms and on his fingertips.

He loves the sea until he doesn't. Until it steals from him.

#

"Take my eye," says the boy, smiling as he dies. The broken mast lies on the deck, crushing half his body, squeezing out his blood. "Then I can see the world with you. It's a gift."

The sea folds over his mangled corpse, once they've pried it free. As the waves gulp him down, Kakashi vows he's done with loving the water forever.

And yet, it seems the water is not done with him.

#

The dreams start in flashes.

Crushing blackness. Eternal dark. Shadows so deep and vast they have weight.

Kakashi wakes floundering, strangled by his sheets, unable to scream and unable to breathe, soaked with sweat and convinced he has the entire ocean pressing down on his chest.

He tastes salt. But it's only tears, leaking from his red left eye.

Kakashi screws his knuckles into his scarred lashline, hunched in his bed. The weight eases slowly. It's no relief. His body feels far too light now, like gravity has given up on him. The walls of his father's big lonely house are so very far away.

He doesn't try to go back to sleep. He gets up instead, wrapping his blanket around him. He pads out of his house and along the shore.

Daylight tames the sea, makes it appear domesticated. Night holds no such illusions. Pebbles growl as they're sucked back in the riptide, the rumbles of a hungering stomach large enough to eat the island Kakashi calls home.

He still sails out on the boats every morning. Of course he does - he has to. Konoha is a bright and beautiful village, built into the chalky cliffs, surrounded by green-blue sprigs of sea-poppy and petrel nests full of tiny white eggs. But Konoha’s prosperity is born of the ocean, and as such, none of its children may live a life without salt in their lungs.

The sea gives, Minato would tell him, as he and Kakashi steered their wasen for the teeming waters around the reef, where the catch was fat and plentiful. And the sea takes, too.

Kakashi understands this. But that doesn't mean he has to like it.

He crouches on a slick grey rock at the edge of the water, bare toes digging into algae. "You take too much," he tells the creeping tideline, as it rises up and up and up the stone. “And you don’t give it back.”

The water swallows his accusation, like it swallows everything, and grants him no reply.

#

Kakashi loses Rin to the water too, loses Minato and Asuma and a hundred more. He dismemebers Minato's wasen, lining up the boards, methodical and neat, rebuilding it into a larger ship of his own. He hires three local children to help him haul in the urchin-pots and the ground-trawling nets - and, when he finds out that two of these children have no families of their own, his father's house becomes a little less empty. As, perhaps, does he.

Anyway - Kakashi grows, and the dreams grow with him. Stretching like the scar through his left eye from where a storm snapped Minato’s mainmast, so long ago, and a splinter tore him open, forehead to chin.

He lost an eye that day. Gained another, yes - but lost so much else, besides.

When he sleeps, those brief flashes of the underwater world combine. Now he sees long stretches of summer-blue shallows, bubbling with coral and miniature fish. The glimmer of the sunset from below, like oil has been poured over the waves and set alight. He doesn't love the sea anymore, but something in him must do, because there's a joy he can't quite quantify in those dreams. More than once, he's caught himself falling asleep with a smile on his face, wondering what he will see.

A shame that smile never lasts to morning.

His mind dives deeper, darker. A white ghost drifts through the black. Kakashi can just make out the tattered frill of a flipper, a tail: the hollowed corpse of a whale, half-eaten by scavengers, sinking slow through the depths.

Hunger twists in his guts. He unhinges his jaw, lunges forwards -

And jerks awake, sprawled over his sheets. Panting. Clutching his chest, lungs burning like he just tried to breathe underwater.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Focuses himself, grounds himself, like he does before he has to sail through a storm. Can't hear the sea. Just the faint snores of Naruto and Sasuke in the room next door.

Salt water dribbles from his red left eye. Kakashi has to touch his teeth to make sure they're blunt and human.

#

Some days, he toys with the idea of desertion. He could walk away from his village. He could march inland with an oar over his shoulder until a farmer mistook it for a shovel, and then he would know it was safe to settle down.

He could take his boys with him, before the sea steals them, too.

Yet those thoughts never manifest in action. Naruto and Sasuke - Sakura too - they all adore life on the water. Kakashi would be depriving them of that, if he bundled them up in the night and fled for the distant hills.

He'd be depriving himself of something too. Of what, he's unsure - until one bright summer day when they take the boat out past the reef.

#

He has sailed far from shore many times before, with or without his kids aboard. Nothing about the day sparks danger. No piling cumuli, no warning hint of ozone on the air. Only endless blue anticyclone skies, a few clouds scudding along the horizon line. Flat seas and gentle breezes. The wind is barely enough to belly their sail as they pass over the drop-off, where shallow blue water turns to bottomless black, like they're sailing into the sky at night.

It's the perfect day. Until it isn't.

Naruto and Sasuke lounge on the deck, arguing about who can swim under the boat fastest, aft to stern. Sakura alternates between taking her turn at the rudder and scolding them. As the competition is hypothetical, and no one seems inclined to hurl anyone else over the side, Kakashi pays the children little mind.

Even if they did jump in, they wouldn't be in much danger. They're all strong swimmers. If anything, Kakashi is weakest of them, as nowadays he only goes in the water in times of necessity. But still, his children know that they're only to go overboard after securing his permission. He's seen too many go down and not come up, and he wants to watch them every moment they’re immersed, wooden life ring to hand.

That life ring won't save them today.

When the wind changes, he smells it before he feels it. It no longer blows seawards, drawing up the rich aroma of the village: roasted tuna, steamed rice, woodsmoke and clay tiles baked by the sun. When Kakashi sniffs the air, he smells only sea.

His shoulders stiffen. Behind his patch, his red eye, which does nothing but hallucinate and cry, sets up its usual pre-storm ache. Bad weather rising.

There's no sign of it. The whole world is flush with summer. It could be his imagination. It could be superstition. It could be any number of things...

"Captain," whispers Sakura. Always the most perceptive of his crew. "What is it?"

Kakashi glances at the other boats. The bay bustles with bright rectangular sails, bobbing about without a care in the world. They dip in and out of view behind the reef, as the waves lift Kakashi's little boat and drop it, and lift it and drop it again.

Bigger waves than just a moment ago. Bigger again, now.

Kakashi's ship is furthest out. No others are close enough to offer aid. Konoha has rules about this, anyway - getting the catch to shore is your first priority, and you never risk certain death by going back to save your fellow sailors.No heroes among seamen.

The wind picks up, spinning them widdershins as the waves slap at the reef again and again. Kakashi's fists clench.

"Make for shore," he says.

The tone of his voice catches Naruto and Saske's attention. They scramble upright, shoving each other as they take their places at the sail.

Naruto asks - "Captain? What's going on?"

The summer warmth on Kakashi’s back fades. Behind him, on the horizon, the clouds tower into black anvils, growing like an oncoming tsunami wave. Eclipsing the sun.

"Go," is all he says. The children blanch. They’re quick to obey, skipping their ship over the water like a flat stone.

#

They're almost back in the shallows when the squall reaches them. When the large wave slams their vessel violently to the side. When Sasuke's grip jars from the rope, and he tumbles down the steep incline of the deck, towards the gnashing, frothing waves.

Almost.

The sea beneath them is still black as a tarpit, and just as capable of sucking them down. Kakashi doesn't hesitate. He barks an order to Sakura and Naruto - "Hold tight!"

They might or might not hear, over the screeching wind. Doesn’t matter. No time to be sure.

He dives.

The water parts around him like it's welcoming him in. A cold shock, like lightning running him through.

Kakashi is prepared for it. Overcomes it. Hones his focus, carding the water, kicking down deep. Following the trail of bubbles. Reaching for the grasping white hand...

He catches it. Hauls Sasuke up, into his arms.

Not losing this one. Not this time.

Never again.

They break the surface with a mutual gasp, right next to the ship. A wave swings it towards them. Kakashi shoves Sasuke up so he can grab on, heaving him halfway out the water on god-knows-what strength. Sasuke coughs and splutters, so far from the cool little boy who refuses to call Kakashi captain. He latches onto the rail so tight his hands must cramp.

The sea smashes and screams. Up the boat rocks, hauling Sasuke away from Kakashi, out of his arms.

He has to let go.

He can't drag him down.

The next wave crashes over his head, sucking him under. Smashing him into the keel.

His eyepatch is gone - dragged off at some point during his initial dive. Kakashi didn't notice when he lost it. The saltwater stings his grey eye, not his red one - Kakashi sees all too clearly through that.

And what he sees is death.

The bottom of his boat high above him. The churning tumult at the water's surface. The chaos, the lashing wrath of the storm.

So wild, so angry. Not like down here.

Here, everything is peaceful. Smooth. The world is tinted a pale, delicate blue, as if it is overlaid by a thin-cut sheet of sapphire. So beautiful, this underwater paradise. A mad part of Kakashi - that little boy who loved the sea - wants to gasp out in joy, breathe it in.

But he can't - he can't, he can't. He's lost too many this way. He can't let Naruto and Sakura and Sasuke lose him, too. Can't let them lose their love for the sea, as he lost his...

Bubbles stream from his lips. Pluming up away from him, towards the surface. Kakashi kicks against the current, swimming after them. He scrabbles at them with his fingers, as if they might form a ladder that he can pull himself up to safety.

Impossible. He's too late. Too deep. The wave ploughed him far below the surface, smacked the oxygen from his lungs. He hit the keel hard - blood laces the water around him, leaking from his temple, his ear. It's over. The dizzy swirl in his vision is just the start of the end.

Kakashi pulls at the water, but it's so much stronger than he is. He fights and he fights, but he cannot win.

He should be terrified. Drowning is one of the worst ways to go.

At the very least, Obito was spared such suffering. He was already dead when he hit the water.

Yet as black occludes his vision, Kakashi realises he too might die with a smile on his face. He wants to get back to his kids. But other than that, he has no real regrets. No real purpose. A part of him always knew it would end this way. He's been waiting for this moment his entire life. Waiting for the sea to claim him, too.

Which is why it's such a shock, when it doesn't.

Something wraps around him. A fishing net? Arms? The jaws of a scavenging shark?

What about that pressure against his spine - is it the bottom of the ocean? Or a sturdy chest, cradling him close?

He can't look, too weak to even turn his head. Whatever happens next, it doesn't matter. He stares up at that faraway surface, distant as a dream, and longs to see his children one more time. Equally, he longs to let go, to drift down to join the whale carcasses and feed the monsters that dwell in the deep.

"Don't you dare," says a voice. Low and melodic, reverberating through the water like whalesong. "Not yet, Bakashi. Not yet."

Kakashi's obviously dead if he's hearing him. No sense fighting it any longer. He lets his eyes, black and red alike, drift shut.

#

More dreams. Stranger, this time. He is himself, yet he's also looking down at himself, like he's undergoing an out-of-body experience. He looks too small, drifting underwater, white hair floating above him. Shrunken by the vast enormity of the oceans.

Kakashi wakes. Then immediately rolls onto his side, drags down his clinging, sodden mask, and vomits up half the ocean.

"Ugh," he groans.

He knows the coastline as well as he knows the constallations that saillors use to navigate. Still he's so disorientated that it takes several seconds for him to place where he is.

The reef is exposed at low tide. The ocean stretches out before him in one direction, storm-lashed in the distance yet eerily flat nearby, reflecting the sky like a plate of glass. Behind him lies the bay, the beach, the village.

No sign of the ship - Sasuke must've had to knock Naruto out to stop him diving in after Kakashi. At least, that's what Kakashi hopes happened. No other bodies washed up on the reef beside him. He can't think of his kids under the water, bleached and bloating, rotting slow.

The scratch of the coral against his hands grounds him, It's sore, like a thousand tiny razors are cutting his skin. The surface is almost as rough as the arm around his waist, which curls tighter as Kakashi finishes spitting out salt and acid and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

Wait.

The arm around his waist.

The giant, heavy arm. The white hand on his stomach, cold as a dead fish, webs between the fingers and the thumb...

Kakashi goes very, very still.

He's heard the stories. Of course he has. Strange things lurk in the cracks and crevices of the ocean floor. Sometimes they swim up to the surface. Sometimes they get curious.

Sometimes, they develop a taste for human flesh.

Kakashi swallows. His fish-gutting knife is still in his thigh holster. If he can reach it...

Another webbed hand seals around his wrist before he can free the blade.

"Hey now," grumbles the monster. "I just saved your life, Bakashi. Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

Its voice sounds like those pebbles at the beach, grinding together in the riptide. Deep and hungering. Breath breaks over his neck, stinking of rotting meat.

But Kakashi doesn't care. Because the monster called him Bakashi. And only one person ever did that.

Slowly, he twists in its arms, careful not to shred his soft, human flesh. And stares at the monster.

For that is what it is. A monster, undoubtedly so. A giant tail drapes off the edge of the reef, webbed with old scars. Gills ripple along its muscular sides, granting soft pink glimpses under its gunmetal-grey skin. And its teeth - god, its teeth.

But it is a monster with one red eye.

Kakashi reaches out without quite meaning to. He makes to cup its cheek, hesitating just before he makes contact. His fingers tremble - or perhaps that's an optical illusion, caused by the saltwater streaming non-stop from his left eye.

It can't be him. It's stupid to even consider the possibility. The sea gives and the sea takes, but the sea doesn't give back again. What is lost will never return.

But Kakashi has seen driftwood weathered and petrified into stone. Has seen fossils filled with opal, glittering from inside cracked pebbles. The sea takes, yes, but the sea also transforms. Maybe it's drowned delirium talking, but who is he to say that the water can't work the same magic on a dead boy? That it can't rebuild him, fill in his gaps, replace his broken parts?

The beast before him measures twice his size in every direction, boasting the easy streamlined strength of an undersea predator. Broad shoulders, thick trunk, powerful tail. On the longitudinal axis, half its body is white as dead fishbones. On the latitudinal...

Kakashi's gaze trails down to where the humanoid abdomen distorts into sharkskin.

"Oh," he says. Then: "Obito?"

Obito leans his cheek into Kakashi's hand. He sighs, low and rumbling. His lashless eyes quiver shut.

His face is so cold. All of him is - cold as the sea. How must Kakashi feel to him? A furnace? How long has it been, since Obito - if this truly is him - last felt human warmth? Human touch?

"Bakashi," he whispers. There's so much contained in that word. Too much.

Kakashi still doesn't know what to make of this - doesn't know if he's dead or dreaming, if he's in his own world or the next. But right now, soaked in seawater and shivering, sprawled on a reef in the arms of a gigantic sharkman who may or may not be his resurrected childhood crush, there's simply too much to question.

He opts to roll with this, rather than letting the how and the why drive him mad. If they're both alive, they can get to all of that later.

"Crew," he manages. His throat burns from hacking up all that seawater. His wet mask dangles around his throat. Usually he'd shy from the thought of anyone seeing his face, but since Obito has appeared before him in all his mutated, gill-chested glory, mouth bristling with multiple rows of serrated, triangular fangs, it feels rude to hide himself away. "My crew. Are they -"

"Safe. Back in the village." Obito pouts when Kakashi withdraws his hand from his face. What an odd expression. Boy and monster, overlaid. "I can't take you back to them. They're gonna have to come find you."

Kakashi frowns. Regardless of whether his old friend has returned from the dead, those are his kids, and he needs to see them with his own eyes before he’ll believe that they’re safe.

Obito holds up a finger, halting his protest. The webs are translucent grey with just a touch of turquoise, making them gleam like wet kombu under the sun.

"Think about it. If I showed up and plonked you unconscious on the beach, I'd be harpooned before I could speak a word in my defence, right?" He rubs the back of his head. What Kakashi thought was hair is actually a crown of sharp black spikes, like an uni shell. "Which - yeah, I get it. Of course they'll want to defend themselves, considering what's to come. And what I've done..." His voice trails off, his gaze drifting far away, like Kakashi's does sometimes, when he remembers rowing furiously out in his little dinghy to the wreck of Minato and Kushina's ship, too late, too late... "But - but it's all for the best! It will be, I mean. I promise. Everything that’s coming, it’s to help you, not hurt you. You have to trust me on that."

Kakashi’s head still hurts. Blood cakes one side of his face, turning itchy as it dries. Obito's words are all fuzzy, stitching themselves together in orders that don't make sense.

What's he saying? Wouldn't the village be glad to have one of their lost souls returned to them, no matter how changed?

Obito clacks his jaw shut. A blue shimmer darkens his cheeks, a blush in the wrong shade. "I - uh - I just - forget all of that! I wasn't supposed to come to your rescue, okay? But I did it anyway, so you'd better be grateful, Bakashi!"

Kakashi is still trying to make sense of Obito's previous speech. "I'm grateful," he murmurs. "Thank you."

The blue tint gets bluer. Bluer again, when Kakashi lets his head rest against Obito's scarred, strong chest. Thank you. Did he ever say that to Obito, when they were children?

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just focus on breathing. I'll stay with you until the ships start coming out again, just to make sure your pathetic little lungs are still functioning."

A smile twitches at the corner of Kakashi's mouth, like it always does when he feels himself drifting down into deepwater dreams. "Kind of you."

"It's not kindness. It's pity. You looked so fucking pathetic, flapping about, sinking like a bit of trash dropped overboard... Ugh. It was embarrassing."

The storm is over. Gulls emerge from their cliff roosts. They swirl up on thermals, squawking an accompaniment to the high jangle of tackle, just audible from the faraway harbour. Sun warms Kakashi's bare face. He snuggles back against Obito, watching the lazy flick of his tail in the water. Fighting this weird, childish urge to stroke it - he doesn't want to slough the skin off his palms.

He still has so many questions. If Obito's alive, why didn't he come back earlier? Even if he didn't want to return to the village, for whatever reason, why not swim up alongside Kakashi's boat? Why wait until now?

But almost-dying turns out to be a fairly exhausting procedure. All his body and mind want to do is rest.

"Must make a nice change," he says, lashes drifting shut. "Me being the embarrassing one."

Obito huffs and gives him a sulky squeeze. He could probably crush in his ribcage if he put his mind to it, with those arms. Weird thought. Kakashi doesn't know why he likes it.

"Shut up, Bakashi. Just rest."

Since he became captain of his own crew, Kakashi has grown used to giving orders, not following them. But hey. It's been a weird, upside-down sorta day. He lets himself limpen, breath crackling wetly in his chest, and waits for his usual visions of the open sea. He's not unsurprised when he dreams instead of laying down a little human, brushing webbed fingers over their scarred eyelid, then sliding back into the water, easy as a knife through the belly of a fish.

Kakashi shakes himself awake again. Just for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispers. This time, he's not talking to Obito.

He's not sure if he'll ever love the sea again. Not in the simple, unassuming way he did as a child. But love is as ever-changing as the ocean itself: different every day, unpredictable, dangerous, deadly.

The water doesn't love him. It doesn't love any of them. That is what makes it so horrifying, and so beautiful, too.

But perhaps, every now and then, the ocean decides it does love one of the many boys who are fed to it, from villages like Konoha all the way along the coast. And for that, Kakashi is more grateful than he can comprehend.

He glances over his shoulder, to where the tiny fishing boats are daring to venture out of the harbours. Then rolls painfully onto his side, coral scraping through his salt-crusted, sun-dried shirt, and watches the grey dorsal fin flit out between the waves, until it sinks beneath and disappears.

[merakiui]

A Leaf Swept up in an Autumnal Breeze

yandere!kaedehara kazuha x (gender neutral) reader art credit - Tourou_7 on twt cw: yandere, unhealthy/obsessive behaviors, slight nsfw implications/thoughts, alcohol consumption, intoxication, spoilers for kazuha’s character story + inazuma lore note - i decided to write something short for kazuha as i analyze what we know so far of his character. hopefully the characterization isn’t too off! please enjoy nonetheless! orz

The moonlight casts its thin rays upon the calm, motionless sea. In the distance, fish surface and their movements are captured in the ripples that expand in the water, a minor blip in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the dark night. As if a god has taken a brush to the sky, utilizing its inky vastness as a canvas, the stars have been drawn in small specks—winking down at those who sleep underneath a blanket of natural light.

And you are caught up in the glorious shimmer, grinning widely as Beidou wraps her arm around you, pulling you against her as if the two of you have known each other for years. In reality, it’s only been a few months since you were discovered on her ship: a hidden stowaway with your Vision clutched in your hands and raw resolve etched into your body in the form of bruises and old scars. You’re a fighter and yet you also ran from something. Kazuha can’t quite tell what it is you’ve escaped. Whether it’s another person, a group of people, or even an entire nation, he’s certain it’s worthy of the risks that come with fleeing.

Your Vision shines brightly, a stark contrast to the dark color scheme of your clothes. He tries to place a nation to your outfit and comes up empty, his thoughts returning to Inazuma as though it’s the only place he can think of. And he supposes that’s true. The situation in Inazuma has clouded his mind with its strange fog, taking up residence in the nooks and crannies of his brain. Though he can dwell upon the past and the mistakes that led up to the downfall of a precious friend, he knows there is no use for such somber reflections during a happy celebration. Life moves on, as the common saying goes, and he cannot allow himself to remain trapped in the past.

During moments such as these, where he relives the horrible memory in vivid detail, you are a sweet balm that soothes the sting of loss. Even when you’re struggling to stand, face hot from the intoxication of good drinks in even better company, you’re a wondrous presence who chases away his doubts and worries.

Unknowingly, you cast a temporary shroud over those matters and he’s put at ease the minute you extend your arm in his direction.

“Kazuha! Come over here. Let’s dance!”

A hiccup interrupts your jovial giggle and Beidou chuckles before throwing her head back to drink what’s left in her flask. The aura of her ship is beyond lively. Men and women alike celebrate another successful week with drinks, harrowing tales of past heroes, and broken ballads sang in drunken tones. He can’t help the smile that sprouts on his lips. You’re such an outgoing person, always wanting to include him in your daily activities. And though he politely declines whenever you offer him alcohol, he has wondered what the appeal could possibly be.

Perhaps it’s the idea of losing your sensibility for one night, ignoring all reason for the sake of spending pleasurable moments in the confines of a warm bed, wrapped snugly in a lover’s embrace. Such instances are lost to intoxicating pleasure—buried under a hazy recollection come morning. But you haven’t done that sort of thing. Kazuha would know. He listens in while you’re relaxing—while you’re bathing and going about life on the ship without a care in the world—and his head runs wild with all sorts of fantasies. Fantasies he never would have imagined had he not met you.

To think you were just a mere stowaway, a trespasser who had snuck onto the ship and hid in the darkest corner, obscured by crates and chests. And he had pulled those crates aside in search of a few ingredients and his eyes met yours and you held your finger to your lips—a silent urge to keep quiet—and his heart skipped a beat.

It was a special meeting between two, which will remain locked away in his heart for all of eternity. A memory he regards with warm fondness. After much negotiation and a disarming conversation, you were soon welcomed with open arms as Beidou practically offered you to join her crew. You had nowhere else to go—no one else to see or protect—and so you agreed. And Kazuha felt a relief he hasn’t felt in a while, the sort of emotion that stems from almost losing something important.

The pure relief that comes and goes once he realizes you’re a missing piece in the puzzle of his life.

“You’ll trip,” he warns, pushing off from the side of the ship and walking over to you and Beidou. “It wouldn’t be wise to dance in your inebriated state. Surely you’re aware of this, no?”

“I can hold my alcohol.” Your wavering glare doesn’t reach him. “Don’t... Don’t think otherwise or else I’ll—ah!”

The majority of Beidou’s weight burdens your shoulders and you nearly almost crumble.

“You—“ she searches for a means to steady herself— “worry too much,” the captain adds, nodding in agreement to an unspoken statement. “It’ll be okay! Live a little while you’re still young.”

Kazuha sighs and easily slips between the two of you, hooking his arm around Beidou’s waist as he guides her to a barrel. The scent of alcohol kisses the air, clinging to your clothes and breath like an oversaturated perfume. Once she’s sat down, now fully determined to get the last few drops from out of the flask, the rōnin turns to you. He’s caught by surprise when your hands grasp his, your eager expression stabbing his heart with a dozen pins. He’s rooted to the floorboards, unable to look away when your face is dangerously close to his.

“You heard the captain,” you tease in a slurred voice. “Live a little.”

And he does. Or he thinks he does. Having traveled with Beidou, this is the current life he’s come to know and appreciate. But is it truly living if he feels unfulfilled in the process? To find a means for bringing back the familiar glow in a lonely Vision. To secure peace of mind and put his rowdy thoughts to rest. To one day return to the nation he was forced to flee, with you in tow. Are all of these things necessary in order to fill the gaping void in his damaged heart? Kazuha wonders if you also came from Inazuma. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so surprised to see the scenery if he were to take you there. Not now, of course. Sometime in the future, if such a future holds a changed Inazuma.

“I’m going to warn you now,” he mumbles, his fingers ghosting over your waist, “I’m not what one would call a dancer of skillful grace.”

“I don’t think that’s true, dear Kazuha.”

He blinks once and then releases a short laugh at the endearing term. “If you say so.”

“Enough talk.” You huff and pull him into your chest and he feels as though he could stay locked in this position for millennia. “Dance with me before...” A stilted pause as you nearly forget your sentence. “Before I turn in for the night. That’s it.”

Or before you get sick, he thinks, not so cheerful about the inevitable mess. But he’ll tolerate it because you’ve tolerated him. You never pry into his past, nor do you force him to answer personal questions regarding Inazuma and the Raiden Shogun. If you ever notice the way he lingers near your quarters, you don’t say a word. And if you hear his subdued moans as his hand moves in time with a picturesque fantasy of your nude form pressed against his, you keep your mouth shut. You are everything he could ever want and like the very ideal the Raiden Shogun wishes to uphold he wants to pursue an eternity with you.

Your movements are far from the precision you normally have when moving about the ship and it’s a very odd dance. Yet you spin him and he follows your unusual lead like an animal with tunnel vision. For a taut moment, the background noise melts away into obscurity and the two of you are the only people in existence. He stares at your face the entire time, ignoring the way your sandals crush his feet or the instances where he unintentionally returns the gesture. It’s certainly an awkward sort of waltz, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And in this moment where no one else matters, he sees your radiance in the glow of the moon. You truly are worthy of the sun and the stars beyond and should you verbalize an outlandish wish of that nature he has no choice but to follow through.

Like a leaf swept up in an autumnal breeze, reminiscent of a ronin who lacks a place in the world, Kazuha allows himself to be carried on by the winds that rustle the sails and tangle through your hair, painting you in a backdrop that’s heaven handcrafted by the pickiest god. And where you have your wits, a lively Vision, and your confidence, he only has his blade, a dull Vision, and an inkling of hope. But that’s really all he requires.

[crossbowking]

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

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Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

[aemonds-sapphire]

Quirkplay — Natsuo x Reader

Natsuo would rarely use his ice quirk, but whenever he did so, he always made sure you enjoyed it.

Warnings: NSFW. Quirkplay, vaginal fingering, ice cubes, praise, needy Natsuo, hot Natsuo, sexy Natsuo, precum, mouth fucking.

Word count: 1.6k

“Can I use my quirk?”

Natsuo’s voice was but a whisper as his gentle and expectant eyes bore into yours. The thought alone had your heart race skip a beat immediately.

Nothing was off limits for Natsuo so long as it would magnify the pleasure he could provide as far as you were concerned.

You promptly nodded at the man on top of you, moaning softly as his hardening bulge pressed against your covered pussy.

The coldness that spread across his palms as he quickly undid your shirt was met with a jerk of your hips.

“Calm down…” he hissed and you felt his cock twitch as he fumbled with the tiny buttons keeping you hidden from him.

Natsuo would rarely make use of his quirk in his daily life, and had resorted to using it under very specific circumstances.

You weren’t a stranger to it, and had had the opportunity of being on the receiving end of the coldness that would emanate from him in such occasions.

Your clit throbbed in anticipation once he pulled your bra down, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

He shifted until his face was but a mere inches away from your flushed skin, and you vaguely wondered what he had in mind.

The answer to that thought came soon enough.

His lips puckered as he let out a stream of stinging cold breeze graze over one nipple, causing it to swiftly harden.

“Always so sensitive…” he smiled proudly, repeating the motion on the other one.

Damn Natsuo’s extensive knowledge of the human body.

The familiar coiling feeling in the pit of your stomach had your eyes flutter shut, and he seized the opportunity to wrap his cool lips around your nipple. He wasted no time, alternating between slow and long suckles, and quick and hard ones.

If quirkplay was an art form then Natsuo mastered it with jaw-dropping proficiency.

He’d switch nipples every now and then while his freezing hands remained plastered on your ass cheeks, angling your body with his and allowing him to dry hump you.

“N-Natsuo… slow… d-down…” you stammered, hands fisting his pale hair in the hopes of breaking the grip he had on you.

It was all to no avail.

One of his hands found your soaked panties and pushed them to the side.

You gasped and your eyes flew open at the sudden coolness that contrasted nearly painfully with the heat radiating from your swollen clit.

Natsuo released your nipple with a wet pop and fixed his eyes on you.

“How cold can I go today?” he asked teasingly, fingertips barely brushing along your sopping slit.

He’d always ask you, but not because he feared going too far — your body language would tell him that —, but merely as a way to have you beg for it.

“As cold as you can get…”

The pad of his thumb immediately pressed down on your clit and you jolted in surprise.

“Icy cold?” he asked, an excited smile tugging at his lips.

You squirmed under his touch. “Whatever you want… just….” fuck me…

Natsuo kept one hand between your thighs as a reminder of the pleasure he could so easily deliver; the other snaked under you skillfully and he undid the clasp of your bra, before sliding the fabric off you.

He took a deep breath, taking his sweet time to admire your body. If there was one thing Natsuo excelled at was making you feel pretty and wanted.

Even though school crammed most of his schedule and robbed you of his focus, he would always find a way to make it up for you.

So when he pressed his cold palm just below your ribcage, eye never tearing away from yours, you felt a rush of hotness splatter your cheeks.

And then something else…

Something hard and cold and wet was starting to dig into your skin. You eyes traveled down to stare at his still hand, and you saw a faint glaze of icy blue coat it up to his wrist.

“Natsuo…”

The young man lifted his hand, revealing one ice cube that he had to keep in place with his fingers to keep it from sliding to the side as your body temperature caused its underside to melt and have droplets rolling down your skin.

Two cold fingers dragged along your pussy lips to smear your own wetness and earning a hiss from him.

“I love that you’re so wet… so ready for my fingers…” he cooed, sliding one digit inside your heated pussy.

The melting ice cube started glinding down your torso, leaving a wet trail in its wake which prickled your skin with goosebumps. He lowered his head and planted a few open-mouthed kisses, following the path laid out by the byproduct of his quirk.

You arched your back reflexively when he added a second finger inside you, drawing out a groan of pleasure mixed with momentary discomfort as your body adjusted to the never-ending temperature fluctuations.

“Ah… fuck…” you suddenly heard him cuss in annoyance, halting his ministrations.

The subject of frustration was his own cock, apparently. A big wet spot stained his pants, and you almost smiled at how adorable he looked as as his cheeks gained a faint reddish tint.

All that sweet precum going to waste as Natsuo struggled with holding himself back.

You had to bite the inside of your cheek as you watched him undo his zipper and yank down his pants, exposing his long cock.

A sigh of relief left him, and he swallowed hard once he realized your eyes were dead set on the thick strings of precum that dripped from the tip.

The two fingers buried inside your pussy cooled down, causing you to clench around him vigorously.

“Natsuo! Why—“

He merely smiled while his other hand conjured yet a new ice cube — as the previous one had completely melted away.

The slow and teasing pace his fingers set was almost agonizing, and you kept on rolling your hips as a way to instigate him to get bolder.

But he had other plans.

The cube in his hand came into contact with your clit and you yelped at the chilling sensation. He made sure your folds enveloped it on either side as your grip around his digits only increased.

“Look at the way your pussy is eating me up…” he groaned, sliding it down to collect some of your juices. “Babe… look at your pussy lips.”

The moment you did as you were, a raspy moan fell from your lips and you felt several knots tightening in your lower abdomen as a clear warning that if he kept this pace you’d reach your high soon.

A needy moan echoed through his room, and you clasped one hand over your mouth.

His sister was at home, and so was his younger brother.

“Keep it down… can you do that?” he inquirer sweetly, sliding his fingers out completely and earning a disappointed mewl from you. “Mouth open.”

His two wet fingers slipped past your lips and you promptly wrapped them around him, sucking and tasting yourself.

It was definitely an effective way of shutting you up.

“You love sucking, don’t you?”

You batted your eyelashes innocently while nodding, twirling your tongue around his digits as if they were his cock instead.

He bit his lower lip to muffle a moan, nudging the ice cube against your pussy.

You looked up at him, eyes widened.

“Grip it for me.”

His eyes were heavy with lust, and you felt a gush of wetness drip from you at his request.

The frozen cube poked at your entrance once more, and you felt him push it inside just enough for you to hold it in place with your walls.

Natsuo’s cock twitched several times at the sight of your pussy gripping the ice cube.

His voice was now low and filled with perplexity. “You need to see this.”

In no time, he had his phone in his hands to snap a quick photo. You clenched briefly as you glared at the screen. Honestly, you had to commend his self-control, because you looked really, really inviting in that position.

“Pretty girl…” he praised, flicking your clit with his thumb, bringing you closer to the edge.

You were grateful that he had no intention of removing his fingers from your mouth, otherwise your moans would be heard throughout the entire place.

The ice cube wasn’t able to endure the heat of your pussy, and you felt cold droplets sliding down your ass crack.

Natsuo kept his eyes on you the entire time. “Suck harder… please…”

You did as you were told, in an attempt at keeping some control as waves of unfathomable bliss rippled across your entire body. At that point, you could no longer prevent your pussy from completely sucking in the ice cube and with a seering pinch on your clit, he managed to have you trip over the edge of your sanity.

Flashes of technicolor swarmed your vision as you parted your lips in a silent scream. Bless Natsuo and his quick reflexes, because he had your mouth covered in no time, preventing any obscene sound from being heard by anyone but him.

He kept his cold thumb on your clit, alternating the pressure on it, but his pace never faltering.

Your hips bucked desperately and your arms wrapped around his neck as if you were holding on for dear life, riding out your orgasm.

“Ouch!” he said playfully after losing balance and nearly crushing you under his weight. “Do you like my quirk that much?”

No coherent thoughts came to your mind as you panted heavily. “I… fuck…”

He placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “I love you, too.”

-

Masterlist

[jortsaaaaaaart]

To Be Forgotten Amongst Friends chp1

Omega! Reader x avengers

Hello all! I revamped my story "ikaros" and this is the new story! Also the name is long rip.

Trigger warnings (later chapters mostly)- ptsd, noncon, kidnapping, human experimentation, Stockholm and lima syndrome

The following chapters will be posted on- https://archiveofourown.org/works/33890977     (seriously- may not post here that often cause i hate the tagging system- go check out ao3)

It's a beautiful day in New York and you're a terrible, no good, thief. 

You were considered New York’s very own Robin Hood. Two hundred ATM robberies in two years, the money flying out of the machines and into the hands of people who needed it. The banks, collectively, had lost over $300,000 from the ATMs alone. But of course, it wasn't just the ATMs. A rash of robberies had spread over the East coast. Most were digital, companies funneling their own money to offshore accounts that wanted nothing to do with U.S. intervention. The FBI were notified, then the CIA, and eventually- after a daring cyber attack against the DOD- SHIELD itself turned it's one eyed gaze onto you.

Nick Fury saw something the other agencies didn't. You had certain gifts that made your line of work incredibly easy. Whether they were natural mutations or some sort of superpower, they allowed you to break into some of the most secure networks known to man. He had almost found you when SHIELD fell and his resources vanished. After the dust cleared he was forced to start from scratch. Hunting you and the remnants of Hydra down at the same time wasn't easy, but, in a strange twist of fate, he found someone else that was searching for you too.

+++

New York was filled with so many people. Most of them were good, in your opinion. (Well, maybe half, actually.) You spent most of your off time working on "projects" or walking around the city. You had become a fixture at the local Bodega. Single omegas were extremely  rare, marked single omegas were almost unheard of. The mark gave you certain freedoms other omegas, sadly, didn't have. It drove away most potential suitors and the ones who were particularly bold would be given a taste of your powers. Once the burrow had gotten used to your presence they saw you as a generous person, but a secretive one. Someone who took no shit even with their designation. You gave to the community and different Omega rights groups in the area. After years of watching you quietly go about helping people you had been welcomed into the burrow's heart with open arms.

You loved helping people in your own way. You loved it just as much as you hated corporations and the police, but when you could make an ATM spew it's contents out into the poorest streets of Brooklyn or make Fox News send a million dollars to Planned Parenthood, you could have the best of both worlds.

At least, for a time. All good things had to end, right? That's what you told yourself as the redhead picked her way through the crowd towards you. 

Seeing an avenger in your neighborhood was an odd occurrence. It was a poorer part of town, untouched in the battle of New York, and too out of the way for any super villain origin stories. In fact, you seemed to be the only mutant in the entire block. You'd always thought, if someone was going to come for you, it would be a couple of FBI agents and not the fucking Black Widow. Your brain and heart went into overdrive as you tried to remember doing anything worth the avenger's time. But there was nothing. The DOD hack had been almost a year ago and all you did was release government files showing attacks on civilians overseas. It hardly seemed like an avengers worthy crime, especially when Black Widow herself had leaked government secrets before.

Any hope of her not not looking for you was dashed when her eyes locked onto yours. She tilted her head, asking a silent question. 

The burst of adrenaline sent you careening through the lunchtime crowds. You couldn't feel anyone on the rooftops but there was a large form blocking your path, trying to box you in. They were stronger and faster but you knew the environment. You ducked into Charlie's, your sneakers skidding on the asphalt as you took the sharp turn. The person behind the counter lazily looked up as you walked to the back. They knew you well enough to not care, they also weren't paid enough to care. The alley would open up into a busy side street. More people meant a better chance to blend in and get away. You were almost to the end when the door opened behind you. Black Widow and fucking Captain America stepped into the alley. For a moment the three of you stood in something akin to a standoff. 

You felt wildly undressed for this life-threatening situation.

"We just want to talk, (Y/N)" Captain America told you, hands raised. The unmistakable stink of an alpha radiated from the captain. You were momentarily thankful for your mark dulling its effect on you. Though, the blonde's scent was tinged with something hauntingly familiar. Something you didn't want to recognize.

Behind him, Black widow's free hand went to her ear. "Target is in the alley between 31st and 32nd," A twitch of your finger and the line went dead. Her hand dropped to the gun at her hip.

"I'm feeling pretty under equipped for this 'conversation'," You replied, slowly raising your hands as well, wondering if they could feel what you were doing. They didn't react and you slowly let your power seep from you.

Natasha was the first to react, drawing her gun and spinning around. Steve looked at her with confusion as her wide eyes scanned the alley as if she was seeing ghosts. She was afraid he realized, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. He moved towards her and you took off running. You felt him hesitate then take off after you, gaining on you with an embarrassingly low number of strides. You tried your powers again, stronger this time, but his focus was unwavering. He was almost to you now and you were running out of options. That’s when the alpha in him came out.

“Omega!” He snarled, “Stop!” Your feet slowed down immediately. It wasn’t as strong as your own alpha’s command would be, but the super soldier certainly commanded respect and obedience. You were forced to stand still, eyes burning holes in the asphalt, as the alpha’s footsteps grew closer. You really didn't want to do this but it looked like you had no choice. Your jaw clenched, and you spun around when his hand grabbed your arm. The blonde's eyes widened as you placed a palm to his chest. 

He barely had time to glance down at your hand before the electricity hit him.

The 1,000 volts you sent into him were supposed to stun him or send him flying, allowing you to escape. However, his muscles spasmed just a bit stronger than you intended. In an instant his grip crushed the bones in your arm and sent the two of you careening backwards into a brick wall. Natasha would find you a moment later, passed out on top of the super soldier, a sizable hole in the wall.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, a few blurry white shapes milled about in the corners of your vision. You couldn't remember how you got here, or where here was. All your senses seemed to be dulled. Your wrist was throbbing and each time you opened your eyes the room came in and out of focus. You closed your eyes, opting to ignore the funhouse effect and focus on the sounds around you. The beeping of the monitors, footsteps on concrete, and two low voices.

"She's alright, Buck, I promise." Steve's voice wavered in and out of your consciousness bringing with it the memory of how you got into this bed. "She did something to Nat and ran before I could explain. I wasn't expecting her powers to be so strong."

"I should have come with you," Another voice snarled. Your heart skipped a beat at the low growl. You knew that voice. It evoked a sickening combination of need and terror and you couldn't remember why. "She wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had. What idiot doesn't know omegas are fragile?!"

"It was an accident!" His voice raised slightly before sighing. "I know you're worried, but she's fine."

The scent you had smelled on Steve earlier swirled around the room. Metal and burning pine, it affected you just like the voice had, triggering both panic and yearning. You knew it somehow. The memory was there somewhere, tucked away where it couldn’t hurt you. Where it should have been forgotten.

The scent grew unbearably strong as he leaned over you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. When he pulled back he wasn't expecting his eyes to catch yours. 

His expression softened as soon as he realized you were awake. "Omega," Bucky whispered reverently. Stormy blue eyes stared down at you with love and adoration, watching the color drain from your face. "Doll?" 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear the panicked beeping of the machines and Steve trying to calm you down. But it didn't matter. All that you could feel was the need to get far, far, away from this man. You didn't know how you knew him but you knew he was dangerous. You knew he had hurt you. That's why, as he reached out to gently cup your face, you slapped his hand away. 

"Get away from me!" You gasped, voice breaking. You scooted back and tried to back up as far as possible. Your shaky legs barely held your weight as you slid off the bed. Pure terror coursed through your veins, it was the only thing keeping you on your feet. You found yourself pressed into the corner of the room while the men stared at you in shock. Steve and Bucky gaped like you had just told them the Germans had actually won WWII. Eyebrows knit together, blue eyes wide and frantic, Bucky looked like he was in emotional turmoil.

“(Y/N), doll, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s your alpha.” Bucky reached out to you carefully as a low purr rumbled from his chest.

You felt the purr relax you and dull your senses even more. It was nauseating. “I don’t have an alpha! And I don’t know who the hell you are!” You tried to shout and grit your teeth but the words came out in broken sobs, betraying your weakness. Who was this? Why was he the most terrifying thing you had ever seen?

Your teeth were bared at this point but the man kept coming towards you. The tunnel vision and rapid shallow breaths were the only warnings your body gave you as it reverted to its animalistic omega framework. Bucky watched as, in slow motion, your eyes went blank as your body gave out. 

+++

Your alpha held your body to his chest in disbelief. He had expected some shock at seeing him but this went far beyond his expectations. It had been over three years since he'd last seen you. Since he'd last been able to drink in your scent. He'd figured you might not recognize him at first. He had changed a lot over the years. No longer under Hydra's control his physical appearance, demeanor, and scent had changed. But your body should've known your alpha. 

"What was that?" Steve asked. "Why did she react like that when she has your mark?" The two alphas were on edge. Seeing a vulnerable omega drop triggered their protective instincts. Steve desperately wanted to take you and hold you close, ease you out of the drop. If the alpha holding you was anyone other than his closest friend and packmate he would have ripped you out of his grasp immediately. For now he'd have to hold himself back.

"She didn't remember me." Bucky nuzzled his head into your neck, nursing your mark softly. After a moment he pulled back and gazed at your unchanged features. He couldn't wake you from this drop that easily. He pressed in harder this time, teeth lining up with the scar perfectly, but there was still no change. No purr, command, or bite was waking you up.

"We should let her rest, Buck. The pain meds will wear off soon and we'll try again. . . Bring her to the den. She'll need to get used to everyone's scents sooner or later." Steve laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. It was a gentle but firm suggestion. He knew tensions were high, the den, with it's heavy curtains and plush blankets, would calm down his friend and the omega. With little argument the brunette lifted you up and carried you to the den. It was aptly named and extremely well constructed thanks to Stark. Curtains blocked off all light from the windows, mattresses were inlaid into the ground, and the temperature was always cool. It was one good thing about being in a pack with that narcissist, Bucky thought dryly.

Steve led them into a cozy corner of the room. The captain hummed happily as they moved the pillows and blankets, creating a makeshift nest for the three of them. The feeling of the omega pressing into his chest was addictive. He couldn't wait for you to remember your alpha.

The sooner you remembered your bond with Bucky the sooner the rest of the pack, Steve included, could court you.

[wizkiddx]

If your request are open, vouldd you then make something where reader is thicc and is scared to sit on Tom's lap, but Tom doesn't mind at all, he just adores you no matter what.

a/n just a friendly remind EVERYONE is the best version of themselves no matter what, you do you, for you <33

I hope this is okay anon, sorry don't feel like this is v good so im sorry x

warnings: body image/weight issues / low self esteem / implied SMUT

//////////////////////////////////////

Awkward. That’s what it was. You didn’t intend for it to be this way… god you hated it so much and even if you somewhat blamed yourself- nothing could diffuse the awkward air in the room. It was stupid too, you had been with Tom for a month now. And it wasn’t like your whole evening had been this awkward and hellish, in fact, quite the opposite.

Date night had consisted of Tom cooking attempting a fancy steak and homemade fries meal for you both. While it had looked a lot less impressive than Tom’s plans (a sad looking lump of meat)- it had still been the perfect evening. Especially since given Tom’s public persona, neither of you dared to go out for dinner together - arguably a shitty attempt at cooking was more fun though.

You’d honestly never felt more special, more free or at ease than this evening. Until you and Tom had both moved to the sitting room (which he’d forced a stubborn Harry out of) for a movie night. He had gone to the loo whilst you prepared for the movie, only re-entering the room when your back was turned to read the back of the old DVD case. Seizing his opportunity with a mischievous smirk, Tom crept up behind you, wrapping his arms round your waist and then pulling the two of you down to the sofa- both your bodies spinning in an uncoordinated manner as your shrieked.

You’d landed on top of him, your chest and belly pressed up against his and you instantly hated it.

Your relationship with your own body image was possibly the most complicated and toxic relationship you’d had in your life. To be honest, you’d never felt super comfortable in his own skin; but last year after you’d put on a little extra weight, the nagging voice in your head became impossible to ignore. And it made everything more difficult. It ruled out half the fashionable high street shops- who seem to only cater to people of a certain build. It meant you would much rather sweat your ass off in boiling heat, than dare to take your jacket off and expose what you thought to be ‘far from the ideal’ body type.

But worst off it made intimacy impossible.

Just like now, as you felt your were crushing Tom’s chest, quickly scrambling upwards and landing on the opposite side of the sofa. Tom wasn’t blind or ignorant, he’d seen the flash of fear as you’d desperately climbed away from him; he saw the defeated look as you sat dead ahead, refusing to look at him and awaiting him to start the movie. What he was less sure on though, was how to handle it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable and question you. Which is why he quickly leaned over and grabbed the remote to hit play.

Thats how the opening scenes of ‘Crazy, stupid, love’ started. Both of you sitting awkwardly upright, like you were in school, eyes solely looking straight ahead. The atmosphere was tense to say the least, your breath hitching at the slightest movement Tom made- from what you could see out the corner of your eye. Which of course, he noticed.

So, without much pre-planning in his head, Tom hit pause on the remote and instantly turned to you, seeing your confused gaze. He neeeded to say this.

“You know you’re so beautiful.” He said it so astutely, so point-blanc and so seriously you had a harder time than normal brushing it off.

“Tom no I-“

“No I’m serious. You are so beautiful and it hurts me that you don’t see what I see. Alright?”

“no I-“ You were gulping like a fish, stammering between the two words before Tom cut you off again, voicce louder this time.

“I said alright? As in do you understand?” He sighed, tone softening as the confusion and embarrassment on your face said it all. “I’m serious Y/n. I get that you have issues with some parts of yourself and I’m not going to cure that in one night but… I want, no, I need you to know how beautiful I think you are.”

“It’s not your fault.” Rather you answered a different question entirely, one you had made up in your head.

“But I want it to be my business to help you fix. I know its your journey but I want to be there. Will you let me?”

“You’re getting all this because of one rugby tackle awkward moment?”

“No, but I do want you to feel comfortable with me, okay?”

“Okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper but Tom heard and replied with a breathy laugh, which made you pull your gaze up from picking at your fingers. And sure enough, he was sporting the warmest and kindest smile, the type that gave you no choice but to return, like it was infectious.

“How about we start…” He held his hands out which you took, eyebrows furrowing as he pulled you further and further towards him. “-with me showing you just how beautiful you are.” His voice was intoxicating, almost distracting you from the fact he kept pulling you over him on the sofa, to the point you had to move your knees and kneel eitherside of his legs to keep balance. Once your face was barely centimetres from his, both your eyes flitting between eyes and lips - Tom shifted his hands to your waist and slowly applied a downward pressure.

Your breath hitched because you knew what he was asking you to do. He wanted you to sit completely on his lap, which terrified you.

But then he whispered a ‘dont worry’ and hooked his lips against yours. The movements slow and sensual, as you got lost in the moment, lost in the warmth that radiated from the boy.

Too lost to notice, to care, or to be conscious of your weight against his legs. Because really… did it matter? When you had a boy in front of you who liked loved every single part of you.

Your worth wasn’t defined by Tom, but he did do a hell of a lot to see you for what you really were.

~~~~~~~let me know what u think <33 ~~~~~~~~~

tag ist: @thefernandasantana @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Tower

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | two

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You’re apart of the Refugee Relief Movement, an intergalactic organization providing aid throughout the systems, and you find yourself assisting at a resettlement camp in Lothal when disaster strikes, changing your life forever, intertwining your path with that of a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Word count: 3.7k~

Rated: Mature

Warnings: descriptive violence, blood/injury mentioning, danger, mature language

Notes: Hi y'all, welcome. This fic is going to be set during Season 2 of The Mandalorian, and will be what I like to call ‘canon adjacent’. ALSo, this chapter is very much so Reader focused, setting up the scene and the general pacing of the story, but naturally, Din will be more and more featured as things progress. I’m a sucker for backstory and a slow burn, so ye be warned. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) I’d love to hear from you lovely little beans. Be safe out there, friends.

Lothal was a planet all too familiar with occupation.

You remember seeing a quote somewhere that read ‘Look no further than Lothal if you want to see what happens when the Empire takes control of an entire world’; and although the Imperial chokehold had loosened when the Empire fell, the planet, even all these years later, still found itself gasping for breath. 

Off world migration from the Core Worlds had been popularized since the expansion of the Imperial government bureaucracy, which brought booming business opportunities for the fortunate few, but as the rich became richer, the poor grew poorer. The Lothalites were forced out of their homes, off their own lands—refugees on their own planet; forced to resettle and relocate with nothing but the clothes on their back and the possessions they could cram into their pockets. The only heirlooms passed on from generation to generation were that of poverty, tall tales of former splendor, and the greatest of ancestral traumas: disillusionment.

The truly desperate turned to crime, and what couldn’t be solved by back-dealings and blaster fire was managed with fear mongering and the bitter flair of xenophobia. There was always a species to blame, and it was always the one who seemed to be doing better off, no matter how slight the margin. 

Greed. Fear. Despair. These are the currencies in which the galaxy trades. 

And so it was then, and continued to be, cycle after cycle. History, always finding clever ways to repeat itself.

On bad days, pollution still loomed heavy over the atmosphere—remnants of the fires from the Imperial occupation still clinging on to Lothal’s weary bones. She had been stripped during that time; gutted and strung up by her feet to dangle from the Empire’s meat hook, exsanguinated slowly, drop by drop, until she had nothing left to give. Her resources and minerals and ore and water and seed, robbed. Pillaged.

She’s free from it now, but the scars remain— the planet remembers. Her people do not forget. Like muscle memory, they all ungulate to this synthesized rhythm they can’t seem to shake, day in and day out, wandering. Forever unsettled.

The planet had always had a diverse population and had become something of a safe haven for other abandoned people fleeing their home worlds, determined to find somewhere - anywhere - for them to survive. Lothal provided that for them. It wasn’t rich or bountiful by any stretch, but it was simple and safe—safe in the way hidden things in plain sight are. One could blend into the crowd of many, unique faces, of all races and backgrounds; you could be anonymous, if you wanted. You could be free.

That’s how you’ve found yourself here in Jortho. You had been with the Refugee Relief Movement for the better part of what felt like forever, and they had transferred you to this planet not six weeks ago. You were out on rotation; the RRM sends someone new twice a cycle for the span of a month or two to varying locations to supply rations, aid with the influx of refugees, organize resettlement lodgings, and generally be of assistance when and where you could. However, your tenure on this temperate planet was coming to a close, and soon you’d be flying back to the headquarters on Coruscant before being bounced to another post somewhere out among the stars. 

You love your job. You know it’s unpopular to say, but you do. It’s fulfilling and impactful and indescribably special. The individuals you meet, the stories you hear, they’re invaluable— priceless and precious, like handmade trinkets crafted by the fingers of a child; you press them all to your heart, holding them there. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you— the weight of it; the plights of all of these people, all of these lives, burdening your conscience. It isn’t always painless— you aren’t immune to it. Even so, on most nights you manage to sleep easy, tucked away aboard the transport freighter you flew in on with the batch of settlers newly assimilated into town knowing Maker, at least you were doing something— anything— everything you could.

And really, to call Jortho a town would be an insult to all towns everywhere—but ‘town’ has a certain charm to it that ‘refugee camp’ simply did not, and it gave the people hope. Pride, even. That they belonged somewhere.

You suppose that’s all anyone wants. To belong. 

A feather soft gust of wind tickles the golden blades of prairie grass as the sun, bleary and tired, starts dipping from the sky. The crickbeets begin their song early, trilling, sensing Lothal’s moons still coyly tucked away, hiding somewhere along the horizon. A smile adorns your face, private and serene, as you bring a bowl of broth up to your lips, humming when the warm liquid meets your tongue. You sigh, contented, taking in the sights before you; how the dusk blurs the aromatic air, making it opaque, the shuttles docked across the way from you casting long purple shadows onto the flat plains, the snowcapped mountains in the distance bordering the cant of the planet’s surface, nestling Jortho in a shallow valley.

You feel calm, at peace, and take another sip.

An easy moment passes, and it’s the last one you get before silence stalks up from behind you.

You don’t notice it at first, like any patient predator, it goes undetected: the white noise, the nothingness— until finally, you do and then suddenly it’s everywhere. On top of you. Smothering you. Goosebumps stipple your skin and you bristle. The insects have stopped chirping. The breeze has stilled. The air hangs dead. 

And then—

Chaos.

You’re hit with a blast of crushing heat, the sheer power of it picking you up off your feet and onto your side, sending your body careening into a nearby structure. Your shoulder takes most of the blow, but your neck still snaps backwards unnaturally, the back of your head colliding with the stone wall behind you with a dull thwack. You let out a groaned cry at the impact, the wind knocked out of your lungs as you crumple to the ground.

For an instant, your vision goes white, stars popping and fusing out in front of your pupils, and it’s like you can feel everything and nothing all at once, hollow but overwhelmed, and all you want to do is close your eyes and drift asleep— Maker that would feel like a luxury, just right here on the damn dirt. And you almost do, you almost let yourself slip under and sink— until you hear a piercing scream from somewhere close. 

Immediately your eyes shoot open, desperately blinking away the blurriness that threatens to over take them, and you try pushing yourself up by the heels of your scraped hands, failing once - twice - before finding your footing. You’re shaky at first, uncoordinated and dizzy and redownloading bipedalism, before that sweet drug of adrenaline starts to course through your veins and finally, finally, you take in your surroundings. 

The ships that once stood across the field are gone, obliterated, and in their place only metal ribcages remain—empty carcasses like dead birds splayed on their backsides, imploded from the inside out, their bits strewn all around you. 

Your breathing comes hard and heavy, fighting down panic, and cloudy eyes search through the thick black smoke billowing up in stacks, trying to pin point the source of the scream you’d heard just moments ago. You cough a strained wheeze, sputtering against the charred air, and wade your way through the debris— it’s only then that you realize the magnitude of the explosion. It’s not just the landing bay, it’s half the kriffing village. The buildings that neighbored the airfield had been decimated, burning roofs and crumbling fixtures, homes collapsing onto themselves, scorch marks and shrapnel branding the outsides of the shanties left standing.

It looks like a battlefield. You’ve seen holovids of this—what war can look like, how it can ruin a people… But you’ve never had to stand in the middle of it, head on. 

Your heart drums against your chest as you break into a hobbled run, desperately scanning the area for any signs of life, up and down, left and right, straining against the waning daylight. It’s then that you hear your name, urgent and frantic, and you whip your head in it’s direction, knees nearly buckling in relief. You immediately recognize your friend Hareem, brandishing her arms at you, waving you over to her. 

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” the Balosar cries out, trembling hands finding purchase on your shoulders, bracing you. You don’t know if its for your benefit or her own, but either way you’re grateful for the grounding pressure; for the first time since the initial blast, you feel solid, like you won’t just float away, atomized and weightless. Worried, you look her over. A sliver of fresh scarlet blooms from her scalp, a small line trickling down past her temple, but she otherwise looks relatively unharmed. You grasp onto her wrist, squeezing firmly.

“What the hell happened?” You ask, voice low and pitched, wide fearful eyes drilling into her.

“T-There was a man-” And she shakes her head, mouth clamping shut, deep wrinkles framing her face.

“Hareem,” you reassure, giving her another squeeze. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.

She tries again with a steadying inhale, “I-I saw him. A-a man. He had a device with him, and he set charges, and Maker I don’t know— I don’t know— it went off a-and he ran towards the center of town!” The Balosar is in hysterics, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks, and it takes your brain a moment to catch up, to wrap your mind around the words she’s stuttering out. 

A man. 

Device. 

Charges.

A bomb. This wasn’t an accident; this was an attack—and he’s still kriffing here. You cup her cheeks, thumbs rubbing against the pale skin, smearing away the blood that’s nearly dripped to her chin. Your friend’s gaze is flighty, everywhere and nowhere, and you try giving her a smile, but you’re not quite sure you manage it.

“Hareem? Hareem. Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re alright…” You peel your eyes off her to glance around hurriedly. “We need to find cover.”

///

You’re holed up in one of the few remaining homes on this side of the encampment, crowded into the small space with three other survivors. All four of you, packed in and silent and petrified. Unsure of any further threat, you stay completely still. Helpless. Laying here, idle, for whatever awaits you behind that feeble, wooden door. You feel like prey for the wicked, just passing the time.

Minutes inch along like this—or maybe its hours; time moves eerily different when you’re attempting to become invisible—and eventually, you almost begin to relax.

Almost.

But a new sound breaks the din, hard to recognize at first, indistinct from all the commotion outside their hut, but you hear it. You all do. The youngest of you, a teenaged Devaronian, grips onto the hem of your shirt, knuckles creasing with anticipation. You tense, spine going rigid. Footsteps. They’re slow, guarded, but they’re getting closer. You bring an arm up, for all the good it’ll do, creating a human shield in front of the boy at your side. Closer. Someone behind you muffles a whimper. Closer. A Bardottan you hadn’t even met until today let’s out the faint whisper of a prayer, lips barely ghosting over the phrases. Closer- 

and then, nothing.

They’re here. You can sense him, see his shadow sweep across the gaps in the entryway. You all hold your breath, as if the air is being syphoned out of the space… And the door is flung open, nearly breaking off it’s hinges as it slams into the inside of the house, shuttering the rickety walls with a jarring bang. 

You don’t know who looks more astonished: you four, or the Mandalorian before you, dripping head to toe in silver plated armor, pointing a blaster directly at your head.

“Where is he?” He asks, hard edged and modulated, and it’s more of a demand than a question—but he lowers his weapon all the same, holstering it at his side. You gape at him, guppying wordlessly. “Volcur X’elo. The bomber. Where?” He hasn’t moved an inch out of the doorframe but he’s still managing to loom over you, completely filling up the archway, shoulders set and impossibly intimidating.

You gulp, finally finding your voice. “In town, i-in the center of town…” Kriff, you had not idea if that intel was good or not, but it’s all you think to say. Seeming satisfied with your answer he turns on his booted heel, cape whipping behind him, leaving just as soon as he arrived. The dust barely has time to settle as the door teeter’s on its hinge, its rusty squeaks filling the void in the Mandalorian’s wake.

“Fuck,” you hiss, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, doubling forward, propping your palms up on your knees.

///

After deliberating it with your group, you all come to the agreement of braving it outside. Better to be out under the open sky than die under a concaving apartment, clambering over each other to get to the exit. After all this, at least your dignity was still partially in tact— normally, you reckon you’d chuckle dryly at that. But you don’t. 

Can’t. 

You lead the pack through the mazelike streets. The sights that once seemed so familiar after weeks of living here become like strangers to you, and you sleepwalk through Jortho, snaking down paths marred by rubble and fallen wreckage— you haven’t seen any bodies, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe you’re just too scared to notice them. Maybe they’re there, hovering just outside of your peripherals, haunting the corners of your vision… 

You keep your head fixed forward, jaw clenched.

Your feet move on their own like this, only vaguely aware that the red-skinned boy still hadn’t let go of your tunic. You forge on. Have to. You have to. Your only purpose on this kriffing planet was to help these people, to bring them aid, and if that means simply planting one foot in front of the other, then so be it. You take side alleys, double backing here and there, ducking under canopies, looping around yourself, only stopping when you catch a glimpse of beskar, the orange setting sun glinting off the surface of his helmet.

And he’s not alone.

You freeze suddenly, as do the rest, and the Devaronian bumps into you, stumbling under his lanky legs. Some paces in front of you, the bounty hunter has the other man, this Volcur X’elo, by a punishing grip on his shoulders, shoving him forcefully out in front of him; his wrists are bound and he’s fitful without the stabilization of his arms, his feet staccatoed and flailing wildly beneath him as the Mandalorian marches him forward. 

The wind shifts, and on it you can hear the bomber rant madly, only catching snippets of the vile nonsense that spews from him.“- like swine, they are a plague to the system! And they must be purged from this planet, and the next, and the next— every last filthy one!” You spare a glance to Hareem, to find her watching the scene in hypnotized horror, but your eyes snap back at the sound of something maniacal, drawing your attention. It’s laughter. The zealot begins to laugh a twisted, mocking cry that makes you want to vomit. “You might have me in binders Mandalorian, but you’re too late. You’re too late. This isn’t over!” He’s practically giggling, gleeful and demented. Disturbed. “You’ve only found one.”

Your blood runs cold. 

Only one? Oneoneoneone, one what-

The realization hits you with a punch to your gut. He’s only detonated one of his bombs. Somewhere, nearby, there must be another.

Without another word, the Mandalorian whips the smaller man around, pulling him sharply by his collar to collide with his breastplate, completely dwarfing him with his beskar frame. “Where is it, X’elo?” Nothing. Only laughter. High pitched, terrible roars. He tries again, patience ebbing. “The bomb. Now.” X’elo’s head tilts back and he howls another crowing shriek, keeping private his own sick joke, as if clutching a secret to his chest with slimy hands. 

The bounty hunter had heard enough. He clearly wasn’t getting anything more out of him, and with a quick strike, he rears his blaster and pistol whips the terrorist with it. The body drops. Volcur X’elo crumples, unconscious, blood streaming from where he was struck. You hear the Bardottan behind you stifle a cry with her fist. 

And with that, Lothal’s sun disappears completely, stealing away the last of it’s light as it furls into itself, shrinking out of sight. The dark ushers a new wave of dread, creeping over Jortho like a miasma, poisoning the very air.

The Mandalorian wheels around, searching for his heading in the labyrinth of the town. Others have gathered now, poking their heads around corners, stealing glimpses through windows. He turns, his head on a swivel. “Where is your power generator?” he demands, addressing the small crowd, but you’re all too stunned to speak. “Anybody. Generator. Now.” There’s something new in his voice, something muddled, and it takes you a moment to interpret it. It’s desperation, you realize, tinny and deep through his vocoder, and with a surge of adrenaline you move forward, furthering yourself from your group. You swallow. “I-Its this way.” Upon hearing your voice, he spins around, his visor latching on to you, and with a nod you both set out. 

“Watch him,” the Mandalorian growls past his shoulder, stepping over the bounty’s limp body.

///

You’re still not really sure how he knew where it’d be, you wonder to yourself, gravel crunching under foot as you both trudge on, an eery quiet settling over them. You’d say it was a lucky hunch, but judging by the way the Mandalorian carries himself, you doubt luck had much to do with it. 

You had led him to the power generator hub on the other side of the sad excuse for a city, traveling in tense silence, and when you came upon that tall, bulky machine he sprang into action, circling it until he found what he was looking for. The bomb. You stood back, rooted there, and after some grunting and rewiring— or maybe he just hacked at it with a vibroblade, you had no idea; his wide frame engulfed his work and you couldn’t tell what he was up to, all you knew was that his methods proved successful— the man managed to disarm the second device. You had thought you noticed his shoulders release, slumping with relief, after the red flashing lights on the rudimentary interface flickered and then went dark.

And so here you are. The two of you, bathed in the bright light of Lothal’s twin moons, their bellies hanging full in the blue-black night, illuminating the trail of blood staining the dirt beneath your boots as the Mandalorian roughly drags the body by his ankle behind him— through the exploded rubble, through the fragmented lives of the people around you, already displaced and estranged. They’ll all have to move, you think, pack up their lives, or what little is left of them, and relocate. Again. The thought sinks in you like a stone, sobering you. 

Even with the weight of a fully grown man to lug, the bounty hunter is still a few long strides in front of you and your eyes are trained on the unconscious form, taking in the way his mouth lolls open like an animal, his hair matted with thick blood, eyes rolled back into his head. You’re talking out loud before you even realize it.

“How sick do you have to be,” you mumble, transfixed. Your voice, it’s not angry; no, shock has effectively robbed you of that— it’s not anger, but bewilderment. Quivering, broken bewilderment.

“H-How hoodwinked and warped you’d have to be, how disturbed... For you to think like that. To do all... all this...” 

“Hey,” his gruff voice shakes you from your trance, and you blink up at him, tearing your eyes off the body. “Focus,” he urges, and you can only nod dumbly back at him, suddenly feeling a ripple of nausea slither through you.

The ramp to his ship is lowering as they come upon it and you plant yourself at the base, feet seeming to stop on their own accord, and frankly you’re not really sure why you’ve even followed him this far in the first place— always a step behind him as he hauled his bounty all the way through the vestiges of Jortho, across the arid prairie to where he first touched down. Maybe it’s because you feel untethered, unmoored, and all of his steeled surety is like a lighthouse, a beacon, guiding you away from the rocks. 

He heaves X’elo up the ramp and you’re left standing there, staring unseeingly into the durasteel, becoming more and more aware of the ringing in your ears. The longer time passes, the more it’s as if you’re underwater, the background blurring into the foreground, sound gargled and far away. A high pitched buzz pinches your ear drums, and it takes you a moment to realize the Mandalorian is calling out to you, trying to get your attention.

“— Dala.”

Does he sound annoyed? Kriff, you think he might... If you had your wits about you, you might be able to recognize it. But as it stands, you don’t. You’re not here, not all of you. You’re splintered. Suspended.

“Hmm? Sorry, what..?” Your mouth is as dry as Jakku— parched desert tongue darting across your cracked lip, tasting soot and ash and something metallic. Brow furrowed, you touch a shaky finger to the flesh and when you pull it back, crimson red dots your skin. 

Oh, you think, numb. Huh. 

Your eyes skitter back up to the Mandalorian, towering over you, nearly at the apex of the incline, and his stance is broad and his fists are clenched. You’re almost positive he’s glaring down at you through his visor, and you don’t even know the man, can’t even see his damn face, but you can tell he’s peeved— Maker, just how long had you been ignoring him?

A scratched noise comes through his helmet’s vocoder and his next words are clipped, punctuated. “I said, do you have a way off this skug hole?”