#peel and reveal Care Bears

[cayden-grayson-mitchell]

GUYS!! FEBRUARY 2ND MOM GOT ME THIS!! IT'S CHAMP-SHINE BEAR! IT'S SO CUTE!! I LOVE HIM! BUT I WANT DREAMTIME BEAR, CHARM BEAR AND LOVE SONG BEAR!!

[starlightmeadowbloomthesecond]

Care Bears Collection That I Wish To Have

(Not art but just something I want to show)

I’ve seen so many Care Bears collection that I wish I could buy them all but I can’t… But I did brought some and is 8/9/10 slides at home; the two mini besties, the peel reveal and the birthday scented bear

The golden one is so cute and I heard the people who sell them in Liverpool are getting more of them since they are popular

But I do wanted to the bedtime bear, so sparkling and so cute

[fairlyang]

more husband!miguel x wife!reader headcanons! 🕷️

taglist: @safixiovi | part one

miguel was an attentive listener so anytime he’d take you out shopping and you had an eye on something like a lipstick or dress, he would just make a mental note and come back for it the following weekend

but sometimes he’s go overboard and end up buying more things he thinks you’d enjoy

or even try to pair a cute dress with a lipstick and new heels/flats

would absolutely peel all your oranges or cuties, would even cut up your fruits if you liked them diced

could def see him as the gardening type! he’d take care of his lemon trees and all his veggies while you took care of your pretty flowers and plants in the backyard

going grocery shopping would consist of him putting any snack he’s been craving for the past two months tops

he simply might see some Canelitas or Barritas and how could he not get a box of each?

and when it came to remembering if you had queso fresco, beans, or cilantro his mind would go blank which resulted in you giving him a, “are you serious?”

when it was time to pay he’d playfully push you towards the cart so you didn’t have to pay a dime because that was his job

best of all he is the the most romantic man imaginable but when valentines comes around his date plans, gifts, and flirtatious manner just skyrockets

and when he finally does the grand reveal of everything he got for you, you’re practically tear eyed, feeling an immense amount of appreciation for him

you just stared at him with a little pout (trying not to cry) while admiring how handsome he looked because he loved dressing up for special occasions

you went up to him holding his face in your hands and attack his face with kisses while he laughed and dropped the big stuffed bear he got you

he wrapped his arms around your waist while you were on your tiptoes, kissing his cheeks, nose, forehead, and lips as lovingly as you could

then you pulled away and ran off to the kitchen where you had your own gift for him that was in a pretty glittery red bag

it was a big bag with two little gifts and you were certain it’d be the best present you could possibly give him

returning back to him with the bag in hand and handing it to him before standing in front of him awaiting his reaction

he shook his head in disbelief because he never wants you spending money on him which is quite ironic

but he placed the bag on the coffee table and grabbed the gift paper, throwing it on the floor as your heart pounded in pure excitement

his hand reached down and grabbed the first item, bringing it back up with an instant gasp and tears already filling his eyes

the white baby booties were so tiny in his big hand but it only made the reality hit harder

he was going to be a dad

with a shaky hand he grabbed the final thing in the bag which was a positive pregnancy test in a ziploc baggie

without a word being said he walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you gently with tears streaming down his cheeks

you hugged him back and finally your tears fell as well from having to hold this surprise for a little while now

(it was hard because you tell him literally everything)

he was about to speak when a sob instead came out making him laugh because he wasn’t expecting it

you sniffled and grinned so wide your cheeks began to hurt as he pulled away from you just to be able to look at you

his eyes were red and a single tear fell from his eye as he whispered, “I love you so much.”

“our family is growing.” you whispered back making more tears fall from both your faces

he kissed you softly before embracing you once again and making sure to be extra cautious for the little one in your tummy

[yeontaescumslut]

𖨆♡𖨆♥︎ ❀᭢᜴꤬⠀ care package

Pairing: Jungwon x Reader

Genre: Idol au, Smut, one shot

Synopsis: You and Jungwon are in a long distance relationship, it’s Valentine’s Day and you send Jungwon a care package with a little something extra for him…

Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation, praise, if you don’t like Jungwon smut pls just don’t read!

Word count: 1,952

Authors note: Hello lovelies! Just a short little one shot for you guys. I’ve been meaning to do some enhypen so here we go! If you guys have any suggestions or recs feel free to leave them!! They’re very much appreciated ❤️

You and Jungwon have been dating for quite some time now, maybe 8 months, you had met at a college party in July last year and started dating later that month. It is now February, and this will be your first Valentines Day together, except you and Jungwon are long distance right now, he’s back in Korea and your back studying in your hometown as your exchange trip has ended. You and Jungwon still talked everyday and were as happy as ever, so you were trying to come up with a gift for Jungwon for valentines day. Alot of things has crossed your mind, plushies, clothes, jewlery, candy, but none of these sounded good enough. After days of thinking and searching you finally come up with the best idea…a care package, with ALL of his favorite things, but you were going to put a twist on it…..

Days go by as you collect many of Jungwons favorite things, finding a box that would fit everything perfectly. You wrap them individually taking your time and pouring love into each gift. Writing a small note on each one telling him a reason you love him on them. You decorate the box to his liking with his favorite colors. On the top you place one of your plushies you sprayed your perfume on. Carefully closing up the box, taping it securely. The next day you take the box to the post office dropping it off to get sent to Jungwon. That same day when you get home from your errands you call Jungwon.

You: Jungwonnieee!!! I missed you sooo much

Jungwon: My Aegi, I missed you more, how was your day?

You: It was great, I dropped your Valentines Day gift off at the post office!

Jungwon: Really?! I’m so excited to receive it. Yours is also on the way.

You both talk for the rest of your night as he was getting ready for his day. You can’t help but to wonder what his reaction will be when he opens your gift,and the little surprise you threw in…a few days go by, you get a message from Jungwon..

Jungwon: IT ARRIVED!!!!!

Switch to Jungwon POV

He’s giddy carrying the package from the package room back to his dorm room, once he gets in and sets the package down, he begins to open it, grabbing a box cutter from his desk drawer a smile painting across his face as he smells your signature perfume emitting from the box as he cuts it open. He sets the box cutter down on his desk peeling the cardboard back, grinning from ear to ear as he spots the bear blush you had bought together when he last visited you.He carefully goes through the contents of the box, taking his time examining each item and reading each note attached, his heart flutters more and more the deeper he gets into the box, he reaches the bottom and sees a white piece of paper reading “open these last, they’re special ;)” he gets excited as he places the paper to the side, he sees a photobook and a little box next to it, the photobook topped with a sticky note that said “open me first” he takes the sticky note off revealing a photo underneath, a photo of you, in a little black dress, his favorite little black dress. This gets him excited, without hesitation he flips the book open, only to be stopped in his tracks as what he saw made him choke, because what he laid his eyes upon took his breath away. With a stunned look on his face he continues flipping through the pictures. These were naked pictures of you, that you had professionally gotten taken, pictures of you in his favorite positions, pictures showing him your everything. Pictures that only HE would ever see. As he flips through page after page he grew harder and harder, feeling himself grow with each photo, as he reached the last page of the book he saw the words “ Call me” and he never reacted so fast. Grabbing his phone he called you immediately.

You pick up, before you’re even able to get any words out you hear Jungwons voice come through the phone. “Open your gift right now.” As son as you hear the words leave his lips you knew he had seen the gift. Jungwon had told you to wait to open your gift as well, so you grab the box sitting next to you on your bed along with a box cutter. “Why all the sudden Jungwon?” You ask out of genuine curiosity. “Dont ask questions and open it fast”

What you don’t know is jungwon is on the other side of the phone, sitting in his desk chair hand on his throbbing cock that’s poking through the hole of his sweats. He gently palms himself waiting on you to get to your gift, your photos in his hand as he does so, biting down on his lip.

You finally get the box open and you pull out another box…you turn it around and your eyes widen as you see what this is “Jungwon” you say with a seductive tone “Use it rn. It already has batteries in it, I wanna hear and see” he says this in a very stern and demanding tone, the one that really turned you on. You don’t hesitate to do what he says, switching the call over to face time you set your phone up right in front of your bed so he can see everything. You open the toy, baby pink silicone vibrator with a sucking attachment, you bite your lip at the sight knowing this is the exact one you asked for. You slip your shirt off revealing your bare tits to him shaking them in the camera to taunt him. You see him lean back a bit more, his top teeth digging into his bottom lip “God you’re so fucking sexy” the words slip from his lips as you’re now turned around shimmying off your juicy sweats, revealing your baby pink and black thong with a bow on the top, his favorites. He lets out a deep groan stroking himself faster. “Lay down, push your panties to the side ass up. Let me see” you do as he says laying on your stomach pushing your ass into the air, slipping your pointer finger to your core to push your panties to the side revealing your lips to him. “Finger yourself for me” he grunts out breathy. With no hesitation you push your pointer and middle into your core moving your fingers in and out pushing your ass in the air more from the pleasure. You hear wet slopping stroking from your phone, slow and steady as you hear Jungwon panting, “Lay on your back, spread your legs and use your toy. Now.” His breath shaky yet stern, as told you lay on your back placing pillows underneath your head so you can see Jungwon, you bring the toy to your heat testing the settings finding one you liked. You insert the toy moaning in pleasure as it vibrates against your walls, the other part sucking on your clit rips a cry from your throat “FUCK” your eyes shut tight as you’re not used to the feeling. “Good girl, now imagine that’s me rubbing on your clit as my cock is buried in you” You can hear his strokes becoming faster and sloppier, the wet sounds sending shivers down your spine imagining his cock buried deep inside you.

Jungwons pov:

Seeing you in this position is sending him spiraling, he’s panting thinking about your walls enveloping his cock, his tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog in heat. His vision of your legs spread using the toy he bought you puts a burning pit in his stomach, one he tried to ignore. “Jagiyah flip over let me see it from another angel arasso?” He watched you through the camera as you agree with “Yes sir” flipping onto your stomach pushing your ass up in the air once again, inserting it from that position. This sends Jungwon over the edge, he wanted so bad to be the one pounding your pussy from that angle, wanting to take handfuls of your ass. “Fuck baby, I love seeing you like this, I wish my dick was in your pussy right now, pounding the shit out of your ass, making you cry into the sheets” his head being thrown back as his strokes get faster but still keeping his eyes on the camera not removing them for a second.

Your pov:

This position sending you over the edge as well, the toy hitting you in just the right spot, that’s not even what’s sending you spiraling, it’s jungwons voice, his voice makes your head spin, his words painting across your brain, you really are imagining him pounding you and making you feel this good. Tears painting your pretty face coating your satin sheets that your head is buried into. Your basically slamming your hips into your toy trying to feel every vibration. The sounds coming from the other side of the phone making your stomach twitch. “Jungwonah can I cum” you ask politely nearing your high. “Beg for it princess” and you do just that. “Daddy please, let me cum for you, I’ll cum on your pretty cock” this sends Jungwon spinning, whimpers leaving his throat as he tries to form sentences. “That’s a good girl, yes cum on my cock pretty girl” his hips bucking into his hand your moans and screams ripping from your throat his name on your tongue as your reach your high, so overstimulating yet so satisfying, tears falling from the corners of your eyes, Hearing Jungwons cries from the phone, his eyes shut stars painted across his vision as he bucks his hips one last time shooting his seed up onto his stomach, his head thrown back, onto the back of the chair. Bucking his hips into his hands once again getting out every last drop cries ripping from his throat your name also painted on his tongue. You would’ve never known you were 7,000 miles away.

Breathing heavy, chests rising and falling as you both come down from your highs, your eyes open up again looking at Jungwon on your phone screen, sitting in his chair. His sweaty hair falling onto his forehead, pieces sticking in just the right places. Your eyes sparkle seeing him falling in love all over again. You’re now laid flat on the bed not moving an inch the words manage to slip from your lips “Jungwon, I love you so much” he hears this, opening his eyes tilting his head to look at you through his camera, a smile painted on his face, kitten teeth on display “I love you more princess” “You’re so fucking gorgeous” he says through heavy breaths.

He finally sits up, after cleaning himself off adjusting his sweats back into position. He sits and watches you clean yourself up too. You get yourself situated as well placing your clothes back on and sitting yourself at the end of your bed your phone now in your hand. “Well that toy really works holy shit” you say to him kind of giggling inbetween. “I knew it would, next time it’ll be my cock, but let me use it on you next time I see you” he says biting his lip at you and toying with his hair. “Speaking of when are you coming to see me” you pout at him giving him puppy dog eyes. “Well actually….My flight leaves tomorrow, Happy Valentine’s Day!!”

Notice: REBLOGS LIKES AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!! THANK YOU FOR TAKING THE TIME TO READ MY STUFF!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: i'm so tired.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Sy’s hand crawls up your thigh and his fingertips edge beneath the hem of your skirt. You squirm, his arm keeping you on top of him as fear surges up your spine. His heat is unbearable. It roils off of him with his hunger as his touch creeps higher beneath the fabric. 

His groans are like growls. He’s like an animal, he’s ready to devour you. You squeak, nearly choking on his invading tongue, and your teeth clamp down. You quickly recoil as the shock of your bite makes him grunt and his arms fall away from you. You back off of him, crashing down onto the floor as he covers his mouth with a large hand. 

Oh no. He sits up as you shakily push yourself up to your knees. You pout at him as his eyes flare. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you squeak. You genuinely didn’t. “I couldn’t... breathe.” 

“Mm,” his cheeks dimple as he grimaces and taps the tip of his tongue, “mmph, sweetie,” he grits out, “it’s... okay.” 

“I’m really sorry,” you repeat. 

“Come here,” he reaches for you as you stand, “I should be sorry, sweetie,” he drags you closer as your feet drag reluctantly, “I was too much. How about you...” he runs his calloused palms down your arms and leads your hands to his shoulders. “take control.” 

“Control?” You gulp as your eyes go wide. “Um, Sy,” you sniffle, “what... what if I’m not ready?” 

“It’s alright,” he coaxes as he puts his large hands on your hips, framing them as he urges you closer, “we don’t gotta get crazy.” 

He draws you closer, until your forced into his lap. He sits back against the couch as he tilts his head up. Your grasp his shoulders tight to keep yourself steady. He purrs at your grip on him. He bites his lip as his blue eyes gleam up at you. 

“Just take it slow,” he rasps as he reaches to your hands again, moving them over his bear chest. You feel the hair there, softer than your expect, and the firmness of the muscle beneath, the heat radiating from him. “Mmm...” 

His hands drift away from yours and he tickles along your sides. He pokes the tips of his thumbs above your skirt and slips beneath the hem of the tank top. Slowly, he rolls the fabric up your torso and you shudder. You pull your arms back and fold them defensively to keep him from lifting the shirt past your chest. 

“Sy, please--” you beg. 

“I just wanna see you, sweetie,” he purrs, “you’re so gorgeous, huh?” 

“I said I’m not ready,” you keep your arms crossed. 

He sighs and lifts his head complete. He looks at you, a line in his forehead. Your heart hitches at the shadow in his pupils. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 

“Not ready?” He scoffs and tugs the shirt again, “what’re you being shy for? It’s just skin, sweetie.” 

He yanks and you nearly fall backwards with his force. You throw your arms out to keep from toppling back and he catches you with a hand around your back. He holds you up as he peels the shirt higher, revealing your pure white bra. A brutish noise escapes him. 

“Mmm, you’re beautiful, sweetie,” he murmurs as his hand cups one side of your chest, “perfect, just like I knew.” 

You grab his hand and try to push it away, “Sy--” 

“You saved all this for me,” he snarls and leans forward, “I waited so long for you too, sweetie.” 

“Sy,” your voice peaks as you grab his thick wrist, “you said-- just looking--” 

“I can’t help myself,” he grits as he kneads you through your bra, your resistance futile against his easy strength. You feel a shift under you, the prodding of his impatience. “You’re just so gorgeous.” 

“Please,” your voice crackle, “please, you’re scaring me. I said... I said I’m not ready.” 

“Gimme a kiss, sweetie,” he demands, “come on. Just a kiss.” 

“Sy--” 

He leans towards you, crowding you as his hand slips up your back, pushing you towards him. You’re smothered against him, lips brushing his thick beard before they find his. He’s just as bold and relentless as before. His tongue smears over your lips and forces its way into your mouth. You let out a strangled noise. 

He growls hungrily as he kisses you. You can only let him as you brace his chest and whine. His hand trails down and dips beneath your skirt. He delves under the fabric and spreads his fingers across one side of your ass. He purrs as his lips drag across your cheek. His beard is prickly against you as his breath dampens your skin. 

“You know what got me through, baby?” He rasps as he gropes you and forces your pelvis snug to his. You can feel him. He’s... excited. “I’d just think of you... like this...” He snarls and nuzzles along your neck, the thick hair around his neck poking you as he nips, “sometimes other ways.” 

He puffs against your throat, kissing and biting as he rocks your hips against him. The front of your panties are firmly against his rigid length. You sink your nails into his chest, trying to push off of him. It’s a powerless fight. 

“I always like to think of you on top,” he continues, his nose tickling along your skin, “but then I’d take over. Roll you onto your back... cause I need you so bad.” 

He flips you suddenly. You cry out as you land on the cushions, bouncing beneath him as he stays between your legs. He pins you, his head bowed to your neck still as he dotes with his mouth. His fingertips trace the edge of you panties, pulling the across your ass to bare one cheek. He feels along the curve of your bottom, lingering just short of your cunt. 

He rolls his pelvis, pressing against you as he ruts. The layers of fabric feel thinner as he rocks, puffing and panting as the friction clusters between you. You beat on his shoulders and writhe, turning your head out as you kick your foot into the cushion. 

“Sy, stop, please... you’re hurting me,” you plead, “Sy...” 

He doesn’t listen. You don’t know if he can even hear you. He’s so wrapped up in his animalistic pleasure, rocking and growling, nails scratching, teeth pinching. You roll your eyes back against the hot flow behind them. This can’t be happening. 

It isn’t the worst he could do. That thought turns your blood cold, and yet it’s horrible. It’s terrifying how easily he’s bowled you over. How he’s doing whatever he wants and you don’t have a choice but to let him. Just like he strolled into your life, he will do the same as he invades every part of it. 

“Baby, I hurt too,” he purrs, “I hurt so bad for you. Over there... in the shit...” he lets out gritty breaths between words, “I only wanted this... got through it... for you...” 

“Sy, stop, please,” you beg, “I’m scared. It hurts--” 

“Ain’t even in you yet,” he kisses along your neck and chin, “it’s okay, sweetie, you’re okay. You know I’ll take care of you.” 

He lifts his head and presses his nose against yours, his forehead flush with yours. His teeth clench as a low drone rises from his throat and he closes his eyes. His motion is almost frantic as the couch shakes beneath you. If this is what it’s like now, what will it be like when he does more? 

Your body locks up at the thought. When, not if. He’s as much as said it. He’s going to go all the way. He’s going to take all of you. He shifts and kisses you again, suffocating you as his breath turns rampant and he ruts hard against your pelvis. 

He whimpers and shakes, squeezing your ass until the crescents of his nails bite into your skin. He gives several sharp thrusts, enough to make your bones ache, then drops his weight onto you. His mouth parts from yours and he hangs his head. You are crushed beneath him as he pants down at the cushion beside your ear. 

Your arms are bent beneath him, your hands balled in fists, your joints locked up as you splay around him. He groans and a sob bubbles up your throat. You can’t hold it back any longer. You tremble and turn your head out. 

“Get off,” you snivel, “please, get off of me... get off--” 

“Baby, I didn’t hurt you,” he plants his elbow and raises his head, keeping you trapped under him, “why ya cryin’? We’re just having some fun?” 

“I said... I said... n-no,” you babble, “please, I c-can’t breathe. Get off.” 

“What’s your problem?” He furrows his brow, “I didn’t do nothing but play around. You said you’re not ready--” 

“And you-- you kept going--” 

“I didn’t fuck ya,” he snarls and shakes his head, “not like I should.” 

“Sy,” you squeal, “please--” 

“Don’t you be goin’ on and such. I ain’t been bad to y--” 

“Get off!” You cry out loud and push against his chest, wriggling madly, “Get--” 

“Argh!” He shoves off of you, plummeting over the edge as he lands on the floor.  

You sit up, heart racing, as he reaches back to cradle his rear. Aika snaps at him and her lips curl as she snarls. He fends her off with his forearm firmly against her neck as he holds her at bay. Her teeth are long and menacing, only a few inches from his face. 

“Aika, heel,” he commands, “what’re ya doin’? Aika.”  

He issues an order in a language you don’t recognise. The dog lets up, sitting as she shuts her maw, though the low noise continues in her chest. You stare down at him as he hangs his head and exhales. 

“The two of ya,” he turns himself over to his knees and stands, “actin’ up.” 

“Sy, I was scared. You hurt me--” 

“I didn’t,” he insists, “I was nice.” 

“I told you no--” 

“It ain’t like that,” he turns to you, stepping closer, and you push yourself against the couch. He bends and points a finger at you as you wilt away from him. He looks different. He looks... distant. “I’m your captain. You listen when I give you an order.” 

“Sy?” 

“Captain Syverson,” he barks in your face. 

You whimper and brace the couch as you try to sink further into it, “I... Captain?” 

He glares you down, his pupils dilated and desolate, the blue irises barely rimming the darkness. You gulp. He is absolutely terrifying. That vein in his forehead bulges and his jaw ticks. You blink as your lip quivers. 

“I’m sorry, Captain,” you squeak out. 

His brows arch and he searches your face. He twitches suddenly and stands straight, hands to his hips as he lets his chest deflate. He shakes his head and grumbles. 

“What’d ya call me?” He sniffs and rubs his nose. 

“Captain--” 

“Sweetie,” he scoffs, “now why you callin’ me that?” 

You frown. What? But he... 

“God, it’s hot in here,” he mutters as he turns and wipes the sweat from his brow.  

With his back to you, he pauses and looks down. His hand drops to his shorts and he grunts. Aika sits with straight posture as she watches him with intent eyes. Her obedience is too deeply-wrought to be overridden. You can’t blame her. You won’t dare defy this man again, not after that. 

“You hot, sweetie?” 

You watch his muscled back. The thick cording of his broad figure is another reminder of his power over you. Your chest knots and you feel again as if he is on top of you, suffocating you. 

“A little,” you answer, making yourself talk before he can think too long. 

“Mm,” he turns and pushes his hands over his buzz cut, “I need a cold shower.” 

“Okay,” you mutter, “um... I can... I can get you some water or... there’s popsicles.” 

“Heh,” he snorts and turns to face you, “you’re so sweet.” He smiles and nears you. You fight not to cower as you stare up at him, “how’d I get so lucky, baby?” 

“I...” you blink and shake your head helplessly, “I don’t know.” 

“You just sit pretty,” he winks and bends, reaching down to fix your skirt, pulling it down your thigh and letting his fingertips brush against you. “Just like you are.” 

He backs away and you stare after him. Aika lowers herself down to lay on her stomach, her head between her paws. You glance down at her as her owner’s shadow disappears behind you. Her dark eyes follow him. Even she looks scared. 

[gatheringbones]

[“When I first came out as a lesbian in 1971, identity politics were so pervasive that this modality didn’t even have a name; it was simply the sea in which every queer sank or swam. One of the key assumptions of identity politics is that we can reveal in one grand social drama of coming out the absolute inner core of truth that makes up one’s “real self.” Coming out is seen as a process like peeling away the layers of an onion or the petals of an artichoke. Identity politics also assumes that your political allies will have to be people who share your identity because nobody else could understand your oppression or really be committed to fighting it; that people who share some aspects of your sexuality but not others are either afraid to come out or traitors to the cause; that it’s not possible for someone to change the way they label themselves without being dishonest or cowardly.

Now I see queer politics quite differently. I know from personal experience that I can’t trust somebody just because their sexual preferences or their gender identity resembles my own. I know we can make allies who are indignant about injustice even if it does not impinge directly upon their own lives. I see coming out as a lifelong process that proceeds as I become ready to understand and accept aspects of myself which bear lessons I need to learn at different points in my life. Each new coming out does not recreate me as a whole new person; I think some people view it this way, but this is crazy-making and too compartmentalized for me. It’s more like being able to see each and every spoke of the wheel that makes up my being, or like opening up and furnishing another new room of my soul.

I wonder what coming out would be like if we were not forced into these defensive positions of tribal loyalty and us-them thinking. What if we could say to a friend who was embarking on a new coming out, “I love you, and so I must also love this new aspect of yourself. Because I care about you I want to know more about it. Let’s both learn from this.” Instead, what usually happens is a great deal of indignation, betrayal, and rejection. I think this is because a person who is coming out threatens the identities of former acquaintances, partners, and coworkers. If someone else’s identity can be fluid or change radically, it threatens the boundaries around our own sense of self. And if someone can flout group norms enough to apply for membership in another group, we often feel so devalued that we hurry to excommunicate that person. This speaks to our own discomfort with the group rules. The message is: I have put up with this crap for the sake of group membership, and if you won’t continue to do the same thing, you have to be punished.

We seem to have forgotten that the coming-out process is brought into being by stigma. Without sexual oppression, coming out would be an entirely different process. In its present form, coming out is reactive. While it is brave and good to say “No” to the Judeo-Christian “Thou Shalt Nots,” we have allowed our imaginations to be drawn and quartered by puritans. I believe that most of the divisions between human sexual preferences and gender identities are artificial. We will never know how diverse or complex our needs in these realms might be until we are free of the threat of the thrown rock, prison cell, lost job, name-calling, shunning, and forced psychiatric “treatment.”

I do not think human beings were meant to live in hostile, fragmented enemy camps, forever divided by suspicion and prejudice. If coming out has not taught us enough compassion to see past these divisions, and at least catch a vague glimpse of a more unified world, what is the use of coming out at all? I have told this story, not to say that anybody else should follow me or imitate me, but to encourage everyone to keep an open mind and an open heart when change occurs. The person who needs tolerance and compassion during a major transformation may be your best friend, your lover, or your very self. Bright blessings to you on the difficult and amazing path of life.”]

patrick califa, from layers of the onion, spokes of the wheel, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[icarusignite]

An Eye for an Eye Ch.5

MASTERLIST / ao3 / wattpad

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC

"An eye for an eye. A brother for a brother."

Summary: In return for his terrible crime, the kinslayer's wife gives him an equally terrible gift. A gift with a vow; an eye for an eye, a brother for a brother, a debt to be repaid in full with blood.

Word Count: 4.9k

The room was still cloaked in the deep embrace of midnight, the silence broken only by the occasional whisper of a breeze outside, when Daenys stirred in her sleep, a low rasp escaping her parched lips as she slowly emerged from the clutches of a restless dream she could not recall. The air in the chamber felt thick, suffused with an unspoken tension that seemed to mirror the turmoil within her.

As her heavy eyelids fluttered open, she winced at the stabbing pain in her temples, a relentless throbbing that pulsed in rhythm with the beating of her heart. The room swayed gently around her, and she felt a strange stickiness on her cheeks as she blinked away the remnants of tears that had painted trails down her face. Her vision was blurred, as if the world had decided to don a hazy veil, and it took her a few moments to gather her bearings. 

Then the sensation of a weight across her waist caught her attention, and when she turned her gaze downward to the source, there he lay, Aemond Targaryen, clinging to her as if she were a lifeline. His eyepatch had been carelessly discarded, revealing the vulnerability of the one who usually bore the mantle of strength. Moonlight spilled through the jagged maw of the window, casting an ethereal glow upon his tousled hair and smooth features, and even in slumber, his face was etched with lines of worry, a reflection of the troubles that plagued him past his waking hours.

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm and Daenys resisted the urge to trace the soft glow that highlighted the shadows beneath his eyes. The arm that wasn't wrapped protectively around her waist rested gently on her neck, his fingers entwining with the tendrils of her hair, while his head nestled into the crook of her throat, finding comfort in the curve of her shoulder.

It made Daenys feel sick. His touch burned in a way that made her want to peel off her skin and leave it out to shrivel and crackle in the sun until she was a version of herself he had never laid hands on. 

Determined not to disturb her husband's peaceful slumber, she began the delicate task of extricating herself from his hold. With the utmost care, she shifted her body ever so slightly, attempting to loosen the grip of his arms. However, as she maneuvered, Aemond unconsciously tightened his hold, responding with a reflexive sigh that hinted at the reluctance to release his grasp on her.

For a moment, Daenys paused, her heart pounding with trepidation. The moonlight continued to weave its silver tapestry around them, the room shrouded in the stillness of the night. She took a deep breath, determined to continue her discreet escape.

Undeterred by Aemond's unconscious resistance, Daenys resumed her slow, methodical movement. She carefully peeled his arm from around her waist, feeling the tension in his muscles as he unwittingly clung to her. The sigh that escaped him seemed almost like a lament, the complaint of a man reluctant to let go of an anchor during a storm.

Step by step, she managed to slide away from him, the silk sheets whispering softly in response to her cautious retreat until she finally slipped out, her feet landing on the broken glass that littered the room. She held in the pained whine that threatened to escape her lips and surveyed her surroundings carefully. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for until her gaze settled on the dagger strapped to Aemond's belt. The weapon seemed to beckon to her, and without thinking Daenys found herself reaching for it. 

With a deft hand, she unsheathed the dagger, its metallic rasp muffled. The cold touch of the blade sent a shiver down her spine and she held it tightly, the weight of the weapon grounding her as she considered her next move.

She wondered if this was the same dagger Aemond had offered up to her brother. The very same dagger that would have rid Luke of his eye. 

Daenys glanced back at her sleeping husband, her hands moving unconsciously again and she didn't even know she had moved until the wicked blade was below Aemond's chin. It would be so easy. One smooth movement, one whispered hush with no one but the moon as her witness and then it'd be over. She could leave him bleeding into his own sheets, in the same bed where he had whispered all the lies to her. She could be rid of him. 

Something hungry inside her begged for that crimson fountain to bubble forth and she hazarded pressing the weapon closer, its razor-sharp edge hovering just above his throat. She could almost feel the warmth of his skin beneath the cold steel, a stark contrast to the iciness that gripped her heart. The blade traced an invisible line, too close and too far apart all at once, the distance between two lovers, the distance between a promise and a lie. 

Then he said her name. 

Not in the coherent syllables of a fully conscious man, but a whispered invocation of her name as a desperate reach from the recesses of his slumber.

Daenys placed a hand over his seeing eye, and the furrow in his brow seemed to melt away at her touch. She could carry out the deed now, in the quiet of the night, and he would not even see it coming. His eyes would fly open, only to be met with an abyss of darkness, a void that would swallow both sight and consciousness.

Darkness and then nothing.

It would be a mercy. 

Then she pulled back with a sigh. He did not deserve such a mercy. He did not deserve such a painless death of confusion and darkness. No, he deserved the spectre of fear that must have haunted Luke. She refused to hand Aemond over to the Stranger so easily. She would make him beg for it when the time came. 

But now was not that time, and she could not risk awakening the entirety of the Red Keep for the sake of the sadistic desire that unfurled beneath her ribs. 

For now, she had to go home and pledge her allegiance to the one true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. 

 Still clutching the dagger tightly, she tiptoed across the chamber, her feet seeking refuge in the spaces between scattered belongings, avoiding the treacherous shards of the shattered debris. Despite her meticulous efforts, the floor betrayed her intentions, and a faint trail of deformed carmine footsteps marked her silent journey across the room.

Her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the door handle, and to her surprise, it yielded effortlessly beneath her touch. Turning one last time to ensure her husband's continued slumber, Daenys cast a glance over her shoulder. 

Then she scowled and stepped outside, flinching when her bruised soles made contact with the cold marble outside. 

"Princess?"

The knight from earlier stood sentinel near the doorway, an unexpected obstacle in her path. Ser Percival, if she recalled correctly, the very same man who had shown her some semblance of kindness when she had been ordered to the Queen's chambers to be a part of Aegon's cruel joke, and if she tried hard enough she could remember him asking Aemond to let her return home. She could not say how much of the latter was true though, as much of the events that followed were a blur in her memory, clouded over by her own consciousness.  

"Is everything all right, princess?" Ser Percival inquired, his voice gentle.

Daenys nodded hastily, panic tightened her chest as she let her eyes silently plead with her captor to let her continue her escape undetected. Before she could slip away, however, the knight's gauntleted hand closed firmly around her wrist.

"Forgive me, my lady, but you cannot leave. It would be against my orders, and I'd find myself in grave trouble."

Daenys, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes flickering nervously toward the open door of Aemond's chambers, praying that he remained undisturbed in his slumber. Ser Percival, following her gaze, frowned in understanding but maintained his grip on her wrist.

"Pleas—please, I must go," she implored, her voice a quiet plea laced with desperation. Her fingers, concealed around the hilt of the dagger behind her back, tightened instinctively. She wished not to resort to violence, but she would do it if pushed any further. 

The knight's gaze softened, a fleeting expression of pity in his eyes. "I understand, princess, but I cannot allow it. I am sworn to keep watch, and letting you go would betray...the king."

Daenys's eyes hardened and she wrenched her hand away from him aggressively, "I would cut your tongue out for being a traitor. Be grateful I do not have more time."

When she turned around to depart, he did not stop her a second time, only watching apologetically as he heard the young prince stir awake in his chambers behind him.

Aemond Targaryen was immediately aware of the absence of the familiar weight beside him, and panic surged through him, a cold realization that his wife was no longer in the bed where he had last seen her before drifting off to sleep. When his hand strayed to his waist where his scabbard was empty of his dagger his heart dropped. 

In an instant, he bolted upright, disoriented by the abrupt awakening. His seeing eye darted around the chamber, searching for any sign of her, hoping to see her pacing agitated form. When the truth sank in, a surge of urgency propelled him to the door, and the knight stationed outside looked up with a start as he burst through.

"Where is she?" the prince demanded, his voice edged with a mix of fear and anger. The knight's eyes widened, and he struggled to find the words to convey what had just transpired.

"The princess... she just..." 

There was a stammer in the knight's voice, and he was unable to meet Aemond's intense gaze. It was not often that the one-eyed prince walked about without his eyepatch on, and his singular gaze was strikingly unsettling, making it difficult to look at him for too long. 

"I will not ask again. Where. Is. My. Wife?" he enunciated the words slowly, as if speaking to a fool, his hands coming up to grab the trembling man in front of him by the shoulders. 

"She...she left, my prince."

"Left? Left where? What do you mean? It was your job to watch over her! Where is she?"

Ser Percival, caught between duty and the fury in Aemond's eyes, gestured vaguely in the direction opposite to where Daenys had gone. Still, the prince's sharp gaze scrutinized both sides of the hallway and, to his horror, he noticed the faint bloody footprints that marked her departure. The realization hit him like a physical blow.

"What happened to her?" Aemond growled, his fingers digging into the knight's armour. "Why is there blood? Answer me!"

Now pinned against the wall, Ser Percival struggled to maintain composure, "I don't know, my prince. She just left. I tried to stop her, but she insisted on going. I... I don't know anything about the blood."

"You tried to stop her? And you couldn't have tried harder? You, a knight of the realm, could not stop that wraith of a girl? Seven hells, and you're expected to protect my brother the king?"

If fear hadn't laid siege to his mind, Percival might have scoffed. Wraith of a girl? The princess was a little more than that. Something in her voice reminded him of another who once roamed these halls. He never thought he'd hear that voice again, the dominating tone of the Commander of the City Watch coming from the mouth of the silver-haired princess, and for a moment it was as if Percival's old mentor had returned to life, if only to scorn him for being a traitor. Perhaps that is why he had let her go in the first place, as some sort of penance. 

Aemond's eyes flared with anger, his mind racing with the possibilities of what could have transpired in his absence. Without another word, he released the knight and stormed down the corridor, following the bloody trail left by his fleeing wife. His mind threw his way an onslaught of worst-case scenarios. Was she still sick in the head from her fever? Had she thrown herself off some balcony or slit her throat? Or was the dagger meant for someone else? Would he find her standing above Aegon's bed, or worse, his mother's or Helaena's, her hands and his dagger drenched with their blood? He would not put it past her. 

He wondered what state he'd find her in. The version of her who dug craters into her arms as if they were graves, whose eyes contained a glint of mania that spoke of impossible actions. Or the version who would plead and cry and allow him to hold her once he finally reached her. 

He knew which version he preferred. He knew which one of them was easier to subdue. 

Aemond pursued Daenys's trail to a painting on the wall, and he immediately knew where she was headed, even as the footsteps ended with a faint smattering of red in the darkness. It was a path well traversed by both of them, for late-night escapades in Flea Bottom, and he quickened his step. 

Eventually, he arrived at a secluded courtyard, where in the dim light, he discerned a figure—limping, dragging one foot behind, and cloaked in the shadows.

Approaching cautiously, Aemond's heart ached at the sight of his wife. She really was a wraith of a girl here, her unbound hair a spill of starlight down her back, and her silhouette, fragile and ghostly. Before he could take another step, she whirled around, a dagger clutched in her hands, poised as a barrier between them.

"Daenys," Aemond called out, his voice gentle and laced with concern. "What are you doing out here? The hour is late and it's freezing. Let me take you back to bed."

Daenys, her eyes hollow and distant, stared at him through the dim light. The dagger remained a silent sentinel between them, the one-eyed prince watched it cautiously, not knowing who she'd use it against.

"You're hurt, Daenys. Let me help you. I'll carry you back if I have to. Just please...let us return."

She backed away, her movements cautious and guarded. The moonlight danced on the blade in her hand, casting glimmers of silver across her face. A fleeting smile crossed her lips, but her eyes remained distant, as if she were standing at the edge of a precipice. The fever that had gripped her earlier seemed to have subsided, yet an unnatural flush lingered on her skin. Aemond, sensing the fragility of her mind, extended a hand toward her.

"Daenys give me the weapon. You'll hurt yourself."

Daenys's gaze, still clouded and enigmatic, flickered between the dagger and Aemond's outstretched hand. 

"You know I wondered if you'd come after me," she finally spoke, her voice low and contemplative. "I even hoped for it."

"You wanted me to come for you? Well, you wanted me, so here I am. Let us go back then."

"No that's not why I wanted you here."

"Then...why?"  Aemond's brow furrowed, not understanding the game she played.

"I'm not entirely sure."

Daenys paused. She was leaving here tonight, that much was certain. She had made up her mind about it and there was nothing that could keep her from it. She had hoped to slip away unnoticed, but she couldn't deny the thrill that shot through her bloodstream to see her husband's cautious form trailing after her like a shadow. He was asking for it at this point. If he laid a hand on her, she would end him, but if he didn't...then well, it remained to be seen. The night hungered for bloodshed, and perhaps she'd oblige, although she hadn't yet decided who would make the sacrifice. 

She raised the dagger, her smile mirroring the sharp edge of the blade, and her husband instinctively raised his hands placatingly.

"Daenys, put the knife down," he implored, his voice a gentle but urgent plea. 

"Do not worry, lord husband," she murmured. "It's not for you."

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest, the dread of the unknown tightening its grip. What did she mean? Was she planning to end her own life; did she wish to hurt him by making him watch?

"Who is it for, then?" 

"Would you like for it to be for you?"

"I-No, that's not..."

Daenys placed the dagger against her collarbone, and Aemond blanched. Amused by his reaction she cocked her head to the side, as if contemplating a profound question.

"What would you do if I said it was for me?" 

Aemond's seeing eye widened, the realization sinking in like a heavy stone in his stomach. He took another step closer and the courtyard seemed to narrow around them. 

"Why would you even think of doing something like that?"

"I don't know. Why would you think of doing something like what you did?"

She trailed the dagger up the column of her throat, and then further up until it rested just above her left eye. The one-eyed prince's breath hitched, and something inside of him knew where this was going. He should have surged forward, he should have wrestled the weapon away from her, he should have slammed her head against the stone wall behind her, if only to stop her next actions. 

All he was capable of doing at that moment though, was standing still, waiting with baited breath. 

"You know I thought about it. I thought about ending myself right here in front of you. Letting you watch as I bled to death here. I wondered if that would hurt you half as much as you have hurt me. But that would be no fun at all, would it? And it would make no difference to you."

She took a deep breath, the slight waver in her lungs being the first sign of real emotion she had shown all evening. 

"And besides...why should I die? Why should I be the one to," — another shudder— "why should I be the one to die for your crimes? I have so much left to do, so why should I do you the favour of ending myself, when you don't give the slightest damn about me?"

"That's not true. You know that that's not true. You are the one person I care about most," Aemond was pleading now. In fact, he might have sunk to his knees in front of her, the way she had for him, but there was still too much pride left in him. 

"Liar. You are nothing but a fucking liar."

"Daenys pleas-you aren't well...let us..."

"An eye for an eye was it?" her words burned with fury but they remained calm, nonchalant as if she was merely discussing the weather. "Well then, did you get the eye you so desired? Did you pluck out my dead brother's eye? Did that bring you peace husband?" 

Aemond was taken aback. Is that what she thought of him then? Someone who would desecrate a corpse like that —not that there was a corpse to begin with. Someone that heartless and cruel? But he supposed he had given her all the reasons to believe him so.

"No! Of course not. Why would I...you have to know it was an accident. I would never..."

"Pity. If you had taken what you were owed, then perhaps you might have given the rest of him to me. Perhaps then there'd be something of him to burn."

"You know I would never do such a thing. To violate a corpse-"

"Says the man who has no trouble at all violating the living. Tell me, is there a greater violation than murder?"

The one-eyed prince was rendered speechless, so his wife continued with a long-suffering sigh. 

"The fact of the matter remains then. Your debt has not been paid. We shall have to remedy that. If it is an eye you want, it's an eye you shall get."

Daenys's subsequent grin had an unhinged quality to it and for the first time in his life, Aemond Targaryen found himself afraid of his wife. Perhaps equal parts afraid of her and afraid for her.

"I don't want anything," he whispered, shaking his head. "I don't want anyone's eyes. Daenys please you're scaring me."

"Ah, that's a shame. The debt must be paid after all. Unpaid debts lead to deadly grudges, as you probably already know."

Before Aemond could respond, before he could move a single muscle, she had already lifted the dagger to press deeper into her skin. In the brief second before her skin split, she thought of Luke. She thought of his pale lifeless body floating in the sea, his empty fingers reaching out but never holding. She imagined he'd look something like Lord Caswell, whose bloated swaying form hung from the stone arch behind Aemond. 

The dead were all the same, in that they were dead. 

Some things were worth spilling blood for. Some people were worth bleeding for. 

The blade left a neat, horrifying slash across her left eye, tracing a line from brow to cheekbone. Daenys bit her lip, stifling the instinctive shriek that begged to escape her throat. Aemond, recoiled with horror, feeling the spectre of pain that unfolded before him almost viscerally.

A thin line of crimson welled from the fresh wound, staining her pale skin, but she was resolute, determined to bear her suffering silently, just as Lucerys had. She would carry her silence to her grave, just as her brother had. Still, the twitch in her lips belied her. The dagger dropped from her trembling fingers, echoing against the courtyard stones, and without hesitation, she drove her hands into the bloody aftermath.

Blood gushed over her face, a torrent of red that reminded Aemond so much of his injury. He watched in numb shock as Daenys pried apart the torn skin and drew out her eye, the macabre appendage trailing a bloody root. She cradled it for a moment in her hands as if one might cradle a newborn babe, and though her other eye leaked a steady stream of tears, her face remained expressionless. 

Aemond was jolted from his initial paralysis when she walked forward to press the disembodied thing into his shaking hands. 

"I always did say I would have given you one of my own, you only had to ask," Daenys's whispered voice was strained as if it took all her remaining strength to keep it steady. "I would have given it to you with my blessing and a kiss."

She grabbed his jaw, her fingers leaving red smears on the prince's chin. Then she pressed a kiss to his frozen lips, staining them too. She tasted of blood, and although her actions were smooth, precise, her hatred felt unfamiliar and hard. Something within her had torn loose. She wanted to devour him. She wanted to chew him up and spit him out so he resembled the mass he cradled so protectively in his hands. 

There was no time for that now. She could feel her consciousness slipping, feel her resolve crumbling as more of her flowed out of the gaping wound in her face. If she passed out here, then everything would be for nought, and she'd never make it back home. 

"I-I never asked for it."

"You never asked for it, but now you have it."

With a curse and a kiss. 

"Here's your debt repaid in full Aemond. An eye for an eye."

"I'm sorry, gods I'm so sorry," Aemond's eye filled with tears, the one that could shed tears anyway. 

He had lost his right eye, and she had given him her left. Standing side by side, they might have made a whole person even. He could still feel it, when she had sliced into herself, he had felt the sharpness of his nephew's blade and for a few short moments, he was ten again, except this time there was no thrill of riding Vhagar for the first time humming in his blood. Only guilt and horror. 

"Oh, Aemond. Valzȳrys."

The prince's heart clenched at the sound of the words that spilled from his wife's lips. A remnant of another time when they were full of love, but there was no affection in her eyes—eye, for only one of them was capable of emotion— now. There was only emptiness. 

"I have paid the debt my brother owed you. But rest assured, the blood of Lucerys will be repaid tenfold. A debt your entire family will pay. A brother for a brother if you will."

Aemond's blood ran cold.

"What are you insinuating?"

"I don't have to insinuate anything. I will kill your brother. A fair trade don't you think, a brother for a brother, especially now that you have my eye."

"I did not ask for your eye!" Aemond raised his voice in frustration. 

"And I did not ask for you to kill Lucerys... yet here we are."

"That was an-"

"Do not say accident, you fucking coward. At least own up to it. At least admit to your crime."

She turned around to leave, her tongue heavy and her eyelids heavier. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay on her feet. 

"You're leaving?"

Daenys scoffed, her voice barely audible now, "You expect me to stay in this prison then? Play house with the man who murdered my brother, pay my respects to his traitor brother and conniving mother? The family who stole my mother's birthright?"

Something in Aemond snarled at her insult toward his mother, or perhaps it was the panic that reared its head because she was leaving. She was finally leaving, just as his grandsire had warned him. She was going to abandon him. 

"You cannot leave. I am your lord husband. If I demanded it, you would have to stay," Aemond snapped. 

She could not leave him, she would not. Not her. Not the only thing in the world that he had for himself, the only good thing that had ever happened to him. The only thing his brother hadn't spoiled for him, although he supposed he had ruined it all by himself without any help.

"You really think you can make me stay, because what? The gods say that I must? Abide by your pathetic rules that bind wives to their husbands, slave to their every whim. I did not make vows of obedience to you. I do not have to listen to a word you say."

"No, please. Don't go. Don't leave me here," Aemond's tone shifted immediately. 

He inched forward faster now. Beseeching her to let him hold her. To let him keep her. He reached out to snag her forearm but she shook him off just as swiftly. Her skin was burning. She was burning. He could have held on harder, could have forced her but she had picked up his dagger again and he could not imagine where she'd embed it next. 

"Would you come then? If I asked you to abandon your family and support my mother's true claim, would you come with me," she meant to mock him, but something in her eyes implored him.

It was a chance. It would not absolve him of his sin, but she shared in his Kinslaying and if he bent the knee to her mother, then perhaps one day she might be able to forgive him, and forgive herself too. 

Aemond stayed silent, his jaw clenched, his outstretched hand retreating. That was the one thing he could not do. 

"I do not hold a candle to the flame you harbour for your family. Who was I to think that you would choose me."

The one-eyed prince frowned, a tear trickling down his face. 

Or I to think that you would choose me. 

He watched her limp away, her hand coming up to cup her face only when she had turned around, her back toward him. 

He let her go, and when she finally disappeared from view, his attention returned to the carnage he still clutched tightly in his hands. His anger, his panic, had made him ball his fists, and when he separated his fingers, he was relieved to find the bloody sphere still whole, the violet iris wide and unseeing. 

He finally sank to his knees, unable to keep down the surge of bile that rose in his throat, and burned his way out of his mouth, depositing the meagre contents of his stomach on the stone floor. 

The moon continued its silent vigil, casting a luminous embrace over the troubled prince as he heaved, still clutching the final remnant of what he had lost. 

He had always been a better knife than a person and now he had turned the girl he loved into a gaping wound. She hated him, but he knew he'd see her again. It was the law of the world, for a knife and a wound to seek each other out, because they spoke in a language of damage no one else did. 

A/N: likes/reblogs/comments are highly appreciated, would love to hear your thoughts <3 Comment to be added to the taglist

[absoluteminimum]

You mentioned that Minimus got hurt once because of the twins' shenanigans. How did that happen?

[hey so i don't know if you were expecting 900 words of fanfic in response but your ask inspired me to write longform for the first time in weeks so thanks]

When Ravage hears the commotion, his first thought is 'the twins'. This assumption is proven correct when Rumble and Frenzy come sprinting around the corner, laughing to one another. They run past Ravage, offering him little more than hurried waves as they flee the scene of their crime.

It is a routine so familiar it might as well be ritual.

Then comes the next part of the ritual, this one rather recent, but already rote: Minimus's voice, muffled by distance, attempting to placate whoever the twins have wronged.

It usually works. Most mecha give it up once the twins are out of sight, and Minimus's profuse apologies and completely unthreatening demeanor serves to soothe more egos than it inflames.

Ravage hears an enraged roar, followed by a yelp of alarm.

Well, slag, it isn’t working this time.

Ravage sets off towards the source of the noise at a brisk pace, breaking into a loping run when the sound of fists against tile splinters the air.

He finds Minimus in the communal washracks, backed into a corner by Sunstreaker.

The twins' 'prank' is immediately apparent: Sunstreaker's paint runs down his frame in thin, watery dribbles. They must have replaced his cleanser with paint thinner again.

"Hold still you slagger!" Sunstreaker is saying. "I'm gonna peel your fragging plating off!"

"Sir, this is quite an overreaction!"

Trust Minimus to sound merely indignant, even as he dodges Sunstreaker's attempt to snatch him with ease.

Ravage surveys the scene, bemused. Why hasn't Minimus run away already? Is he seriously still trying to reason with Sunstreaker?

Then Minimus sees Ravage. Those pointed ears of his perk up, his optics brighten in surprise.

Foolish mech. Ravage begins to cross the distance, claws digging into the grooves in the tile, but Minimus's distraction costs him. Ravage is too far away to stop Sunstreaker from grabbing him by the tail and yanking him into the air.

Minimus's tail was never meant to bear his weight, especially under stress. Ravage hears the faint pop of a dislocated joint. Minimus lets out a high pitched cry of pain.

Sunstreaker's shout of triumph gives way to another roar, this one pained, as Ravage's teeth sink into the delicate wiring of his wrist.

Minimus hits the ground with a clatter of plating and another yelp. Ravage lets go the moment he’s down.

"Frag! What the-"

"Back off, Sunstreaker." Ravage's growl reverberates off the washracks' tiled walls.

Sunstreaker hesitates. Ravage can see anger and rationality battling behind his optics: take out his fury on the turbofox and risk Ravage's wrath –and, by extension, Soundwave's– or let it go.

"Fine," Sunstreaker hisses. "But if I see those twins they're gonna get what's coming to 'em."

Ravage scoffs. "Be my guest."

Sunstreaker stomps off, still dripping watery yellow paint. No doubt he and his brother will be plotting their revenge. So long as it falls only on Frenzy and Rumble, Ravage doesn’t care.

He turns to Minimus and finds him already hauling himself to his paws, stumbling slightly when his tail fails to counterbalance him. Minimus grimaces but makes no sound.

“How the slag did they drag you into this?” Ravage asks.

Minimus shakes his head. “They told me they planned to fool with the temperature controls. I came along to make sure nothing got out of hand. It seems their trap on Sunstreaker was just about to spring when we arrived.”

He reeks of honesty. Foolish, gullible little mech.

Ravage sighs. “Let’s get you to Soundwave. He’s good enough at relocating joints.”

Minimus hesitates. Embarrassment reveals itself in the flick of his ears. “Must we?”

“It’s him or the medbay. Or Shockwave.”

Another flashing grimace. “Very well.”

Minimus’s usual sprightly trot is slowed by the drag of his tail upon the ground. Ravage slows his own pace to compensate, though Minimus still has to take two steps for each of Ravage’s leisurely strides.

When they reach the cohort’s quarters Soundwave greets them with an appropriate level of concern. Minimus brushes off Soundwave’s attentions, though Ravage can tell he’s somewhat flustered by it.

Minimus's repair passes quickly. Soundwave hasn't relocated a tail before (Ravage has never required such repairs) and Ravage ends up helping brace Minimus against the awkward angle. Minimus bleeps in pain when the joint finally slides back into place. His claws prick Ravage's plating.

Minimus expresses his thanks as awkwardly as he always does, sincere but clearly ashamed that he needed assistance in the first place.

Rumble and Frenzy are summoned. It's clear they know what they've been called about when they arrive. Soundwave rebukes them, as disappointed as he is sternly disapproving. They appear appropriately chastised– it is, after all, the first time their new companion has been hurt by the consequences of their actions.

Ravage watches all of this in amused silence, soon joined by the birds.

Laserbeak coaxes Minimus under his wing, crooning over and preening the crushed and dented panels on Minimus’s tail. Minimus suffers Laserbeak’s ministrations stoically, but there’s a glow to his optics and a sweetness in his scent that betrays his contentment.

Ravage sighs and tucks his limbs beneath himself. Minimus is warm beside him, sandwiched between Ravage and Laserbeak. He speaks up once in defense of the twins, all moral high-ground and righteous indignance. Soundwave thanks him for the input before turning his attention back to the twins.

Silly mech, Ravage thinks again, far too indulgently. He rests his chin on his paws and closes his optics.

[unofficial-writing]

Into Your Arms

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, soft Din, mentions of blood/wounds/etc. Think that’s it

Summary: You failed at your task and barely made it out with your life. Now you have to contend with the consequences

Word count: 1.044k

Translations: Cyare (SHAH-ray) - “Beloved”, Cyar’ika (shar-EE-kah) - “Sweetheart, Darling”

Author’s note: First fanfic in a while and first time writing Din so bear with me <3 kinda feeling a part 2 but we’ll see.

̶̶̶̶  «̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ «̶ ̶̶̶ 　　　　 ̶ ̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ »̶ ̶̶̶ 

Failure wasn't an option for you. It never was. So failing the only person in the galaxy you truly cared for wasn't easy.

You stood on the peak of a hill, letting your eyes fall on the Razor Crest-- which was exactly where it was the last time you saw it a few days ago. A few days seemed too little a time between now and the last time you were here, but it was only two days.

You gripped at the wound on your arm, which you messily wrapped in a hurry. This only added to the appearance you'd walk in with. You were covered in a mixture of blood and dirt, your hair was a mess, and you held on tightly to what was left of your blaster. It was quite the entrance, even for you.

Walking into the Razor Crest like this was the last thing you wanted to do, but you were exhausted, dizzy, and most of all ashamed of your failure.

You had told Din Djarin that you could handle the task alone and despite his reluctance, he agreed to it. Now you had to contend with your broken pride as well.

You sighed deeply and made the walk to the ship. At this point your arm felt like it was on fire, causing tears to build up in your eyes and eventually begin to fall down your stained cheeks. The tears likely weren't all from the physical pain.

When you stepped onto the Razor Crest, you were met with Din's absence. Relief trickled into your system, Maybe you could clean yourself up before he returned.

You dropped your scratched and dirt-covered armor and made your way to your shared quarters. Sitting on the floor, you slowly tried to peel your sticky sleeves away from your arm, tying it at your shoulder so you could begin tending to the wound.

You had wrapped it in a thin strip of fabric, attempting to slow the blood flow. The attempt wasn't successful but might've still saved your life in the end.

̶��̶̶  «̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ «̶ ̶̶̶ 　　　　 ̶ ̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ »̶ ̶̶̶  

The Mandalorian stepped onto his ship, spotting the abandoned armor immediately. He closed the hatch door, setting down Grogu in his bunk and crossing the hull to look for you.

"Cyare?" He asked, tense, as it wasn't usual to find your armor stripped and dropped to the floor in such a heap.

You froze as you heard the voice, you'd barely untied the wound let alone clean it. "Yes?" You managed to get out in nothing more than a whisper. You wondered if he'd even hear it.

Your question was answered as the door opened to the small room and you found yourself face to face with his beskar helmet.

Your eyebrows tugged together and your eyes welled up with tears. Din didn't move for a few seconds, he'd never seen you like this and you hadn't planned on letting him. It struck your pride deeply to be in this state around someone else, especially Din.

He slipped his helmet off, revealing his expression underneath. He looked more worried than anything else as he set his helmet to the side and knelt in front of you. "What happened?" He asked in a clear voice. The tone didn't match his expression.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. So Din scooped you up and set you on the edge of his cot, letting you be silent for the moment.

He retrieved a cloth and cleaned your face carefully, getting the dirt out of your eyes and mouth. Your teary eyes met his and he pressed his hand gently to your cheek.

Silently, Din gingerly cleaned the blaster wound on your arm, wrapping it far better than you had done before. You let him tend to you, appreciating the moment to indulge in your exhaustion.

̶̶̶̶  «̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ «̶ ̶̶̶ 　　　　 ̶ ̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ »̶ ̶̶̶ 

You slept for a few hours after that. Now that you were in clean clothes and your wounds were patched as best as possible, you sat on one end of Din's cot while Grogu sat next to you. He held the top piece to one of the levers in the Razor Crest's cockpit.

Din came and sat beside the two of you. "Will you tell me what happened?" He asked as Grogu handed you the ball to show you. You smiled at him and sighed, handing it back.

“I failed you." Your eyes fell to the ground. "I thought it would be better if I went alone, but I was wrong." You sighed dejectedly. It almost startled you when you were met with Din's soft tone.

"You didn't fail me, Cyar'ika." He said gently. "You could never fail me. Even if you blew up this entire planet." A smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the remark.

"That's because it's something I'd do—on accident of course.”

“I wouldn't put it past you." He shrugged nonchalantly. You could tell he was messing with you now.

"Out of the two of us, which one of us is more likely to accidentally destroy a planet?" You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow.

"That's the thing." He said, picking up the ball Grogu had dropped and handing it back to him. "It'll be a team effort."

“I look forward to it." You said, finally letting yourself smile for the first time in days. Din smiled back, relieved at the sight. Normally your demeanor was uplifted. Around him you would often smile or crack a joke— Probably at the wrong time— so seeing you this way was worrisome for him.

He opened his arms as an invitation for you to come sit with him. An invitation which you obliged without hesitation. Din kissed your temple and folded his arms around you as if shielding you from any outside threats.

The moment was relieving for you, you finally realized that you really couldn't let him down. Tomorrow you two would go clean up the mess you made but for now, you sat comfortable, dozing off in your Mandalorian's arms.

[prplepeony]

Through the Fire

Carol Danvers x Reader

Summary: After a perilous mission, the reader tends to Carol Danvers' injury, revealing deep-seated fears and the strength of their bond amidst the chaos.

Words: 484

Warnings: lil angst, lil fluff

The quinjet’s engines hummed softly, a stark contrast to the cacophony of battle that had raged mere hours ago. You glanced over at Carol Danvers, her usually bright and confident eyes clouded with pain as she clutched her side. The mission had been rougher than either of you had anticipated, and the deep gash across her ribs was a testament to that.

“Carol, let me see,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. You reached out, gently prying her fingers away from the wound. The sight of blood seeping through her suit sent a pang of worry through you, but you forced yourself to remain calm.

Carol winced but didn’t protest as you began to carefully peel back the fabric to get a better look. “I’ve had worse,” she muttered, attempting a weak smile.

“Doesn’t mean you should brush it off,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended. The sight of her injured, of her in pain, ignited a mixture of anger and fear within you. Anger at the enemy who had done this, but also a deep-seated fear of losing her.

As you cleaned the wound, your hands worked with practiced precision, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t shake the image of Carol falling, the moment of sheer panic that had gripped you. The mission had been successful, but at what cost?

“You’re really worked up about this, aren’t you?” Carol’s voice broke through your thoughts. Her eyes, though pained, held a hint of amusement.

“Of course I am,” you snapped, then immediately regretted it. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I care about you, Carol. Seeing you hurt like this…it scares me.”

Her expression softened, and she reached up to gently cup your cheek. “I’m okay, really. Just a scratch.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into her touch. “It’s more than a scratch, and you know it. You’re always so reckless, always putting yourself in danger. I just…I don’t want to lose you.”

Carol’s thumb brushed against your skin, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

The words were meant to be comforting, but they only brought a fresh wave of anxiety. Promises were fragile things, easily broken in the line of duty. You finished bandaging her wound in silence, the weight of unspoken fears hanging heavily in the air.

As the quinjet descended towards the Avengers’ compound, you sat back, exhaustion finally catching up with you. Carol’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. “We’ll get through this,” she whispered, her voice filled with a determination that belied her injury.

You nodded, though uncertainty still gnawed at you. Being an Avenger meant living with constant danger, but it didn’t make the fear any easier to bear. Especially when it came to Carol.

For now, though, you had her beside you, alive and breathing. And that was enough.

[spider-bren]

It has been a year since July 3rd when I watched IJ5 and came on this tumblr account to write Vollber and Boyd…I look back on these moments I shared, the friends I made. Some I don’t speak to anymore, some I still am in contact with. I guess I’m nostalgic. In April last year I was watching Narcos and obsessing over Mr Holbrook that still has me in a chokehold….

I want to thank everyone for still being here even if I have become inactive.

A lot has happened since July last year and a lot has happened since I started writing Vollber. I met this other Vollber writer from ao3 on here and…I didn’t expect to be where I am now. I didn’t think the Vollber brainrot would last so long honestly and I didn’t think it would mean what it means to me now. It’s more than just a ship now…it’s a bond that I formed with this person.

Because it became a way to express ourselves, our feelings. A way to truly reveal through fiction and explore different dynamics. It has become so much more than just a ship because I get to share it with my other half–my co-author who just completely understands me. It takes a lot for me to open up and especially be able to collaborate and co-write something that needs to flow and be cohesive. I found a companion that I can write with in a way that feels entirely natural. And that is special.

When Blue sent me that prompt to write sadistic Klaber and dm’ed me to ask if I wanted to collab, I never really knew why I said yes. I didn’t know Blue, I didn’t know if we would write well together. I didn’t know what she was like. I didn’t know how well we’d get along. I had no idea where this would lead. I had no idea that I would be as close to her as I am now. That I felt as soon as we started talking, it didn’t feel like we were strangers for a moment.

Our writing flowed so beautifully. We just understood each other. We were always thinking the same thing and I could break down my writing in a way I never could with anyone else. She thought we’d stop talking after finishing our fics, but I couldn’t stop talking to her. I couldn’t stop smiling whenever she sent a message. I got to know her. Truly let her in…

Over time, I realised that I treated her differently than my other friends. I found myself not able to pull myself away, not able to stop myself from letting her in and sharing parts of my life with her. I feel entirely comfortable bearing pieces of my soul with her…I found myself realizing that I cared about her more than I ever cared for anyone this way before.

I caught myself one day point blank just reading back the texts I sent her and understanding just how special she is to me. How I'd listen to her talk about anything, how her voice calms me, and how I feel like every moment we engage in conversation feels like a secret, private moment that just the two of us shared…

No one else knows what we shared, the things we called about late at night. And I suppose it was inevitable that I would fall for her…

I'd do anything to make her happy and I just want to know her and share in her life, for her to make a space for me in her life. Because she has carved out a place in my life that only she can fill. She nestled under my ribcage and I'd be damned if I ever let her leave. Truly, I would bathe in her presence and be content to stay by her side for the rest of my days.

From the moment we started talking I immediately felt the connection. Before I even saw her face I knew I'd like her. Because it didn't matter what she looked like…and then when I realised she was beautiful face to face as well…I fell for her intense gaze and perfect face. The way her voice moved me before I ever saw her body. Her voice settles into me, infiltrates all my senses and my entire being. I can't even explain how it affects me. Every tone and her voice in every instance mesmerises me.

The way she talks makes me eager to listen to her for hours. I would like to peel back the layers and kiss her brain, worship the matter that makes up her thoughts and dreams and desires. I would touch and tease over it. To love there, too. Underneath it all. Her skin. Her bones. Everything that she is.

The more we shared about our lives, the more I wanted to know her. Every little part. Every little thought. I am amazed how easy it is to delve into the depths of myself. And I want to continue knowing and loving every part of her as well…

Our conversations ebb and flow effortlessly. The respect and understanding we have of our individualism, boundaries, and space. How we seem to always be in sync even oceans apart. We feel each other across the distance. She is always somewhere with me. And when I fall asleep at night, I picture her in my arms. I am instantly calmed and soothed by her presence. Her existence stills my restless soul. I long to meet her one day, for her eyes to land on me. To inhabit the space she resides. To be near her…it's all I want.

She is my Blue. I named her. I know her. And she knows me.

Although we're not together, I am hers.

I never felt closer to another human being.

For me, I am taken.

I never shared these parts of myself with anyone but her.

But I want to share this piece with the world now….

I love her.

I hope she always remembers that.

Happy One (1) Year Anniversary to our Vollber fic! And happy one (1) year to knowing you @blueeyedcitadel ❤️

[nubisaureus]

when they go down on you

when the haikyuu boys go down on you

character(s): timeskip Suga, Kageyama, Oikawa, Atsumu

pairing(s): fem!reader x timeskip Suga, Kageyama, Oikawa, Atsumu (separately)

not proofread! (im writing after a long day so bear with any errors T^T)

enjoy! ✩

∘₊✧────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

Suga

He gently peels off your panties, revealing your puffy pussy lips (a/n try saying that 5 times faster).

He makes you lay down on the bed, kissing his way down there, starting from your upper lips.

As he reaches your thighs, you start squirming under his touch, softly moaning his name.

«I love the sounds you make, love.» he says, as pushes his tongue deep in your pussy, causing a sharp moan to emerge from the deepest part of you. Soon enough, you're already cumming on his tongue, as he licks you completely clean.

«I could never get enough of this.»

---------

Kageyama

He opens your thighs with a light pressure, and then uses his hands to keep them open.

«Please stay still.» he's as serious as it gets, that is, before his face makes contact with your pussy.

He starts moaning uncontrollably as his tongue makes contact with your slit, moans suffocated by your pussy, which only makes you hornier.

«T-tobio..» you moan, as he impassively continues his assault.

«Mh?» he lifts his head just slightly, just enough to make eye contact.

«Please don't stop..» you whine, as he looks at you, genuine happiness in seeing you this hot and bothered by what he's doing.

«I won't.»

---------

Oikawa

The locker room of the gym had never felt so sweaty.

Oikawa was kissing you passionately as you were pressed between the wall and his muscled figure.

«Open your legs.» he whispers in your ear, causing shivers all down your neck.

«Are you kidding me? We're in the locker room of the fucking gym!» you protest, as he gently shushes you, stimulating you through your gym pants. One thing is for sure, that is going to be a hell of a warm up.

«You better keep quiet then~» he teases, as he lowers your sweatpants and panties, making you stand on your feet. Wait, is he..?

---------

Atsumu

«You've been very naughty, haven't ya?» Atsumu's figure towers over you as his hands press your thighs down, effectively immobilizing you.

You shrug nonchalantly, blatantly challenging him through eye contact.

«Oh, I see how it is. My princess wants to be punished, huh?»

«Maybe..» your tone doesn't leave much room for imagination.

He lowers himself on your pussy, and his tongue is immediately on your clit, while his fingers take care of your entrance.

You moan loudly, your hands immediately finding his hair to hold onto for some semblance of support, although it doesn't seem to work that much.

As you're about to cum, he stops, leaving you gasping, desperate for more.

«We'll be at this for a while, princess. I hope yer prepared.»

[ncsdlr]

Hit List

The Unfulfilled

Marvel

Warnings: Angst, making out, death, implied trauma, emotional pain, grief, crying, killing, failed love(?), unrequited love(?), mutual pining, manipulation

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4501

A/N: This has been in my drafts for literally almost a month. I literally finished it then sent it to my friend for proofreading then thought I might add some more stuff, so now here I am after adding said stuff. The added stuff was not proofread.

-----------------

"Your next assignment." Natasha scanned the nearly blank page with her earthy green eyes, reading its contents with pure curiosity and determination. She was the best of the best in her high ranking, and she would be damned if she let that title slip through her nimble fingers. Natasha walked out of her workplace with a pep in her step with the things she would need in her purse. 

Namely, chapstick. 

As Natasha drove to your home, the energetic music of Sia playing on her car radio. The redhead opted to listen to the great Sia when on missions, seeing as she offered her strangely calming vibes. Natasha judged the way your Czech Republic home looked. It definitely needed some upgrades. The crack in the walls seemed so unsafe and the peeling paint too? So unfashionable. Natasha grunted at the hideous design of your building. It was so outdated. You surely could have done way better. Natasha wished on every existing dandelion on earth that you would, at least, be her type. She needed to have fun while working. 

****

"So what do I have to do e-exactly?" You rubbed at your chest as it began to tighten around your heart. This gorgeous woman could be the death of you. Literally. The two of you walked up the seemingly never-ending stairs of the Fraternity she worked in. You don't even know if you were roped into this job by her eyes or the promise of becoming better, but honestly, you sort of didn't even care. 

Sort of.

In a world where what you can become is very limited, this was a bright opportunity for you. You thought of Natasha's proposition as something that can open new doors for you. All you could think of was the prospect of doing something good in this world while having fun in return, that and the part where you were going to be trained too. 

"All you have to do, for now, is get trained. Then, once you're deemed ready by yours truly, you will be given an assignment that you must complete." Natasha walked around a table and you followed suit only to realize that the two of you walked in a circle around it twice before a man with whitened hair in a black suit with his arms behind his back revealed himself. "Then after that, you get more assignments, more targets, more responsibilities-"

"Wait, wait, targets? What does that mean?"

"She means you will be one of us. A killer taking down other killers." The man in the black suit says looking completely unbothered by the whole occurrence.

"Wha- a killer who kills kille- hold on." You raised both your hands and basked in the silence they allowed you to have and thought about everything going on at the moment. After a solid few minutes, the only thing you could come up with was, "So a hero?"

The pair before you sighed, one of them pinching the bridge of her nose and the other raising his eyebrows to his hairline while his eyes squeezed tight, both in an attempt to gather their bearings with how...slow you were. This is going to take so long, she's lucky she's pretty, Natasha thought. 

"No, Miss Y/L/N, not a hero. More of a vigilante with a twisted morale."

The way Natasha said so nonchalantly made your eye twitch, the glint of your eyes showing both confusion and understanding at the same time. Then, all of a sudden, you find yourself in a knife battle with a butcher who seems to have it out for you in a room full of hanging gutted pigs. He used his knives against you rather carelessly to the point where you were actually bleeding from three knife wounds. One on your side, one on your arm, and one on your back.

You were going to pass out. 

****

After two months' worth of on-and-off dedication to this new thing Natasha offered you, your decision is finally whole. You were in. And you celebrated that with Natasha by way of completing a mission and going for dinner afterward. It was all so much fun to hang out with Natasha in such an intimate way while still keeping it professional. She was such a lovely soul to get to know. Anybody would be lucky to know her wholly. 

"So how do you feel?" Natasha eyed you through the burger she was taking a bite of as she asked you her query. She was so adorable.

"Honestly, fulfilling, but still kind of mixed. I just don't know what these people did, if they were bad people, if they were involved in the wrong kind of business, or if they had families. I mean, how do we know for sure we're doing the right thing here?" 

Natasha chewed and swallowed before she spoke again. "The work we do has a questionable judgment, yes, but how we see it is that by taking out one person, we save possibly a million. The result is what we put our faith in, not the work itself." 

"That's beautiful." You smiled at Natasha gently as the night dragged on. When the two of you were walking back to the Fraternity, you could swear that Natasha's hand kept brushing yours, but with how closely the two of you were walking, you dumbly let it slide and deemed it to be a coincidence. 

It really couldn't be anything, right? I mean, you just killed a guy- very skillfully, might I add -so, surely this soft moment can't be happening. Plus, Natasha Romanoff is just a very flirty all-work type of gal. She didn't exactly strike you as the type to commit, so you figured it's best to hold off on that... stuff.

What a fucking day.

****

Another month flew by and now you were three missions deep into this Fraternity including your first "celebratory" mission. It was all exhilarating, to say the least. Everyone on the team had their special talents and reasons for working with this Frat, and everyone got along with everyone. They were all good people, especially Natasha. She had such a golden heart with a thick, strong glass barrier. 

Truly, you've grown fond of this team over the past three months, and to call them your extended family would be a rightful title for them. They were all so caring. They treated each other like brothers and sisters, born with the same blood, and protected each other even if it meant losing their own lives or getting hurt themselves. 

You saw that for yourself once, and to say that you were honored would be the greatest understatement of the fucking year. It happened on a mission where all of you were required to fight the same battle as one. You were fighting one of the enemy goons and you were too busy to see that one guy was aiming at you with a rifle. One of your peers took the shot for you, using his body as a shield for you while simultaneously shooting at your perpetrator. 

Your bond with them solidified after that day. Gone were the many trust issues you had with them because now, you had a reason to trust them with your life. You couldn't think about that right now though. Right now, you are a little too preoccupied with planning how to carry out the latest mission assigned to you.

It was a pretty simple mission, one that required you to assassinate one of the guys in a well-renowned company. They were supposed to have a meeting in two days, according to the details you were given, so that's when you were going to make your move. The days passed by rather quickly with you simply moping around the Fraternity and training when you felt like it. You called it "strength preservation".

****

You stood on a moving train with Natasha sitting comfortably parallel to you with your gun in hand. You were checking if your gun needed anything more while you waited for the right moment to shoot your victim. You playfully aimed your gun at Natasha who merely smirked back at you. You thought it was sadistic, how being held at gunpoint made her reflect a toothy grin. It filled you with butterflies.

As your target's building came closer, you made no move to aim away from Natasha. You wore a sinister smile, one that was reflected beautifully by Natasha, and when the time was right, you pulled the trigger. With the way you were trained in the Fraternity, you learned how to bend the bullets you shot. Therefore, when you brought your arm back, and swung it back at Natasha, your bullet went straight through the window of the meeting room where your target was located, hitting him right in his stupid heart. Perfectly untraceable. 

As opposed to Natasha's previous position on the roof of the moving train you stood upon, leaning back on her hands while one of her legs rested and the other was propped up, now, she was applauding you for your successful mission. You looked at her with a bright shy smile weaving your fingers through your hair while you calmly walked closer to her and sat down. 

"Learned from the best." You stated proudly.

"Yeah, you did."

"Way to ruin the moment."

A blissful silence befell the two of you, leaning back to watch the sunset over the horizon of Russia. It was beautiful. You had just killed someone and now you were watching the day slowly end. It was somewhat peaceful as opposed to the chaos happening in the meeting room where their dead boss lay limp in his chair. You would have laughed if you saw the people running around in a panic. Meanie.

It was a moment where two assassins, you and Natasha, got to pause the world on a moving train. It was unsafe, but the thrill of it gave both of your hearts the flutter it needed. As you looked at the setting sun, Natasha's eyes, unbeknownst to you, turned to your side profile. She could get used to staring at you, your sculpted nose, your voluptuous lips, and the subtle shine in your pretty eyes. Gosh, you looked so beautiful, ready to be ravished by way of flowers and chocolates and surprise dates. 

But Natasha knew she couldn't. With her initial agreement with the Fraternity leader and how you came about, she just couldn't. Not even if she tried.

****

Another day, another mission for you where Natasha was monitoring. She wasn't really required to monitor you, you both knew that, but it just felt right to be near each other so neither of you ever mentioned it. As opposed to the other places you went to with Natasha after missions, this time the two of you laid upon a random blanket the two of you found in the park. When you found it, Natasha insisted on shaking it off before taking a seat on it, saying that there could be bugs on it for all you knew. 

You complied, of course.

The two of you watched the stars, occasionally pointing out constellations you would see in the sky or stars that formed a funny shape- the latter was your doing most of the time. It was calming to both of you how the stars just twinkled above your bodies while you gazed into each other eyes- when did that happen?

At the moment, the moon hosting and the stars watching, the two of you held a silent conversation, one that was had through your eyes that have seen many troubles before each other. As you looked at each other, the world simply faded, quietly and stealthily, leaving only the two of you on a random blanket in the park. 

Suddenly, -you don't know how- Natasha was on you, straddling your lap while cradling your face in her hands so gently. It almost seemed like she feared your head would shatter if she handled you incorrectly. It felt so nice, so right, so meant to be. It was like you only knew each other and nothing else like the two of you existed in a void where you were each other's light in the dark. The warmth between your bodies grounded you enough to keep you both reminded of the place you were in, not that the two of you paid any attention to that. 

Then it happened. In the blink of an eye, the two of you lip-locked. Your soft lips on Natasha's plump ones. It felt so good to finally have each other like this. This was the moment the two had been waiting for; a moment where hands wandered over each other's bodies, feeling each other up as if it would be the last time. 

That night, no intercourse was had, but rest assured, love was made. Love was made in the form of soft gliding hands, gyrating hips, connected lips, shared warmth, and hands held tight. Love was made in ways of fingers running through hair, whispered praises, eye contact, and hugs. More kisses were shared throughout the night. Stolen or not, they were most definitely shared.

No word was muttered after that soft moment. Neither of you expected anything to happen too, but you did hope. The two of you hoped that one day, you could work something out, talk about the things that the two of you needed to talk about and get together. Because that's what the two of you wanted; to be together. It didn't matter how long it took, all you knew, at that moment, was that you wanted each other. 

And that would be enough until it wasn't.

****

How did we get here? 

Ah, yes. 

It all started when you were on another mission and your target had a loose mouth. He flapped his tongue and sputtered out nonsense about the Fraternity you worked for and your MIA father. Frankly, you didn't care about your dad's whereabouts, you'd gotten over that years ago in therapy, but the fact that your target knew of your father's gambling and his drinking, and his abusive nature when he was around, struck a nerve. Other than talking about your sometimes dad, your target also spoke of your beloved Fraternity friends. You, honestly, would have been offended for them if not for the way that things panned out.

"You think they're all good? You think they're all clear skies and glitter?" Your target fell on his back as you kicked him in his chest in the dark alleyway. The way he was gasping for air told you you were doing a pretty good job in defeating him. 

"No, I don't, but it's the result that we put our faith in and not the work itself." Natasha stood proudly behind you with her arms crossed over her chest, the smirk she wore shining with success in bending your morals to be more aligned with them. "Of course, there's always something bad in the things we do, but by taking those people out, we might be saving millions of other people."

You held your target down by his throat, cutting his breath off to the point of death before he tried to speak up again. You meant to taunt him, but his next stuttered words tickled your malleable heart. "...they lied to you. They were the ones- *cough* who had your father...killed."

Your grip loosened at the last second- or so you thought because the second you let go, your target's eyes made its final close. You slowly blinked, your thought process going a mile per minute. Little bits of information and your own opinions tossed themselves around in your head effectively sending you into overdrive. This was it, Natasha thought, the Fraternity's downfall. You were their best asset and their worst enemy, even she could admit that, and now was the time she finally completed her mission. 

Natasha aimed her gun at you, seemingly unbothered. The love she held for you, the love she put aside, the love she wished she could express was raging inside her beating heart. Tears threatened her stoic eyes at the thought of having to be the one to kill you. You were her one true love, you both knew it and now she had to be the one to kill you. It was her mission. You were her mission. She had to complete her mission. 

In some twisted way, she did. Natasha completed you wholly. When you were with her, everything felt right. It was like the world was suddenly a paradise where problems did not exist. With her, the world was a place where nobody knew what the word trouble meant. Natasha made you want to express your love for her, by way of holding her hand, kissing her cheek and her forehead, dancing in the rain with her, crying with her, hugging her, and doing everything good with her. You wanted to take her out on a date in the park, painting each other's portrait or the starry sky, in the fair where you would win her the biggest teddy bear, in a museum where you would only look at her because her beauty topped those of the ones hanging on the walls. 

But that could never happen, right? It was only in your wildest dreams. It could never happen in real life. This world was not a place where your 'I love you's' were said aloud. This was merely a world where it was observed from afar how you cared for each other. This was only a world where stolen glances and stolen kisses were thrown around, hopeless pining was the only way to go, a world where longing eyes met eyes of sorrow and pain. It could never happen, not with the way the two of you were brought into this world. Maypahs if everything happened differently, if the two of you met under different circumstances, it could have happened. 

"Is it true?" 

"Yes."

****

Natasha staggered her way through the Fraternity's gates, clutching at her bag of items limply as she focused on her goal. She wore a solemn look on her face, a look that matched her dirtied clothing, dust and splatters of blood decorating her otherwise white tank top. "We trained her well." Muttered the woman in question as she passed her boss. 

In the bath, Natasha wallowed in her own sorrows, the loud silence enveloping her whole while she soaked in the cold water. In the end, she couldn't do it, not to you. She loves you too much to lose you to her own hands. If it were any other person, she would probably be fine, but this was you we were talking about. You were the person she would love, and no hands will ever be able to hold her down. You were the kind of person she would risk her work for, her life, and her achievements, and that was when she realized.

Natasha loved you too much to kill you. It was like gravity was working in your favor to make her fall in love with you every time she looked at you. Natasha loved the look in your eyes when you finally learned how to curve your bullets. Natasha loved the way your eyes shined when she first held your hand in that crowd when the two of you went undercover. The two of you were partners in crime, and the two of you secretly wished to be partners in real life. So she spared you because she knew that she would never be able to kill you.

----

Your next goal now that everything was out was to go on a rampage. You'd gotten a list a few missions back where one name was particularly questionable. You asked your boss about it, but all he offered was a "Go finish your mission." So you did, but you chose not to kill the one person on the list. You could not kill Natasha Romanoff, not even if you were fully capable of defeating her. 

You loved her too much to kill her. It was almost like love at first sight, how you fell in love with her. Your heart just felt like it skipped a beat and even you could feel the way your eyes dilated fully. She became your everything so quickly that you experience whiplash, but if you were being honest, you would go through it all again if it meant you get to be with Natasha. In the little time you spent with her after missions and the stolen glances you sent her, you fell in love.

You fell in love with how she carried herself with so much confidence. You fell in love with the sparkle in her eye and the way she looked at you like you were the only two people in the world. You love her in soft looks and cuddles, you loved her in ways that only meant the gentlest of love. You loved Natasha in tight hugs and kisses that made you want to do a cartwheel. You love her so much that you spared her of the fate the Fraternity gave her. You loved her too much to lose her to your own hands. 

****

Your plan was set into motion and the Fraternity members' fate was coming to fruition. You got through the building, going higher each time you completed a floor. You shot through men and women alike, these were the people you used to call your friends, family even, but now it was like a switch went off, you didn't know them anymore. You made a war cry through the pain of losing your friends to your own hands, having lost all sense of sensitivity to their pain. 

You don't care, you couldn't care. You haven't cared since the moment you found out it was them who had your father killed through you. You hadn't cared even when you were coming up with this plan to kill all of them and escape with the love of your life so that you could live what could be and what should be between you and her. Your plan was well-thought-out, you were certain nothing could get in the way of its impending success. But with how things are going down right now, you, surrounded by all of the highest ranking assassins you worked with and called your family, on the top floor of the Fraternity. 

Natasha was among the circle, one of the friends pointing their gun at you. She was using your favorite gun of hers too, an M16. She always looked so hot using the gun. And right now, she looked especially hot with that black tank top paired with army green cargo pants - the two of you bought together after one of your missions - and the brown holster around her small waist, the waist you so desperately wanted to wrap your strong arms around. 

"You are all each other's mission. Wanda, and Bruce are spared and recruited by Tony, Natasha, spared and recruited by Clint, Sam, and Bucky, spared by Steve, and Yelena, was spared by Kate. Now, you were spared by Natasha. All of you are supposed to be dead if not for me! If I had not started this Fraternity and made a place where all of you could be protected, you would all be dead!"

The lot of you remained silent as the man you surprisingly saw as a father preached about how he was the all-mighty one for saving all of you and giving you a home. I mean, yes he did do all of that, but was it really necessary to use all of you for reasons such as 'he saved you'? The answer was a hell no.

"Well, now since you're all grown-ups, I'll let you go and let you decide for your own fate." None of them, in the circle, stood down, holding their positions while contemplating how they were going to decide between killing the newest, best, and brightest and sparing you like they did each other. Apparently, none of them had to decide because Natasha beat them all to it. None of them deserve the life they were born with, trauma-filled childhoods, and painful coming-up stories. Everyone in this room deserved something better, something greater. 

As Natasha swung her arm back and shot a curved bullet, she smiled at you. The few memories the two of you created together swam her head like a slowed-down timelapse. The man beside her went down first, and then the next one, then next, and the next. While her bullet was curving in a circle, Natasha tossed her gun to you, and you caught albeit fumbling before it settled perfectly in your hands, and you thought all would be well. 

As the Fraternity members realized their fate, they stayed put in their spots, concluding that the life they had led was the best life they had ever had. They were thankful for all of their flaws and perfections, they were thankful for all of the decisions they've made leading up to this. Natasha thought of you, only you. Natasha thought about the drive she spent going to your workplace, she thought about the months she spent convincing you and training you to be the best you could be in the Fraternity. Natasha thought about all of the sunsets she watched with you sitting atop moving trains. Natasha thought about what could have been, the life she could have lead with you. 

As the last man fell, you held Natasha's gun in your hands and aimed at the oncoming bullet only to watch as the aforementioned bullet lodged itself into the love of your life. You wailed as you saw your mission fail. No longer could you run away with Natasha because now you ran to her limp and bleeding body. You held the love of your life in your arms, offering her your warmth and showing her the love you kept hidden from her for so long. You held her head against your chest, letting her listen to your heartbeat while your thoughts ran wild with the thought of what could have been with her. The love you held for each other died out with her and you sobbed, wailed, and cursed the land you lived upon. 

With no emotions left in your heart and a stoic face, you marched down to where your boss was, blinded by the rage and the pain you felt for losing your lover. With no more thought, you shot him, right in his shiny, half-bald head and watched him fall to the ground with a thud. You felt no remorse as you left the building, ready to live your life with incurable pain and guilt.

Your days passed knowing you could have saved her had you been quicker. 

In pain, you were born, and in pain, you died, next to your lover's grave two weeks later. "I love you." You muttered as your last dying breath devoted itself to Natasha Romanoff, the love of your disgusting life. 

[scarystoriesfromthegayside]

The Scent of my Dad

I came home from college during the summer. It was the time for my dad and I to bond a lot. We would go to bars and he would try to find a guy for me and I would try to find a woman for him. After mom left he has never been the same. It seems he would be desperate for some action. My dad was a very attractive guy, quite the bear if he was gay. But that summer was so different for both of us. Now I know that it’s forbidden but sometimes fantasies have to come true. My dad came in from doing lawn work one day. He took a shower and told me to grab the dirty clothes from the bathroom and take them to the laundry room. I got to the bathroom to grab the clothes and saw my dad’s jock strap in there. I don’t know what got over, maybe just haven’t had much male action lately. I grabbed my dad’s strap. I felt around, still a little damp from his sweat. I placed it up to my nose, smelling the ripe stench of his sweat from his balls and dick. The moment gave me a bone that was hurting to be released from my shorts.

“Jason,” my dad startled me. “What the hell?”

I turned to see my dad, still in his towel, looking at me. My dick was hard as a rock and he noticed. My face went all kinds of red as I stood there my dad’s strap in my hand. He stood there waiting for an answer but staring at my dick.

“I’m sorry dad,” I said.

I grabbed the rest of the clothes and rushed out of the bathroom. The rest of the day was silent. My dad did not speak to me for the rest of the day. But the next day my dad wanted me to help him in the garden. After about an hour tending to the garden, sweating our asses off, we went inside for a soda. As I was sipping my soda I noticed my dad got close to me to where his dad belly was touching me.

“So,” he said to me. “You were being quite a naughty boy yesterday.”

I gulped whatever I had in my mouth. He looked at me with something in his eyes. I’ve seen it before and it was something I like to call hunger.

“Did I smell good, son,” dad asked.

“Umm,” I said.

“You can be honest,” dad said. “We’re grown men here.”

“Umm yes,” I finally said. “Yes, you smelled great. I love your stench.”

My dad nodded but then lifted his arm to show his hairy armpits. Then he grabbed my head and forced me to the sweaty hairs on his arms. His stench was strong and ripe. He smelled like a fucking man.

“Smell daddy,” dad moaned. “Smell your daddy.”

I grabbed his arm and rubbed my face into his stench. Dad moaned in pleasure as I worshipped his armpits. I then started to lick and grab his hairs with my teeth. My dick became so hard that I moaned with daddy.

“Oh my God,” I moaned. “You smell so fucking good daddy. You’re making me hard”

Just then daddy forced me away and he went to his knees. He stripped my shorts and briefs down to my shoes. He then placed his nose to my pubes and starting sniffing, licking. It was so hot that I moaned loud. Started to think that this was wrong. But it seemed we didn’t care. Dad started down my shaft and then to hairy sac when he rubbed his face into. Admiring my scent as well.

“Son, you know how to smell like a man,” my dad growled.

He started to suck on my sac, juggling both balls into his mouth. After a moment he went to my dick and started to suck it. He gagged and growled. He cupped my ass cheeks with his hands as he went up and down on my dick.

“Daddy,” I moaned. “I want that ass.”

Dad stood from where he was and looked me in the eye. He kissed my lips with force, making his way in me with his tongue.

“You want daddy’s ass?” He said.

“Fucking do,” I moaned.

Daddy turned to the island of the kitchen and I peeled down his shorts to reveal his hairy ass. I went to my knees to get a closer look. I spread his cheeks apart to reveal his handsome opening. I then went in, tasting the salty sweat of his hole. My mind went a blur at the taste of him. I smelled the hairs prickling my nose at my face went deep. I slobbered and spit at over his ass. Daddy growled and moaned in pleasure. I stood to make my way up to daddy, placing the head of my dick on his entrance.

“You gonna fuck daddy,” dad asked. “I want my son to fuck daddy.”

Just then I started to enter my own father. He growled and yelled as I slid into him. Making sure not to hurt more of him, I stood there with my dick inside. Just then I went all the way for it, making sure to make the clapping while I fucked daddy.

“Oh God son,” daddy moaned. “Give it to daddy. Fuck me hard, fast. Oh God ahhh.”

Daddy yelled loud, I moaned with him.

“Take that fucking dick daddy,” I yelled at him. “Ugh that daddy ass feels so fucking good.”

I then became too close, I didn’t even have time to tell him I was coming. I screamed my orgasm, filling my daddy up with my come.

“Oh good boy,” daddy said. “Fill daddy up.”

I pulled out and daddy turned with his thick dick in his hand.

“My turn,” daddy said.

He turned me around, placing his hand at my entrance with saliva a couple times. Then I felt his thick dick head at my entrance. I whimpered and collapsed on the sink as he started to slide into me.

“Oh god daddy,” I moaned. “Oh you’re so thick.”

Daddy didn’t waste time to start fucking his son. I screamed as he pounded me, making my hole stretch open. He violently fucked me, both of us screaming at each other.

“You like it boy,” daddy screamed. “Take that big fucking dick.”

“Fuck daddy,” I yelled. “Ugh you feel so good.”

“I’m coming,” daddy yelled.

Then he gave one last thrust until I felt the warm ooze enter my inside. It felt like heaven. I turned toward daddy, both of us panting and sweaty.

“Don’t tell mom,” dad said and he kissed me until I was ready for round 2.

[graciecatfamilyband]

The Info-Dumpers who Love Characters Website is totally sleeping on the best Info-Dumping Character of All Time:

Jade Daniels, the 17 year-old half-indigenous girl from Stephen Graham Jones’ My Heart is a Chainsaw.

In everyone’s defense, character-driven slow-burn literary fiction that is also a slasher (stab stab 🔪🔪🩸) is a hard genre to sell. Many of us who love one part of this equation don’t love the other.

But Jade has captured my whole chainsaw ♥️, and I CANNOT be normal about it. Jade has never met a person at whom she wasn’t willing to spout random facts that they have exhibited no interest in. She can bring ANYTHING back around to connect to her hyperfixation which is, coincidentally, slasher movies. And she is the most vivid, alive, real-to-me protagonist I have ever encountered. Because of the way she hyperfixates and info dumps, not in spite of it. (Which surely says something about me but again, I am among friends on this webbed site!)

Jade makes completely normal, totally hinged choices like:

(When we the audience are first introduced to her) Going up to a group of construction workers having a trash fire in the middle of the night and being like, “If we were in a slasher right now, this is what the plot line would be. Also, have some random slasher movie facts.” (Their response: Are you okay? You seem like you are not okay.)

Writing extra credit essays for her history teacher about the tropes and conventions of the slasher genre. For four years. Not what he asked for, but what he got. (These essays are included in the book and are a godsend for those of us who are not already slasher fans! They literally help the reader understand the story beats as they unfold, while simultaneously giving life to Jade’s voice and helping us understand what makes her tick.)

Deciding the New Girl At School has all the qualities of a Final Girl, the slasher film trope in which there is one girl left alive to confront the killer and stop the slasher cycle.

Trying to warn the New Girl At School that she is going to be The Final Girl, by putting a VHS copy of the 1971 slasher Bay of Blood and all of Jade’s slasher extra credit essays in her mailbox. With a note. A note that says that she is going to be The Final Girl in a slasher cycle that seems to be starting up. (Jade is just trying to help! So helpful.)

Of course, the core of this novel is: What is going on with Jade? After all, she actually wants a slasher cycle to start in her town. (She also wants the slasher cycle to be stopped at the proper moment, to ensure that the vengeance of the slasher is balanced by the justice of the Final Girl.) She does not see herself as a possible Final Girl, but she is willing to help the richer, prettier, more appropriate classmate who she thinks is that girl. Why, why, why?

To be clear, the novel does not posit that something must be wrong with a person to be intensely, obsessively interested in something or for that thing to be horror- even slashers! But Jade’s behavior is, like I said, not entirely hinged, even for a slasher fan. Something must be up.

The novel gives us all the clues we need to peel back the layers of what’s really happening, and when truths are revealed, everything just *clicks.* Themes are introduced and then reinforced on multiple levels. There is a bear. 🐻 (The bear is the not the slasher.)

And throughout, Jade gets to be fully-human and fully seven-fucking-teen. Even though she is on the cusp of adulthood, she is still a child, and a wounded one at that. (Her wounds in no way fucking diminish her.)  Her judgment is often impaired. Her actions are often questionable. Her hair-dye jobs gets so bad, even she thinks its gross. She is so alive, and so deserving of love. 🥹 

I love her.

I would fight for her.

I desperately want to make soup for her, and let her tell me about the Scream franchise (I do not care about the Scream franchise), and give her a safe place to sleep. Even if doing so makes it way more likely that I’m about to get murdered.

Jade Fucking Daniels. My chainsaw-hearted, info-dumping hero protagonist. I salute you, my final girl.

[ahlore]

my hero.

jesse x fem!reader.

↳ just when death seemed certain, fate intervened and a knight in shining armor saved the day.

it seemed like fate that you’d end up here, alone and out of ammo. the clicker herd was just moments away from crashing through the door. in the dim light of the room, you could only watch as your end drew closer with each passing second. it felt like there was no escape from the grim reality closing in. you could feel tears welling up as your heartbeat raced faster. you searched the room, desperate for any signs of escape, but it felt like there was no way out. the thought of not making it through this was almost too much to bear.

you never saw yourself as someone weak or afraid of death. but in that moment, dying was the one thing you feared most. you had so much to live for, whether for yourself or for your friends, and you wanted to keep fighting to stay alive.

as the pounding on the barricaded door grew louder with each clicker crashing against it, you closed your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks. ‘this is it,’ you thought, accepting your fate. you wondered if the gods could hear your racing heartbeat, if this was punishment for the sins you’d committed in your fight to survive in a world overrun by clickers. but just as you braced for the end, gunshots rang out through the building, the sound of each clicker hitting the ground as unmistakable as before.

“[name]! are you in there? open up!” a deep, urgent voice echoed through the now desolate building, punctuated only by the sound of his racing heartbeat. he pounded on the barricaded door, praying that you were inside, alive and unharmed.

blinking away tears in shock, you stood frozen, unable to believe you were actually saved from death. before you could unbarricade the door, it burst open. two men walked in. the first had slender eyes and a strong jawline that made women swoon, with dark, tousled hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. blood stained his clothes as he looked at you. the other man was older, with wrinkles that spoke of years of fighting. his gruff beard and rugged expression softened when he saw your terrified and shocked state.

“[name], god, i’m so glad you’re alright,” he says, relief in his voice. “i couldn’t imagine what i’d do if something had happened to you.” you sigh as he pulls you into a warm, tight hug, your head resting against his chest while tears continue to stream down your face. jesse looked down at you, noticing how tiny you were compared to him.

joel looked around, checking for any more incoming clickers. “alright, you two, we’ve got to move. daylight’s burning, and we shouldn’t stick around to see if there are more clickers nearby.” jesse nodded and glanced at joel, who was now heading for the door. he gave you a moment to compose yourself as only your sniffles broke the silence. you gently wiped your eyes, removing any signs of fear and doubt that the tear stains on your cheeks might have shown.

as you looked up at jesse, your [color] eyes seemed so innocent and pure in the dimly lit room, like an angel sent just for him. he felt that you were all his—to keep and cherish. you looked beautiful, though still a bit shaken. when his gaze fell to your lips, a faint blush colored his cheeks. he quickly looked away, fearful that you might see right through him, peeling back the layers of his heart and exposing how deeply he cared for you. the idea of you dissecting his feelings on the spot, revealing how much more he felt for you than a friend should, was almost too much to bear. to shield himself from that vulnerability, he decided to tease you, hoping to change the mood and guard his true emotions.

he straightened up, a now playful glint in his eyes as he leaned closer. “well, look at you,” he said with a teasing grin. “i guess that makes me your knight in shining armor. ready to lead you to safety and all that.” he struck a dramatic pose, his hand resting on his chest as if holding a sword.

you rolled your eyes at his antics, though a small smile played at your lips. “my hero,” you said with a hint of sarcasm before turning on your heels to follow after joel, who had already disappeared from view.

jesse chuckled at your sarcasm, though he could tell that, underneath, you truly appreciated his help. he could see the relief in your eyes that it was him who saved you, and that you were grateful for another day on earth. thanks to him, your knight in shining armor.