#river runs deep [ au ]

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 13: Team as Family

Familial Curse

2733 Words; River Runs Deep

TW for implied past war crimes, past memory alteration

AO3 ver

Donatella does not like this. Any of this.

Her son running away was bad enough—both in how badly she failed as a mother to make him feel the need in the first place, and in how much danger he was in the entire time. But this? Coming so close to the Psychonauts, who her family fears almost as much as Deluginists?

Still, it is important to support her son. Even if he is being reckless—and really, what else can Donatella expect, when she raised him as a death-defying acrobat?

But she still does not like this. Not the Psychonauts being a stone’s throw away from her family, not that woman with the nerve to threaten burning their caravan—

But really, Donatella mostly hates how it feels like her family is coming undone. There is a pressure, she feels, that she has to alleviate if she doesn’t want to push her children away—a pressure she never realized until it was shoved right in front of her face.

Still, she will make do. It’s what she must do, as an Aquato. She will hold her family together, however she can, because it is her job as the mother and the matron of this family. She will not let this family fall apart—or into bad habits—on her watch.

Speaking of…

“Pootie, do you think you could go help Dion set up the Aquatodome?” Working together has always helped to mend damaged bridges—and perhaps her eldest will lighten up if he sees his younger brother doing something familiar for the family.

Raz shrugs, but goes off to do so anyway, which lightens a weight in Donatella’s chest.

Things… may not work out perfectly—they rarely do. But at least she can still hold things together, and make do.

It’s what she has to do, after all.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion hefts the sign for the Aquatodome into place, Raz’ psychic grasp helping to lift it.

Of course. Pooter runs away to go flaunt his powers at a—a summer camp for weirdo fortune tellers and the moment he comes back he’s prancing around with all these new powers, as though it doesn’t matter if someone sees.

Then again, maybe it doesn’t matter if the den of psychic cops practically next door know if Raz is psychic. But knowing Raz can start fires with his mind is only one step off of knowing he can move water, which is one step off from—

Dion viciously cuts off that line of thought. Den of psychics right next door. Best not to think about it.

Still—Dion hops down, frowning at the self-satisfied grin on Pooter’s face. “You know you’re not supposed to flaunt that… psychic stuff.” He reminds him.

But Raz has hit that age where things like common sense just seem to bounce right off of that helmet he always wears, so instead of agreeing he just looks up at Dion with big green eyes and says, “But they’re useful, aren’t they?”

Dion grumbles, but he can’t really argue that point. “So what? It’s still not safe.” It doesn’t matter how useful the damn powers are, if they only cause trouble in the end. “It’s not worth it.”

Raz gives Dion a flat look. After a moment, he sighs, and changes the subject. “Had any visions lately?”

Dion stiffens, but there’s nobody around them but for the rest of the family. “I haven’t had any.” He lies, through the sudden trickle of water in his brain. He wishes it wasn’t a lie—what’s the point of knowing danger is around the corner if he can’t do anything about it? If he can never piece together what the universe is trying to tell him in time to do anything meaningful? It’s never enough—it’s just headache after headache after headache.

Raz sees right through Dion. “Maybe you’d understand them better if you practiced.” he suggests, voice only slightly dry.

Dion scoffs. “And maybe you’d stop getting into trouble if you practiced not being reckless.” He leans forwards to flick Raz’ forehead—

A river flowing up into the sky—

Dion flinches back. Stares at Raz, at the tiny creases under his eyes and the ill-fitting clothes. The sound of rushing water fills his ears—danger.

“Just… stop it, Pooter. Stop going down this road.” He knows Raz won’t listen to him, knows that whatever the universe just tried to tell him will pass no matter what he or anyone does—but he speaks anyway.

“Is that a premonition?” Raz asks, somewhere between smug and sincere, worry in those big green eyes of his.

“No.” Dion doesn’t get premonitions. He just gets headaches. Hallucinations, even. Brain vomit that doesn’t mean anything—and even if it did Dion never figures it out in time—

Powers like these are never worth it. Dion just wishes Raz would realize that sooner rather than later.

+=+=+=+=+

“I miss you too.” Frazie admits. “But don’t be getting all sappy on me, Poots.” She lifts one hand into the air, then adjusts her other so that she’s standing on only her fingers. After a moment, she lets her palm fall to the ground, and trades hands.

Her little brother is such a crybaby, sometimes—though, if Frazie thinks about it, it’s not like her older brother is much better, always getting prissy about something. Drama queen.

Not that she’s much better, Frazie supposes. But can she really be blamed? Everything about this is—it’s just not right, so unlike the normal routine for her family. And she has Raz to blame for shaking up the status quo—

But she guesses it’s been a long time coming. It wasn’t like Raz was very good at hiding those hokey magazines, or that pamphlet that Dad tore up right in front of everyone—which, yeah, if Frazie was ten and scared she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have run away, either. But she didn’t have Raz’ reckless streak, so she would have never had that stupid pamphlet in the first place.

“And I bet your invisibility trick would really impress Hollis!” Raz continues, “Most psychics can only turn themselves invisible.”

Frazie smirks. “They’re just not as cool as me.” She declares, balancing on one foot. And then, just to add to her point—

Raz stumbles back as an invisible pinecone hits his forehead. He stares at the now visible pinecone, then kicks it. “See? You’d do great at it.”

Frazie shrugs. Maybe it would be nice, to go to an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar people just to learn a few psychic tricks she doesn’t really need—

Okay, yeah, no. Not happening. Frazie and Raz exchange a few more words before the conversation trickles out and Raz leaves. She watches him go, then huffs.

There was so much more she could have said, just then. So much more that maybe she should have said.

Well, she supposes she’s always been good at shutting up.

+=+=+=+=+

“Hey, Queepie—” Raz starts.

Queepie ducks down off the roof, radio floating behind him. Ugh, can’t Raz see he needs his Me-Time? Everyone’s acting like the world’s going to end, and the icky-sticky feeling filling the air has made the camp unbearable.

At least the radio doesn’t feel any of this icky-stickiness. It just keeps playing the same song—a really good song, that Queepie’s never heard before but he really likes and kind of wishes he could never stop hearing. It’s certainly wayyyy better than sticking around the camp where everyone’s acting like everything’s gone wrong. Frazie got to run off and get alone time, so why can’t Queepie?

Something Bad is going to happen, Queepie feels. But predicting bad things is Dion’s job, so Queepie focuses on the music pouring out from the radio. He lets the sound wash over him, drowning out the icky-sticky feeling in his head, and starts to bounce in place.

Raz had called it “stimming”, once, after reading one of his comics. Queepie’s pretty sure the word is dancing—but he doesn’t really care what it’s called, so long as he’s allowed the time and space to listen to music and do it. So he does, moving his whole body like it might make the icky-sticky feeling go away entirely.

(It never really does, but Queepie keeps dancing anyway.)

+=+=+=+=+

“Nona, look!” Mirtala lifts her hands from the ground so that she’s balancing on her braid hoops.

“Hm?” Nona is slow to turn, and doesn’t quite make it all the way before she halts. She glances at Mirtala, but doesn’t really look.

Mirtala huffs, puffing her cheeks out. This keeps happening! She had asked Mom about it, a while ago, and she had said something about Mirtala looking too much like Nona’s sister—but that’s not good enough! The worst explanation!

Still, Nona keeps turning to glance out at the woods, in a way that she doesn’t usually do.

Mirtala’s… she’s not stupid. She knows there’s something her parents haven’t told her, something that all her older siblings know. Something about Nona, and why Dad sometimes trips over a different name when calling for her. Mirtala just doesn’t know what it is, that has her family constantly on edge.

Dad says it’s because their whole bloodline is cursed to die in water. But Mirtala’s seen Raz playing with the water, making it dance around him when he thinks nobody’s looking. Mom says that psychic powers draw attention, Dion says they only cause trouble. But Queepie always looks so happy when he dances and the radio dances with him—though he is bug-eyed and weird, so Mirtala doesn’t really know what to make of that.

But Raz… Raz looked so small when Dad tore up that pamphlet, in a way that Mirtala doesn’t think her older brother should be. And he looks so much happier now, running around on a glowing ball of mind stuff, dressed up like that guy from the comics he sometimes reads to her and Queepie.

But he also looks tired, if Mirtala thinks about it. She frowns, somersaulting out of her handstand and then doing two flips in quick succession. She knows there’s something going on, something that she doesn’t know that has everyone all worried and trying to hide it. Something that nobody will tell her about.

Mirtala frowns. She does a cartwheel in front of Nona, who doesn’t react, staring off into the trees. Mirtala huffs, and takes Nona’s hand. “C’mon, watch Didi juggle me!” She prompts, startling Nona from her weird trance.

Nona looks at Mirtala strangely, for a moment, before shaking her head as if to clear her mind. “Yes, let’s do that.” She agrees, allowing Mirtala to lead her away from the trees and towards the Aquatodome, where Dion’s still standing about muttering.

Mirtala’s not stupid. She knows there’s more going on, even if nobody will tell her about it. But that’s fine, she thinks. They can all sit and hide their feelings all they want; Mirtala will simply entertain herself.

(She’s not always honest about how she feels, either.)

+=+=+=+=+

“DON’T ‘RAZPUTIN’ ME!”

Raz’ voice catches Augustus’ attention, jolting him from his thoughts. He follows the source of the noise, finding his son looking alarmingly distraught next to…

“What’s all this?” Augustus asks, fighting to keep his voice even. That man is… he was the old man from the summer camp, if Augustus remembers correctly. Ford, that was his name.

But Augustus doesn’t have the slightest idea what Ford is even doing here, so close to their family’s camp—nor does he have any idea why his son is so upset, but none of the ideas he does have are any good.

Raz points at Ford. “He did it!” He shouts. “He’s the one who messed with your memories!”

“What.” All of Augustus’ worried anger crashes against a wall, melting away as he stares Ford down. There is something vaguely familiar about him, Augustus realizes—but he hadn’t realized why until now.

Now, when it feels like every muscle in his body has locked up. This man—this man is why Augustus can’t remember his mother’s face, can’t connect the woman who raised him before the deluge with the photos of the protests. This man is why Augustus and his aunt have been unmoored for so long, unable to remember more than the tiniest flashes of their lives Before the Deluge. This man is the source of it—

But why?

“Why?” Augustus asks—no, pleads, clutching at his chest as though that might somehow loosen it, “You—why would you—” He can’t find the words; the world seems to tilt.

“Because I loved her.” Ford laments, which is in itself a whole new revelation—how did this man know Lucrecia? What did he know—about Lucrecia, about Marona? “And I thought it was the only way to keep her safe.”

Augustus’ head is spinning. The river cutting him off from his past—and the man who made it, standing before him—is he breathing?

“So you took her memories?” Raz demands, snapping Augustus to reality. There are tears running down his son’s face. Augustus’ chest tightens further.

And then Donatella—lovely, brave, gorgeous Donatella—surges forwards, pointing at Ford. “You.” She nearly snarls, and Augustus stares at her, tries to etch her face into his mind forever—something he’s done so many times before. He never feels quite so unmoored looking at her; even now, Augustus finds stability in the way Donatella stands, shoulders set, glaring at Ford.

“You have some nerve!” And oh, Augustus is falling in love again, for the millionth time, because how can he not? “What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done to this family?”

Ford’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Augustus wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, wants to demand the answers he’s never been able to find—

“Wait.” Frazie’s voice breaks the silence. 

“Where’s Nona?”

+=+=+=+=+

Lucrecia wanders.

The forest is dark, down here on the ground where the sunlight can’t quite reach. But there is something familiar about this darkness, something etched into her mind telling her where to go. A pull, like the river flowing to the sea.

It has bothered her since they arrived here, cautious about being found out but wanting to support Raz nonetheless. Something in this forest is haunting her, and she needs to find it.

The trees thin out, and Lucrecia finds herself overlooking a flooded clearing. The buildings down there…

Lucrecia makes her way down. She knows this place, doesn’t she?

She wanders down to a dome of stained glass, her hand raising as though she might touch the color panes before her. There is something so familiar about this. It reminds her of a patchwork quilt, of scraps of unused fabric forgotten in the back corner of a drawer. There is something heavy, here, that sees her lowering her hand and turning away.

One path is blocked by vines, another by honey. So Lucrecia turns to the path that’s still open, ambling over to the wooden building looming half over the water. Like an overturned turnip, sagging and starting to rot with age. She crosses the threshold, wood creaking beneath her feet—

There are ghosts here, of some past she does not remember. At once, Lucrecia knows—she has been here before. Before the Deluge.

The notion terrifies and excites her in equal measure. Her lost history, at the cusp of being known—but what will it say about her? About the paths she took? Will the new knowledge fill the holes in her mind, or will it only bring her more grief?

(Perhaps she deserves the grief, for all that she’s done.)

“Oh, ma’am, are you lost?” An unfamiliar voice breaks Lucrecia from her mind’s ramblings. She turns to see a young man, maybe a bit younger than Gus, standing on the edge of the rotting wooden pier.

Lucrecia does not recognize this man. There is an emblem on his robe—ah, he’s a Psychonaut. He looks too young to have been part of the group that defeated her, but—well, best not to lose her wits around him, then.

“Oh, I’ll find my way home eventually.” Lucrecia answers, drawing her shawl in closer. There is danger on the horizon, the water below beckoning her to play. “I always do.” She does not know how to purge the ghosts lingering here, nor does she know if she will actually find anything. So she will simply have to bide her time, it seems.

The man nods. “I imagine you would.”

[fruitageoforanges]

jace strong, weirwood lord of harrenhal —

‘harwin raises the strong boys’ au (explored more in my 1640s historical fusion fic!). i decided to lean in to both jace’s connection to cregan and the old gods of the north and the general weird, magical, cursed atmosphere harrenhal in this conception of him. ie. that he takes after auntie alys rivers in his leaning towards magic and being just a tad creepy.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 9)

first chapter >> last chapter

-

If you’d lived any closer to other people, you’d be ashamed of the state that you arrive home in. Both you and John had stumbled out of the river and put on your clothes hastily, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your wet skin, difficult to put back on without drying off. He hadn’t brought a flannel or towel to dry yourself with after your swim—perhaps thought you’d dry in the sun. Even if there had been one, you can’t imagine you’d have the patience.

You move in quick bursts, pants pulled up your legs, blouse buttoned with trembling fingers, feet straight into your bottoms, your socks stuffed in your pockets. John moves with similar purpose, quick to dress and usher you over to Buttercup with a hand flat on your back, pushing you with the force you remember him using all those weeks ago on your way to the courthouse. 

Neither one of you says a word. Words feel far away and clunky. Rough in a way they’ve never felt. Improper too, to turn to your husband under the light of a clear day and whisper, I want you to make love to me. Say to him, I need to be as close to you as physically possible, I need you to soothe this ache in me, in front of God and all of His creatures wandering through the woods. 

You wonder if you look as disheveled as you feel. 

The ride home passes by in a blur. Perhaps the sunlight catches your eye through the treetops and pries the memory from your head, the passive observer in you usurped by the soft animal of your flesh. It feels John’s strong hand on your hip and purrs. It coaxes you to rub your backside up against him, startled when his fingers tighten around your hip and he holds you there against his erection, groaning softly. 

“Keep that up ‘n we won’t make it home, darlin’,” John warns, voice growling in your ear. Your blood sizzles, vision going white. 

You feel coltish when he helps you dismount, legs shaking beneath you as you watch him take Buttercup back to the stables. He makes quick work about it, long legs carrying him swiftly from the house to the stables. It’s different observing him now because the thought that rises to the top of your mind now, like the fat on the cream, sweet and plump, is, that’s my husband. My husband is going to deflower me. My husband is going to take me to bed and strip me down to nothing and spread my legs—

The thought evaporates when you notice him shut the stable doors and head back towards you. Again, he walks with such purpose that you can only stare at the movement of his hips. 

Time stops when he puts a hand to your cheek and bends low, drawing you into another kiss as deep and languid as the one back in the river. His tongue curls around yours, plying you open until you have no choice but to relinquish everything to him. Your tongue, your docility, your mind. Everything parts to let him inside.

“Look at you,” John murmurs against your lips. “Sweet little thing. Can barely keep yourself upright. Let’s get you to bed.”

He ushers you up the stairs with haste. The staircase feels longer than usual, more of an effort to get up each step. In the bedroom, he locks the door like he did that first night, but this time your heart flutters instead of trembling.  

It’s hardly been any time at all since you saw him naked in the river, but the sight of his bronzed flesh and hirsute chest when he strips his shirt off leaves you breathless. He’s the kind of man that you would studiously avoid looking at if you were to pass him on the street. Too strapping of a man to waste your yearning heart on. Too much of a blow if he were to pass his eyes over you and find you wanting. 

But to know that he wants you as bad as he does is almost too much as well. 

John leans back against the pillows with you cradled in his arms, your pants long since stripped from your legs. Your blouse is still on, but barely, rucked up over the soft swell of your belly. Only a single button holding it in place, even the thread on that button loose and fraying. A hand cups your breast, the other folded over your hand resting on your belly, your fingers threaded together.

“God, you’re just about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he sighs. Your core tightens at that and he breathes a laugh when he feels the muscle of your stomach flex under his hand. “Could hardly believe it the first time I laid my eyes on you. I was spittin’ mad, left waitin’ and wantin’ all those weeks, but then you walked in and…Christ, I just knew.”

“Knew what?” you ask, ignoring the ache in your chest at the mention of the girl he’d been waiting for. 

“Knew I would’ve waited my whole life if it meant I’d get you.”

What does it mean that everything in you quivers at that? On the threshold of breaking. Your husband’s fingers plucking your nipple and then soothing the hurt by swirling his thumb around your areola. He’s worn your resistance down to the quick. You curl the hand on your belly into a fist and his fingers curl with yours.

“Been such a sweet thing for me too,” John says into your ear, dragging his hand from your breast down your stomach and over your hip, curling around the inside of your thigh and pulling it open. He can see everything now, the dewy petals of your sex spreading wide for his perusal, no longer hidden beneath a shift or dress. “Fuck, darlin’…look at that gorgeous little slice of heaven.”

“Oh Lord—” you say, heat crawling up your neck.

John huffs, rubbing his palm up and down your thigh, closer and closer with every stroke. Your sex pulses with each glancing stroke, your breath coming out in ragged pants. “Made me work for it, didn’t ya?”

“I did no—I barely did a thing.”

“Yeah, you did, pretty girl,” he says, dismissing your words, and then his fingers are there, splitting your lips wide, middle finger dragging down the seam like he did on the porch swing all those nights ago. Any rebuttal you might’ve had vanishes in a blink, heart beating staccato. “Could’ve taken it that first night. I wanted to—almost did. But I wanted you sweet and simpering.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, beard burning the skin there. “And what are you now, darlin’?”

“S-sweet and simp-simpering,” you whisper, stuttering when his finger glides over your opening and finds you soaked. So slick that his finger sinks right in up to the second knuckle.

Your knee falls open even more. 

He smiles against your neck before kissing up to your temple. “That’s right, honey. Knew you had it in you.”

“Oh—it’s…it’s…” you gasp when he gives you another, two fingers plunging into you, shallow pumps that hardly get you where you need to go.

“There we go, darlin’. Ain’t that nice? Need ya to be nice ‘n soft for me—don’t wanna hurt ya.”

He’s far from hurting you, but still your stomach twists up. 

“I need—I need—p-please, John, give it to me.”

“And wha’s that?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Give you what, honey?”

You’re tempted to grab his hand and bring his fingers up to your clit, but you can’t quite muster up the nerve. Instead you huff, brows puckering in frustration. You try to draw your knees up to your chest and gasp when he pulls his fingers out of you and wrenches your knee back down to the mattress, pinning it there. 

“None of that,” John scolds, his wet fingers curling around the inside of your knee. “You have to ask for things, darlin’. Use your words.”

Your core clenches at his words. The little bit of stretching that he did leaves you feeling empty without his fingers, slickness dripping down the inside of your thighs. 

“I need to…” you say, thoughts slipping from you. All you want is for John to plunge his fingers back into your sex and take you to your peak, but the words get lost as they travel down your tongue. “It’s not enough.”

“Just my fingers, you mean?” The same ones he digs into your leg until the flesh bulges around his fingers. 

“No,” you whine. You try to drag the hand intertwined with his on your belly down to your sex, but he resists, keeping your hand pinned in place. He holds firm when you struggle, chuckling at the whine that slips past your lips. 

“Poor girl. Needy little thing, aren’t ya? Not stretched enough yet though, darlin’—I’m a lot bigger than a couple fingers.” You choke at that, scandalized. “I’ll give your clit a little lovin’ though.”

He takes his hand off your knee and brings it up so he can spit in his hand. You flinch when you hear the glob of spit hit his palm, and then his hand is back between your legs, wet palm grinding into your sensitive button when his fingers push back into your hole. Single-minded now, trying to coax your orgasm out of you. Forcing a third finger into your hole and shushing you dismissively when you howl and try to squirm away.

The voice in your head demeaning you for acting so lewd is drowned out by your own cries when you come on John’s fingers. It disappears entirely when John kisses your temple and thanks you for giving him your release. Like it’s a gift you’ve given him.  

Your hands flutter over his shoulders when he gets you on your back and fits his hands into the creases of your knees to guide your thighs open. He must like what he sees because his eyelids droop when he stares down at the slick folds between your legs, heavy with lust. 

“Lord, that’s pretty,” John says, petting your clit with his thumb and smiling when you squirm. 

You breathe in quick, shallow breaths, hopelessly beyond composing yourself. Perhaps once or twice you might have allowed yourself to imagine what it might be like to lie with a man. You’ve heard other women giggle amongst themselves about it, about men going cross-eyed, rubicund cheeked, heaving bellies and thighs slapping against the girl’s rear—a handful of thrusts and then finally some peace and quiet when he passed out on the other side of the bed. 

You’re familiar with the mechanics, if only in theory. The expectation of disappointment; that you’d only have to grin and bear it. Think of England. 

John, of course, does not conform to those expectations.

“You take my hand, darlin’,” he murmurs, taking your hand in his and pressing it down to the bed. “Give me a squeeze if it’s too much.”

Your mouth is too dry, mind too scattered to form a response. All you can do is stare up at him.

“Hey.” With his other hand, he gives you a light tap on the cheek. It doesn’t even sting, but it makes you blink. “You still with me?”

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. Your heart jumps when he reaches down to take his shaft in hand and notch the head against your sopping entrance.

Everything collapses down to the feeling of him pressing forward, an insistent siege that doesn’t let up because when you squeeze his hand reflexively, it comes with a, yes, yes, please, falling unbidden from your lips. It feels foreign at first, bigger than the fingers he pressed into you before. Claustrophobic, suffocating. With his arms braced on either side of your head, John eclipses everything else from view.

When it gets too much, you squeeze his hand and dig your nails in, hissing at the stretch. It hurts, and the more you tense, the tighter you get. John winces when you clench around him.

“Easy does it,” he says, squeezing your hand back. He dips his head to drop a soft kiss on your lips, coaxing them open. When you think of the men that languish in opium dens, you imagine that it must feel something like John Price’s tongue licking into your mouth. 

“It hurts,” you mumble when he pulls away.

“I know, honey. Being so brave for me though.” You whine when he sinks in another inch, flexing your toes up in the air. “My brave girl—that’s it…just a lil more, darlin’.”

“There’s more?” you blurt out, and he laughs, the sound coursing through you, shaking you with him. 

Effervescent bubbling joy swells in your chest, so crystal clear for a moment. The man above you almost glows, so radiant that you reach a hand up to cup his face, entranced. 

There’s nothing like him in the world. No one else like him. Steel underneath silk, the very roughness and essence of man that you’ve always known tempered by a softness that makes you physically ache. And in spite of self-doubt and common sense, he looks down at you with the same reverence. Knowing nothing about you. Knowing only something essential about you, the part divested of history, past or future. Whoever you are at your core, he wants it. He’s taken it as his own. 

Then he pushes that last inch into your cunt and you go breathless. 

“There we go, darlin’,” John grits out, and you can see the sweat beading on his temples now. “Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ all of that.”

Your hand feels clammy in his, a thin layer of sweat building on the nape of your neck and along your back as well. He helps you cinch your legs around his waist more comfortably, and you lock your ankles at the small of his back, but still it feels too much. Stretched to your limits. You can hardly swallow, never mind open your mouth to speak. 

John praises you the whole time in hushed whispers, squeezing your hand in his and petting your face with the other. Fingers slide past your cheek and tangle in your hair, a thumb tracing the shell of your ear. He drops wet, sucking kisses down your neck and over your clavicle, licking up the hollow of your throat. Your skin must taste salty with sweat, but still he lavishes you with kisses. 

“Can you take a bit more, darlin’?” he asks. “Still hurt?”

“It—it’s tight,” you rasp, wiggling your hips. You’re hardly able to move though, pinned in place by his bulk. 

“C’mon, arms around me,” he tells you, waiting until your hands are tangled together behind his neck. “We’ll take it real slow, okay?”

You squeak with the first thrust, not expecting the feeling of his cock pulling out of you before pushing back in. He rocks into you slowly though, letting you grow used to the feeling of him inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours the whole time. Dark blue warmed by the sunlight.

My husband’s inside me, you think, a bit hysterically. The same man that you thought might lock you up and throw away the keys now has you on your back in his bed—your bed—making a space for himself in your body. 

The discomfort takes most of the pleasure away at first. All you can focus on is the way your flesh has to stretch to accommodate him with every thrust, the breath forced out of you. Lips screwed up, teeth digging into your bottom lip painfully to hold back the soft grunts building up in your chest. 

“You alright?” John asks in a pulverized voice. You’ve never heard him quite like that.

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m f-fine.”

You don’t sound fine. The sound he lets out lets you know what he thinks of your response. He takes greater care for a time after that, each stroke deliberate, a slow, smooth glide. You feel ragdoll-like in his arms, like a poppet for him to play with; a well-cared for thing. A treasured thing that he rocks into and peppers with kisses, across your eyelids and forehead. 

The bedroom echoes with the sound of your panting breaths and John’s deep, guttural groans every time he sinks into your sex, the lewd, wet squelch of your cunt growing louder as his hips pick up speed. You can see the second you lose him when his eyes go flinty, staring past you. His hands fist into the bedsheets, knuckles going white. 

“Jesus—” he grunts, driving into you hard enough to send you shuttling up the bed. You squeal at that, digging your nails into his back. “Yeah, hold me like that, honey.”

Your breasts bounce with every thrust. John’s eyes flit between them and your eyes before snapping back up to meet your gaze, barely tearing his eyes away long enough to blink. 

Your skin feels hot, tight. Worse when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth like back in the river and suckles. Crude, wet sounds fill the air; sucks that turn sloppy. He kisses between your breasts before latching on to your other nipple. 

He murmurs praises into your skin, breath going choppy. Little susurrations. My wife. Brave, pretty girl. Taking it so well. Tiny little thing.  

When a couple tears leak down your cheek and it starts to build beneath your skin, hot tongues of fire licking up in you, John’s lips pull into a flat line. He can smell it on you. See it in the way your eyes lose focus, glossy and wet. He grabs your face with one hand, pinching until your lips purse. 

“Look at me when you come,” John growls, fingers digging into your cheeks and forcing you to meet his gaze. “You look at your husband when he makes you come.”

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. His fingers pinch where they hold your cheeks. This close to his end, his strength gets away from him; you can feel the attempt to be gentle, but it gets lost in his frenzied need to pump his spend into your belly. His biceps bulge beside your head, a vein near his temple throbbing. 

“You w-won’t let me go? You won’t leave me?” you ask desperately. You don't know why you need to hear him say it, but you’re afraid you’ll die without it. 

“Mine until the end of fuckin’ time, you hear me?” He pinches your cheeks until your mouth falls open, then leans down to lick into your mouth. “You’re gonna let me put a baby in you, wife, and you’re never gonna fuckin’ leave me.”

You come when his mouth brushes over yours, the intimacy overwhelming. Your thighs tighten around his waist, trying to get as close to him as possible, nails raking down his back. If you could climb into his skin, you would. 

John reaches his peak noisily, his thick spend filling your cunt and his tongue filling your mouth. You can feel it inside of you, spurting against your womb, and even the thought of that makes you shiver. He made a house for a wife and children, and he has the former now. Only the latter is missing. 

His hands and mouth are everywhere on you. Petting along your flank, stroking down your side. Sucking softly at your lower lip while he pumps the last of his essence into you. You feel wrung dry, every limb aching and sore. It’ll be worse come morning. For now, exhaustion settles over you like a blanket.

When he pulls out, you can’t help the sound that comes out of you, like a sob trapped in your chest. 

“Oh Lord, I’m a mess,” you whisper, leaning up on your elbows and glancing down between your legs with morbid curiosity. 

Embarrassment at the sight of John’s come leaking onto the bed sheets nearly makes you curl up into a ball. It’s filmy and sticky when you try to gather it up with your fingers. You wipe it on the bed sheets when you realize that now you just have a mess on your hands. 

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he gets off, wet, flaccid cock swinging between his legs. Again, you can’t help but stare despite the way your stomach twists. 

“Sit up,” he orders, and you do without thinking. “Can’t go to bed like this.”

John washes you with a warm cloth, dunking it in the porcelain basin on the bedside table whenever it gets too cold. You’d protest the gentle treatment, but it’s nice to be waited on for a change. You can see why some would grow used to it. The only time you lose your cool is when he drags the washcloth gently between your legs. 

“You could just give me the cloth,” you snip, horribly embarrassed. “I’ve washed myself once or twice, you know.”

For all your spitting and hissing, he only laughs. 

He takes care of the wet spot beneath you as well, lifting you up and sitting you down on the wooden chair before changing the sheets. 

“I can—I can wash those in the morning,” you chime from the chair in the corner of the room, ankles crossing and uncrossing nervously. You wince when you feel a glob of his spend drip out of you. 

John’s mustache twitches with a barely contained smile. “We’ll worry about that in the morning, bug.” 

It’s hard to just let things go. Two weeks in his care can barely begin to equate to the decade plus you spent fending for yourself. There are still days you spend looking over your shoulder, waiting for your past to catch up with you. Waiting for this life to evaporate like smoke. You can’t relinquish all of your control just yet, not when that possibility still looms on the horizon. No matter how much you want. 

You don’t think he knows what’s doing. Not truly. 

John can’t know what he’s become to you. That he is fixed, that he is binding you to a present that you never saw as sure. It wavers in front of you like the fickle light of a candle, and suspended above it, you stare at the douter, waiting for it to come down and snuff the flame out.

[pressureplus]

I actually have this request in my head for a while now... but I'm not sure if you be up to do it so thank to let me know if you will do it or not. Fem! Reader who is happily married and live together with Sebastian (when he still human). Until, Sebastian was arrested and sentence to dead. Reader found no long after his dead that she was pregnant. Years later, Sebastian manage to escape Hadal Blacksite probably very injured in the process. He was soon spotted by the kid that look similar to his human self (the kid probably be now close to be a teenager now), as the kid call up their mother. Sebastian was shocked to see his wife come to view.

I'm looking 👀

Love this dramatic shit, I'm SO here for it!

I'm going to be referring to your son as S/N, so y'all can name your boy yourselves! (I'm real interested in the stuff you might choose, so if you wanna put them in the replies, I'd love to see your baby names!)

Smaller Hands

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: [Unnamed]

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, an Absent Father, injury, and Imprisonment

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had been running a very long time before he got to where he was now.

Escaping the Blacksite was only the beginning of his long, long journey home. He had wrestled himself from the depths of the deep ocean and fought his way all the way up to the light far, far above him.

Breaking through the surface of the water had provided him with a hope he never thought he'd see truly grow into something he could really hold. Sunlight and open air and a horizon that stretched endlessly in every direction... Sebastian hadn't known freedom in over 10 years, but there it was.

The way the natural light caught the glint of his wedding ring had him already tearing through the water with a grin, energy back in his tired body. It certainly wasn't his original ring, no, that one wouldn't fit on his new, much larger hand anymore, but the replacement that he got so he could wear a ring on his hand and not just as a pendant was enough of a visual reminder of his love, sending him treading the water the way this body was made to do. He had to get to his wife.

He had to see his Y/N again. That's always what his efforts were for.

It was days before he even reached a beach, and weeks of dragging himself through the shadows and the alleyways, keeping himself out of sight. He would squint at road maps and try to figure out how he was going to get himself home, not very well able to get on the public transport or drive himself there with a body like this. He had to be more than a little creative with how he was going to cross the countless miles between his lover and himself if he wanted to make it there at all. He'd spend his seemingly endless days hopping trains and swimming rivers just to close the distance faster, like it may wash away the last decade he's had to go without her.

Sebastian could only hope she waited for him, though those chances were next to none. She had been there the day he was 'executed', watching him get taken back to the chair that was supposed to put his story to its end. She has every right and reason to think he died that day, and he could never be angry or upset if she decided she still needed to be held the way his other hands used to hold her... Would these hands even fit her anymore? They'd outgrown his first ring... Would they be too big to hold hers anymore? The painful thought was a reoccurring one, and it plagued every dream he had in the moments he would manage to rest.

He's nearing his old cottage now, beaten and scarred from the long trip home, more than a little bit tired and definitely hungry. He's barely going to make it if he manages to get to the doorstep at all, but more thankful than ever he'd made his home with her outside of the city and out into the woods so he might have a moment to his thoughts. He could very well find her with another man, or he could find a completely new family, or even find nothing but flowers and trees- The life that he made with her could be all but ashes on a breeze that swept this place years ago. She could be a memory and this could all be for nothing just as easily as anything else. He wouldn't even have a right to be angry... He wouldn't even feel a right to cry if she's decided to move on.

"SNAKE MAN! SNAKE MAN!!!"

He's shaken from his pondering by an unfamiliar voice, a starry eyed child fumbling out of the bushes like a little animal.

He nearly panics and flees before the brave, feral little boy reaches out for his hand and looks up at him like something right out of a story book- Which, he supposed may be fair given the way that he looks now.

"Are you a forest monster!? Do you grant wishes and eat people and stuff?!" It's clear the boy doesn't know fear, young and small still, with new eyes... But familiar ones.

Sebastian's heart drops into his stomach when he begins to recognize the thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. This boy is the spitting image of the way he looked when he was around 10 or 11... It's like he's been pulled right from Sebastian's old childhood photos.

Too dumbfounded to speak, Sebastian stands there, every muscle in his body tense while his eyes flick around the boy's face trying to figure out how this could be.

"S/N! What are you doing talking to strangers, you were supposed to be at least playing in the yard and not the woods before the sun started setting." Y/N rounds the trees with a stubborn look on her face and immediately freezes when her gaze meets Sebastian's.

The air is knocked out of the both of them, leaving them only able to stare, and he notes the way she's remained nearly the same as the day that he was forced to leave her behind. Like a flower that never wilts, she stands as beautiful and as amazing as she was when he had first met her. Frozen with an expression he can't place, she makes no motion to do anything at all. The larger man acts first at the realization she must be frightened of him, going to put his two unheld hands up and open his mouth to explain himself-

"You said not to talk to strangers, this is CLEARLY a forest monster." Little S/N beats both of them to the punch and confirms to Sebastian all at once that his attitude is as strong in his blood as that unruly dark hair is.

"Heed your mother, would you? I could very well eat you." Sebastian ushers the child forward with a playful threat, the boy in reference pouting and looking back up at him.

"Come on, I'm only out a little bit late! It's not dark yet! Monsters only eat people in the dark." The boy argues, unfamiliar with the idea of real danger, it seems, but certain of himself the way only children really can be.

"Sebastian I can't believe it... Is it you? Am I losing my mind?" Putting the scolding and corrections on her son's statements off for a better time, Y/N looks up at the mutated form of her lover, hoping she might be right. When Y/N speaks, it's soft and uncertain, a hand going to rest on her child's shoulder so as not to lose him while she's distracted.

"You recognize me?" His heart practically jumps into his throat and he struggles to cope with how quickly she's guessed it was him.

"If not for the way one soul knows another, then for your voice and... Our ring." Unafraid just as well, she walks right up to the towering creature and brings her hand up to the necklace it's strung onto around his neck.

"Am I too late?" Sebastian asks, still scared.

"You're late, but never too much. You had better come home now though." She gets firm near the end and he laughs, melting.

"Awe that's no fair! I'm in trouble for being a few minutes late and he gets to be gone forever!" The boy whines and Y/N seems to laugh when she ruffles his hair.

"You can be out of trouble because it's a special day. Now, let's go home and get you to bed." Y/N's eyes stray back up to her husband, the fondness that was there in those beautiful eyes he fell in love with was something that had grown blurry and hard to recall until now. The way her gaze rested on him so softly brought him back like he'd never left in the first place.

"I think I have some things to talk about with your monster, here." She smiles at him and goes to slide her hand into his, the cold feeling against his palm of her own ring -the matching one to his from the promise that they'd made at that altar a long time ago- made him feel warm again, and made him feel alive.

"Yes, I've got a lot of things I've been waiting to tell her for these years we've spent apart."

[dixons-sunshine]

Sweetest | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wounded and benched from runs for the week, Daryl was asked to watch the kids in the prison while you and some of the others worked on repairing a breach in one of the fences. One of the kids asked Daryl how he met you, his wife, and it made for a rather sweet tale.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Prison, pre season 4.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.6k.

A/n: This turned out worse than I hoped, better than I expected. I don't really know how to explain it, but I hope you like this! (Thank you @ddamm and @dixondystopia for giving me your favourite moments from the entire series to add to this! They were pretty much the same, so great minds truly do think alike, as they say.)

“Mr Dixon?”

At the sound of his name being called, Daryl looked up from his baby girl and locked eyes with a little girl—Mika, he believed her name was—who was staring at him with a big smile. “Yeah?” he replied, slightly bouncing his knee when Hazel began fussing a little.

Mika giggled slightly, sharing a look with her sister, Lizzie, before turning back to the archer. “Mrs Dixon is your wife, right?” she inquired, bouncing slightly on her feet.

Daryl's lips involuntarily twitched up at the mere mention of you. He nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah? Why do ya ask?”

“Well, my dad likes to talk about how he met my mom. Mr Greene has told us how he met his last wife a million times. We wanna know how you met Mrs Dixon!”

Almost as if for added emphasis, the other children all perked up and voiced their interest in knowing the tale of how Daryl met you, his beautiful wife. The archer, both amused by the children's nosiness and embarrassed by the metaphorical spotlight he was placed under, let out a small scoff and adjusted Hazel in his arms, allowing the small girl to happily toy with his fingers. “It ain't some big love story or nothin'. It'll only bore ya.”

“No, it won't,” Carl added from his position atop one of the tables. The teenager had been sulking because Rick had forbade him from helping fix the breach in the fence—where several walkers had managed to crawl through—but the chance of getting to know some insight to one of the most talked about couples in the prison brightened his mood somewhat. You and Daryl were the only couple that dated back before the outbreak, and everyone was eager to know how the two of you got together, and how you managed to keep that spark alive. “We wanna know. Come on, Daryl. Please.”

Daryl let out a small groan and rolled his eyes at the young Grimes' insistence. “Why dun' y'all go pester Glenn or somebody? M'sure he'd be more than happy to tell y'all 'bout how he met Maggie.”

“But he's told us that story a zillion times already,” one of the kids groaned. “We wanna hear your story. Please, Mr Dixon.”

Daryl let out a deep sigh. From somewhere behind him, he could hear Carol chuckle, closely followed by the chuckles of a few of the adults that were taking a break from their chores around the prison. Daryl shook his head and pursed his lips. “Y'all really wanna hear?” Almost instantly, all of the kids perked up and simultaneously voiced their clear interest, trying to talk over the other. Daryl raised his eyebrows and let out a small chuckle. “Woah, calm down. I ain't sayin' nothin' 'til y'all quiet down.” And just like that, it got so quiet, one could hear a pin drop. “Y/n and I go back many years, long 'fore all'a y'all kids were born. We're closin' in on three decades'a knowin' one another.”

“Thirty years?” Carl voiced in a disbelieving tone. “That's basically forever!”

Daryl chuckled and shrugged. “Guess ya can say tha', yeah.” Daryl shushed Hazel when she began fussing a bit, lightly tickling her stomach to coax a laugh from her. “We met when we were twelve, 'side this river in the woods outside the trailer park we lived in. I admit, I didn't know wha' to think'a her at first. Refused to talk to her fer a whole month, but she never gave up. She kept pesterin' me 'til one day, somethin' happened and I broke my quiet facade. Tha's when we started becomin' friends.” Daryl stopped and tried to hide the smile that spread across his face, but to no avail. “She, uh... She quickly became my best friend after tha'.”

“When did you start love-liking her?” one of the kids asked with a giggle, closely followed by the mischievous laughter of the other kids.

Daryl hummed and shrugged. “After she did somethin' fer my sixteenth birthday. I liked her fer a while 'fore tha', but tha' occasion was my wake-up call. My feelin's fer her slapped me righ' in the face tha' day.” He stopped and let out a small sigh before continuing. “I didn't have the balls to confess to her fer 'nother year after tha'. And when I did confess, it was righ' after we went and bought pa—” Daryl cut himself off, painfully aware of the immature teenage boys that would freak out over the mere mention of pads. Because of that, he altered the truth a little. “...Pasta fer dinner tha' nigh'. Things escalated and we kissed, and then her mom walked in.”

“No,” Beth gasped, slightly tightening her grip on Judith as she thought of the embarrassing scenario.

Daryl chuckled and shrugged. “It was embarrassin' as shi—crap, tha's fer sure, but we lived. Her mom was nice 'bout it all. Definitely didn't mean we could escape her teasin', though.” He pursed his lips as he thought of that moment, the embarrassment still fresh in his mind, even all those years later. “Her teasin' got even worse when Y/n and I eloped. She was kinda upset 'bout it, but she soon went straight back to teasin' us fer not bein' able to wait to have a proper weddin'.”

By that point, unbeknownst to the archer, the group that had been working on fixing the fence—a group that included you—had silently stepped into the part of the prison everyone was in to alert the kids to the fact that they could go play. However, once they heard what the crossbow-wielding man was talking about, they stopped and remained quiet, eager to hear about it all. And you stayed quiet as well, quite shocked that your husband was willingly telling stories about his past with you. He preferred to keep that part of his life private, but there he was, happily talking away. It made your heart swell with love and affection for the man.

“The two of you stayed together for all those years?” Zach—Beth's boyfriend—asked, leaning against the wall. When Daryl nodded, he continued. “How?”

Daryl shrugged and adjusted his daughter in his arms again, feeling her head begin to droop as she was beginning to fall asleep. “I love 'er. And fer some reason I still don't understand 'til this day, she loves me. Ain't tha' hard to stay committed to the person ya love the most. Relationships ain't always all sunshines and rainbows, but when yer with the person ya love, s'all worth it. Y/n taught me tha'. She's the sweetest person ever. I dun' know wha' I did to deserve her, but I thank my lucky stars every day tha' I get to call her mine.”

It went silent after that. The only sound that could be heard was the distant sound of walkers groaning outside the fences. That is, until Rick spoke up from behind the huntsman, startling him and alerting him to the fact that essentially everyone had heard him practically rave about you.

“Well said, brother. Well said,” Rick complimented him, a faint, teasing smile on his face. He turned towards the younger ones in the group and gestured towards the door. “Y'all can go play now. Just stay away from the fences.” And just like that, all the kids—except Carl—had forgotten their need to hear about Daryl's love story with you. They all excitedly darted out the door, their laughter fading as they disappeared out the doors.

Michonne smirked, playfully hitting you on the back. “Y/n, you never told me you found such a keeper. And you found him early on, too. You're so lucky.”

“Yeah, she is,” Carol chipped in, a teasing smile on her face as well. “Did I ever tell you about this one guy in our old camp that insulted her and Daryl instantly put him on his ass? He did accidentally reveal her pregnancy while doing so, but that's besides the point.”

“Was it Shane?” Rick asked, sighing when Carol nodded. “Yeah, of course it was,” he mumbled while he shook his head.

“Not to mention how he nearly killed Jenner because he wouldn't let us out—well, wouldn't let them out. He didn't care much for us back then. We all know he only wanted the doors open so that Y/n was safe,” Glenn piped in.

“Aw,” Michonne cooed teasingly. “That is so sweet, Daryl. You're just a big teddy bear.”

Daryl ducked his head in embarrassment as the others joined in on the teasing as well. He could feel his cheeks flush, and he would've gotten up and bolted from the embarrassing situation, had it not been for the fact that Hazel had just fallen asleep, and he didn't want to wake her.

The feeling of your hand being rested on his shoulder almost instantly made him calm down, your familiar touch bringing a sense of comfort to him. The rest of the group were to busy relaying their favourite moments they had seen between the two of you to notice this interaction, and the archer was glad about that. He was also glad that they couldn't hear what you whispered in his ear, because although Daryl Dixon wasn't a selfish man, the others didn't have to hear these words you clearly meant just for him:

“I'm proud of you. You climbed out of your shell today and did something I know you don't always enjoy doing. You're amazing, Daryl Dixon, and I love you so much.” You placed a soft, tender kiss on his cheek. “You really are the sweetest person ever.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[star-suh]

Into the Wild

Choi Beomgyu x Male Reader

cw: fantasy au, top forest spirit beomgyu, bottom knight reader, some angst, happy ending?, fluffy smut, riding, bareback, nipple play, breeding.

an: there’s mention of blood and guts but just at the beginning.

—

the war of 1000 years was an ongoing conflict between two powerful nations. blood, guts, rusty swords and shields were scattered across the landscape, you could see the destruction caused by it everywhere you looked.

yn was forced to join the army of the white knights, whose purpose was to kill the last ones standing in the battle grounds but little did they know that it was all an ambush made by their rivals. screams and liters of blood filled the ground while a badly injured yn managed to escape. he went deep inside the forest not caring if he gets lost, anything would be better than die by the hands of another evil human. with the remaining strength he has he manages to get closer to a river of fresh water, wanting to drink some of it he crawls, leaving a trail of fresh blood behind him. his fingers mere centimeters away from the running water stopped its movements, yn fainted there. his low breathing indicated he didn’t have much time left, at least he could die in a quiet, peaceful and beautiful landscape…

“AHHHHH” yn woke up screaming and then letting himself fall in what feels like a fluffy cloud, “where am i?” he asks to himself, looking around to what it seems it’s a cozy cabin, with dim lit candles that smell amazing “what’s this place?” he stood up from the bed feeling a stinging pain on the side of his torso, seeing a piece of cloth wrapped around it. “you’re awake” a voice said, coming from another room. yn slowly walks towards there where he finds out a beautiful man with shoulder-length long hair with some highlights to it, wearing a white shirt with his face adorned with a cute blush. he looked so ethereal that yn just stood there with his mouth open “close it or a bug will enter on it” the mysterious man laughs quietly.

“sit there, i made some food”, yn obeyed waiting for the bowl of hot soup the man just prepared, “enjoy” he blurted out while sitting across the table to eat some soup too. “where am i?” yn asked. “my house” he replied, “deep in the forest, no one has ever come near here… except from you” he lifts the spoon towards his mouth while making direct eye contact with yn “you were so injured so i helped you a little”.

“thank you so much” yn thanked, “i thought i would die out there…” he sighed. “that’s what war leaves behind”, the man added. “b-but i didn’t want to” yn quickly replies “i was forced to” sadness and guilt washing over him. “they forced you huh? i’m familiar with that”.

“what do you mean?” yn asked back but the other didn’t answer, “the name’s beomgyu”.

as some way to return the favor yn stayed some days to help beomgyu with some home chores like going to collect some fruits, cutting the woods with an axe that by the way beomgyu could spend hours just looking how yn’s strong arms hold the axe and how the sweat ran down his body ‘so hot’ he thinks.

days turned into weeks and weeks into a month. their relationship went to a friendship to something more serious, the tension was there but none of them wanted to break it until one day, after drinking some fruit wine they got drunk and their emotions came out.

it started with beomgyu’s lips ghosting over yn’s who was desperate to feel the contact, he made the first move, kissing beomgyu with burning passion. he tried to get the dominance but beomgyu took it from him easily. beomgyu swallowed yn’s whimpers, caused by the first playing with his nipples, “it feels so good” he moans “i want more” and beomgyu nodded.

slowly they manage to discard their clothes with their lips still attached to each other “i can’t get enough of this” beomgyu says, “me neither” the other responds.

beomgyu guided yn towards the bed in where they fall and laughed. beomgyu went down while leaving a trail of kisses on yn’s body, every touch from beomgyu feels like a pleasurable burning, something that yn craved and he was getting now. beomgyu puts yn’s shaft on his mouth and sucks it, making sure to not leave a part unsucked. “so good beom” yn whimpers hiding his red face with his forearm. “is this making you feel good?” he asks and yn nods “then tell me if this feels good too” he kissed yn’s balls and buried his tongue on yn’s hole, drawing a surprised grunt from him “shit! it feels amazing” his moans growing louder and constant. after some more sucking beomgyu stand in all fours towering over yn’s quivering body “are you ready?” he asks, saliva smeared around his mouth “yeahh” he says “i want you”.

beomgyu’s shaft slowly opened yn’s walls, “so tight” he grunts, the back and forth movement making yn feel like he was in heaven, in a paradise. yn grabbed beomgyu by the neck and pulled him towards him so they could share another kiss. beomgyu lay down and let yn ride him, his ass wrapping his dick so perfectly, it was like it was made for just him. beomgyu played with his nipples, throwing his head back due to the immense pleasure, it was overwhelming. “if you keep doing that i might come inside you” beomgyu says worriedly in between groans, “then it means i’m doing it the right way” yn cockily replies with a smug smile.

yn hips were moving on his own at this point, he loved the way beomgyu feels inside him, he wants more, it was a pleasure he could not deny to himself. on the other side beomgyu hasn’t feel this way since so long, a mix of emotions clouding his mind. yn moved his hips to met beomgyu’s sloppy thrusts, “please beom i want it in me” yn started to beg and how can one deny that pleasure to such a cute dickrider?. beomgyu hugged him by the waist accelerating his pace, his balls slapping against yn’s ass “fuck yeah” yn smiles, tongue out and eyes rolled back. his dick spurting cum everywhere on the bed and sheets, “it’s my turn now. be ready” few sloppy thrusts later and yn’s gushy hole was filled with thick cum, lots and lots of it filling him up to the brim. “i feel so full” yn tiredly says hugging beomgyu while playing with his long hair. “i haven’t felt this way for so long… thanks yn” beomgyu kisses his forehead and falls asleep too.

war is over finally so yn decides it’s time to go back to his town and let everyone know that he was okay, “wait for me please beom, i’ll be back, i promise”. “it’s ok, i’ll always be here don’t worry” yn said a last goodbye and left but wondering why beomgyu doesn’t live in a town.

everyone that was still alive cheered for yn coming back alive to the town. he then goes to the cemetery to pay a visit to his dead parents, who died because of the war some years ago, a situation that some knight took advantage of to put yn in the white knights rows.in the cemetery was some kind of memorial for the ones who died in the war, yn curiously looked at it when something caught his attention, he felt surprised and sad and ran away.

“beomgyu, beomgyu” he yells when he arrived to the man’s cabin, “what happened?” he said anguished. “you.. you..” he pants unable to form a word. “...so you found it out..” a sad smile creeping over his face, “i was a knight like you before” he starts his explanation “they forced me to join their rows too.. just like you. bastards” tears forming on his and yn’s eyes. “i fought with all my strength but i realized it was pointless, i will die on the battlegrounds anyway” he wipes the single tear that rolled down his face “just like you i escaped towards the forest but the enemies found me and wel” he pauses “they killed me here”. “beom i’m sorry” yn gets closer to him and hugs him, “then are you a ghost?” he curiously asks. “uhm-uhm, so nature force or deity i don’t really know, brought me back to life to guard this forest”. “so this is why you don’t leave in a town”, “that’s right” he laughs trying to put the sad feelings aside, “i’m sorry for not telling you before”, once again yn hugs beomgyu tightly “guess there will be two of us guarding this forest now” he said kissing beomgyu right after, “but what about you yn, you deserve to be happy out there, with people like you” beomgyu worriedly spoke. “i’m happy here, with you. you are my happiness” his dazzling smile making beom’s heart flutter, the blush on his face becoming even redder “you’re so corny” he tries to disguise his shyness, “i know you love it when i’m like that” both laughed while beom hits jokingly the other’s shoulder.

the couple has lived happily since that day, with yn waiting to meet that nature force with the hopes of being turned into a forest spirit and live forever with his loved one.

[diejager]

begging for more monster 141🙏🙏🙏

hear me out- reader is a host to venom but has it hidden and they find out maybe…?

(i got hyper fixated on blue’s au and SCOURING the internet💀)

What if… Hunter was Venom?

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x venom reader

Cw: blood and gore, canon typical violence, head eating, gaslighting by Hunter, injury, fighting, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.4k

Only Human masterlist

Sometimes, they’d find you mumbling to yourself, voice so low that, unless they were a hybrid or had impeccable hearing, they wouldn’t be able to hear it. It was a ne’er silent whisper of harsh words or soft coos towards a being they couldn’t see. Were you talking to someone on your headset? Were you wearing EarPods to talk to someone? Or had you lost some screws in your mind after working with them for so long? None of them truly knew, but they wouldn’t bother you with it when you never bothered them with pesky questions that sounded insulting to them. After all, why would they bother their adorably useful and resourceful medic? You were the beating heart of the Task Force, you made it whole and functioning. Yet, they couldn’t stop the curiosity that festered in their mind, the need to know what made you talk to yourself, mumbling and cursing when you were alone. 

Nothing seemed out of order, you were still strong-headed and scolding them like you did the day before, mumbling about Soap’s recklessness and Gaz’s impending fate of falling out of airborne vehicles. About Price’s habit of working too hard, pushing his already pained body to work. Pulling Ghost by the - bloody and soiled - sleeve to your infirmary with a deep frown and eyes glinting with the promise of retribution for the hybrid that hid whatever ailed him from you; you were the medic for Pete’s sake! It was your duty to watch over them. Hounding Alejandro for his medical check after a deployment because, as handsome and dependable as he was, he liked hiding his wounds. Running after Rudy for his checkups while he was limping or trying to avoid you. Calling after Horanji for his share of the affection, needle, scalpel, bandage and all, he needed and deserved all the others received. Or sitting beside König, reminiscing about your early days, where taking care of your patients was as easy as taking care of König was, grateful and pliant, showering you with love and adoration before, during and after the procedures. 

You had your plate full with them, so it’d be unheard of if you had time to care for others. You might’ve been a medic on base, but your priorities and loyalties lay with them, with Task Force 141 and its allies. However being a - their - medic, didn’t mean you were free from any pain, fear or quirkiness as they were. You were as weird and as awful as every single one of them was, wearing it pridefully on your chest when you stood with them; even if you were wholly human - or you were supposed to.

Ghost caught fleeting moments where a dark mass would move around you, a glistening blob of marble-like texture with silver rivers running across it. It was near impossible to see it when it would disappear once it felt - even the slightest indication - the presence of another living being, like an illusion of trick of the light. That’s what you told them, it was simply a trick of the light or something because you didn’t know anything about an ugly blob. It was told slowly and persuasively with a wince once the words “ugly blob” left your mouth, a pained grimace as if something was grating your ears or claws were digging into your mind. When he brought it up with Gaz - who had impeccable eye-sight, the harpy would agree, spewing words about it having a menacing face with wide, pointed eyes and a mouth full of teeth. Big and sharp teeth that seemed alien-like. It couldn’t have been the trick of the light, especially since both of them saw the same thing. They asked you once more, together this time, but you’d reassured them that they were both tired when they’d seen this blob. You were tired and sometimes saw moving forms from the corner of your eyes too, so it might’ve been hysteria - collective hysteria.

Soap, if he tried hard enough, would sometimes hear a deep voice echo around you. It wasn’t something disturbingly deep, or annoyingly alien, it was pleasingly deep with a smooth undertone to its growls. It would send chills up his spine when he heard it, but he would always catch your voice talking back to it. He’d hear hisses and curses, some more unusual and others more normal: “I can’t eat my teammates!”, “I told you no!”, “Stop eating heads! People will catch on!” or “Can you shut up?” and “I can’t concentrate with you screaming my head off!” Soap, knowing how good Alejandro’s hearing was, asked if the Mexican had heard you speak with an unknown voice, specifically a male voice. A few muffled conversations between you and an unknown man and sometimes one-sided, but, simply put, Alejandro had witnessed the same occasions as the Scot had. It wasn’t unusual to talk to yourself, would it? Soap liked to boost his own morale with confident words and flattering compliments to himself. Alejandro wasn’t a stranger to mumbling to himself either, cursing his choice in life and how he ended up with his - lovable - problem-causing band of vagabonds.

If you weren’t careful or unintentionally careless, there would be a distinct odour clinging to your skin. It would be strong and pungent, the smell fresh and metallic-like. König knew it well, he craved as much as he wanted to bathe in it, the sweet smell of blood. How could he not recognize the faintest whiff of blood when it often drove him mad with bloodlust and the uncontrollable need to fall into a daze of primal hunger? It stuck to you like a second layer of skin, thin and always present. It sewed into the fundamentals of your scent, the tinge of iron mixed into the sweet, syrupy musk. It drove him mad with need, thirsting for the thing that made you smell so delicious. It clung to you as if you bathed in blood, drinking and devouring it, yet your skin was clean, with no speck of red under your nails, on your skin or between your teeth. In a worry, he went to Price, The Captain had the most knowledge about you and König could trust him to take good care of him, being a dragon. He expected the Brit to know something, even the slightest change, but Price hadn’t caught anything odd about you. Perhaps it clung to you because of your closeness to him, Percht hybrids - although rare - were ferociously unpredictable and ravenously bloodthirsty.

Rudy was the more human of them, so he caught on to the changes in behaviours and habits of others easily. You’d act odd at times, shoulders slightly tense and back slumped inward, body tired but unable to relax. He wanted to help, he proposed, but you’d turned him down, telling him you were fine, that you were just restless from being off duty for so long or for being worked to the bone. He would also catch you subtly avoiding them without ringing any bells, seeming occupied with other things while whispering under your breath; your slower reactions to their banter and the darker bags under your eyes, wearing that dazed and blank look in them while you sat with them; or the strong growl of your stomach and the slight rubbing of your stomach, soothing an ache that rooted so deeply in your abdomen. He worried, often, if he was honest. Even Horangi, a man oblivious to most cues and behaviours in humans, saw the subtle change in your behaviour when you acted odd. He pointed out the rings under your eyes, your fatigued and distracted mind, and your lip-gnawing hunger. For a hybrid that had so much difficulty grasping and understanding humans, he caught on to your change abnormally quickly, even with the excessive chocolate consumption.

They were all suspicious and you, their sweet and convincing medic, had them doubting what they saw, your gaslighting working on them as easily as a child bribed with candy. It didn’t make you feel less guilty or disappointed in yourself, but you weren’t sure how they’d react to him, not being human or a monster. He was a creature out of the pages of a sci-fi novel, a creation of the human mind and imagination. Venom was an alien, something from outer space. You were convincing until you couldn’t anymore.

Let me take over, the soothing voice uttered to you, calling out your name in a concerned tone. Let me protect you.

You were compromised, the enemy had tapped into your line, listening in on your conversations and movements. That’s how they were able to separate most of you, to turn the squad of nine operators down to four smaller teams, all on the run and trying to stick to the shadows without calling to the others through the comms. You were crouched over Gaz, whispering sweet nothings to the hissing man. You soothed his ache, hand and mind strained on the bleeding wound on his forearm, his beautiful, bronze skin stained with crimson in the hot and humid air of Columbia. 

Blood rolled down his tense arm, over his round muscle and sweaty skin, it was a clean graze, the blunt head of the bullet grazing his arm deep enough for it to bleed but shallow enough for it not to leave him incapacitated with blood loss. It was a ray of light in your dreadful situation. You had his wound cleaned and wrapped up, congratulating him for pushing through and helping him up. You cursed the enemy, wondering how the low-stake in-and-out ops suddenly turned out to be an extremely high-stake one with minimal possibility of reaching the evacuation point. 

“C’mon Gaz, we need to move,” you whispered to him, holding your rifle closely to your chest while you walked around the shadows of Guaitarilla’s back alley and dark corners. “We need to regroup at the evacuation point.”

“Yeah, good plan,” he nodded, following your lead even though he was higher-ranked than you, but in such situations, survival was the priority. 

You stuck to alleys, using the shadows to hide from the patrolling cartel that had the town surrounded, it nearly baffled you with the speed of their defences and counter-attack if you hadn’t heard of Las Almas’ attack from El Sin Nombre and The Shadows from you teammates. Although you couldn’t admire them, you could respect their skills and ability, you only wished it was for you rather than against you. 

While you watched ahead, Gaz had your back, peering around the corner before giving him the green to move. It was a rotation between who went first and who looked back, but you made it work with only you both. You were so careful, yet it somehow wasn’t enough, someone had noticed you and it sent you and Gaz rushing for cover, to escape the group of dispatched cartel members. It was stupid, running without looking where you were heading towards. It was stupid to let the enemy tap into your comms. It was stupid, the situation you got yourself into. 

You were backed into a corner, Gaz standing before you like a protective shield between you and the enemy, his rifle pointed toward the quickly advancing group. You wanted to protest about him using his wings to cover you, his wide, brown feathers expanded to hide you from those men. He was already hurt from pulling you away from harm, but he was now standing protectively before you. You couldn’t let him get hurt because of you, not anymore. 

Little One, his voice rang once more in your head, the reassuring pressure of his presence in your body calming you down by an inch. Let me take over.

If you let him take control of your body, it would ensure your and Gaz’s safety, then you could reach the others that you’d lost in the chaos of the battle. While you wore the combat medic’s patch proudly, your prior training before taking up your 16 weeks of medical training wasn't lost to you. You remembered how to aim and shoot, how to snipe an enemy from afar and protect your teammates from whatever danger you faced. None were lost to you, and you’d use every bit of training you had to protect them, whether it was as yourself or with Venom’s help. Venom’s help was undoubtedly useful, and right now, you needed him.

“Please, Venom,” you spoke aloud, your soft voice carrying through the blocked alley. 

“Who-” Gaz asked, confusion laced his tone, the question left unspoken as Venom’s deep, rattling voice boomed across the tight space.

“We are Venom, flesh bag,” he growled, body crouching down, not dissimilar to a feline laying prone while it waited for the right moment to attack, and pounced at the men.

Don’t call Gaz flesh bag, Venom, you whined, your voice echoing in your shared subspace of your mind.

“If that is what you wish.”

His heavy mass landed on a man, pushing him to the ground with a loud crack. You imagined that Venom either broke his back or a few of the Colombian’s ribs, it was sickeningly delightful, the sadistic pleasure from Venom sent you reading with mirth. His hands stretched to abnormal lengths to swing at the enemies with practised ease and familiarity. Whether they’d die from blunt force trauma from Venom’s strength or live with a concussion, none mattered to him, hunger raked his being, the throb aching in the back of his mind. It was a moment where he was let loose, where you wouldn’t need to gorge on an extreme amount of chocolate to keep him fed. This would keep him satisfied for a few weeks. 

Venom pulled the first two in, his jaw widening to clamp down on their neck. Gaz saw the dangerous gleam of Venom’s teeth, rows of pristine and immaculate teeth the size of a finger bled the man’s head red in a single bite. He shivered at the decapitated body that fell from your monster’s hand as he went for the second and third Colombian. He made a show of viciousness and raw, unadulterated bloodthirst with his eating. Fortunately, apart from the bloody mess and dead bodies, Venom was a relatively neat eater, licking his teeth clean from the red stains with a long, slimy tongue. Gaz couldn’t shake how your monster made him apprehensive, his body flinching and trembling at the greater being.

“Let’s go, The Little One wants to rescue the others,” Venom’s grating voice shook Gaz out of his stupor.

“Hu-Hunter’s there?”

Venom nodded, his mass retreating into your body, the mass melting into you like a second skin. It was as if Venom was never there, as if it was all his delusional imagination. Gaz rushed to you, his hands grabbing hold of you as he shook you in his grasp, he cursed in worry, concern lacing every word he spewed in a tornado of fear, curiosity and confusion. His soft feathered wings cradled you, casting a protective shadow over you as you hid in the darkness of the alley. 

“Gaz, we have to go,” you murmured to him, your voice soft and reassuring, trying to help him walk off the edge you were pushed to. You both were safe for now, the cartel that had followed you all laid dead without their heads in a thick puddle of their viscera. “We have to find the others.”

He let out a shaky sign, his head nodding in affirmation at your comforting words. He loved that about you, that ability to heal and mend their ache and anguish with a smile and sweet words. Then, pairing your softness with your stubborn viciousness made you a gem within the military, a one-in-a-million for them. Yet, all that clouded his mind were questions, about your safety, about that monster that melted into you, about what kind or what it was. Gaz had so many questions that he’d push back for the greater good of rescuing the rest of the Task Force, he’d hound you for answers later when everyone was back together. 

When Venom resurfaced, retaking control of your shared body, he’d reassured you that he knew where they were, his body being hyper-aware of the things that made you smile and laugh. You were his host and his joy. It was an easier job than the two of you - you and Gaz - had expected, Venom’s claws digging into the buildings as he scaled the walls to reach the roof. From then, he pulled nothing back, rushing forward with the same enthusiasm as König had when he led first, and leaped, the muscles of his legs pushing him high across the buildings with Gaz flying beside him. 

Venom had made quick work of the situation, his body invulnerable to anything but loud sounds and fire, which none had since it was a rainy night. You found Horangi and Alejandro first, Venom doing what he knew best: protecting you, in relation, what you loved too, and feeding on human heads, the chemicals in the human brains nurturing him. Alejandro and Horangi were naturally confused and distrustful of Venom, but you had Gaz to smooth things over, and knowing that Venom’s way of speaking was curt and up-to-point - annoyingly blunt - it made your body soar with relief. They, albeit confused and curious, followed you from the ground as Venom cleared a path to the next ones.

Price, Rudy and Soap were the biggest team from your unexpected separation. They jumped at Venom’s appearance, Soap throwing threats at him when he took a step towards them. That was expected, Venom - even being the symbiote you were hosting - was a stranger to them and Soap reacted according to his instincts. That blaring, red light that signalled his brain to send his body on complete guard about the danger, Venom couldn’t escape a werewolf’s keen situational awareness. You’d taken the initiative to calm them down, seeing as everyone was already down,  the enemy loaded with bullets and dying in a pool of their blood. You kept the explanation short and simple, giving them the important points before promising to tell Price everything he wanted to know after you found Ghost and König.

Those two were harder to find, forcing Venom to extend himself to sense the slightest presence of either man. It couldn't be easier that Ghost was a wraith, being able to disappear and appear at will and that König knew very well how to hide, perhaps as well as Ghost could. When Venom found them, Ghost shot first, “shoot first, questions later” seemed to lead his decisions with König not far behind him. He brought his arms forward to protect himself and you, hidden within his mass. Venom growled but didn’t attack them, hissing the words you spoke to him to them. It was a simple quote that you’d shared with them in situations where they needed to find you between the hostages or under disguise. 

Like calls to like.

It was simple, but telling. They stopped the moment Venom uttered them, knowing well you were inside Venom, Gaz landing before him and the others steadily arriving behind the two. Task Force 141 was finally complete, from the most humane to the most chaotic hybrid, some were hurt, grazed, protrusions, and stabbed, but all were alive. You were glad, you were really, really happy that everyone was safe and alive.

Seated in the Razor, the silence and tension were thick within the cargo hold, Horangi and Gaz framing your sides with Price taking the seat across from you. You could see the stress and tension rolling off his shoulder after treating everyone, his brows furrowed and a frown curled his lips under his beard. Beside him was Alejandro and Ghost, both - like everyone else - wearing a confused and disgruntled expression on their face, their eyes gleaming with questions left unsaid. You’d left them wondering if their minds were playing tricks on them, if they were seeing things, if they were imagining things and if they were losing their minds. You understood the anger, but you had your reasons to hide Venom’s existence.  

Price crossed his arms, legs spread wide as he leaned back, his head tipped back with an inquisitively serious look. He raised a brow at you, waiting to see if you could prove your case or if you had anything to add before he started. With nothing to say, you bit your bottom lip, your shoulders screwed with anxiety and fear. You didn’t know what to expect now that your well-kept secret was out. 

“We have a lot to talk about, Hunter.”

“I know, Captain.”

Better sooner than later, leaving it to fester and grow would be bad for the TF’s morale and relations. 

Taglist:  @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness

[undreaming-fanfiction]

I've had a fantasy/medieval AU in mind for ages and I will write it one day, but the idea just wants out now. So have a brief summary.

Steve works in a small town in the middle of nowhere, he's doing odd jobs and helping to tame the local children. He's very protective because he knows the world outside is dangerous, and yeah, maybe their town is borning, but at least it's safe. Ever since his former fiancées friend got dragged into a river and drowned by a water demon, he's been even more protective of the children (and has saved them from a bunch of close calls too, even though they hate to admit it).

Eddie is a travelling bard, and Steve wants to tear his hair out and weave it into a basket or something. Because where he's trying to make sure the six kids get to grow up, Eddie is filling their heads with adventures, dragons, treasure and all that beautiful stuff that gets people killed one day. But the kids love him and Steve can only stay nearby and pray they don't run off one day with makeshift swords.

He just wants the kids safe. That's why he always accompanies them when Eddie is in town. So what if he sits nearby when Eddie spins his stories, it's just to protect them all from wolves if they decide to come. So what if he inches closer when the tale gets more tense and the protagonist is in danger. So what if he holds his breath until he knows whether the adventurers lived to see another day! It's all for the children, he says to himself.

And Eddie? Eddie sees the wonder in Steve's eyes. He sees a young man who has been walking in circles for too long, who has given up all of his future to give one to these six children. He sees in him what he sees in all of the adventurers and heroes he sings about, whose tales he carries with him. He sees all he wants to give.

So Eddie comes to the town more often than to the other ones. But whenever the children start raving about going on adventures, he just throws his head back and laughs. "You, going on an adventure? Please. Can you hold a weapon? Can you dodge an attack? Hm? Show me." The kids fail, of course. And Eddie says: "Do you know what the adventurers I sing about have in common? They came back from their adventures. And why? Because they were prepared! No one is going to sing about you if you drop dead during your first fight."

It doesn't take long for the kids to come to Steve for advice and training. And Steve knows somewhere deep in his heart that he can't protect them forever. He talks to the captain of the guard, Hopper, and he actually gets someone to train with the kids - and himself. He watches with pride as the children pick weapons best suited to their strengths, all too heavy for them, but that doesn't curb their enthusiasm.

He also asks his ex-fiancée, Nancy, to provide some basic training regarding edible herbs, remedies and poisons. He goes to Robin for a geography lesson, so that the little shits at least know where they're going and where their kingdom ends. He asks Jonathan to speed up their reading and writing lessons, and Argyle prepares a bunch of easy recipes from things that grow around them, and teaches them how to start a fire in almost any conditions.

When the kids turn fifteen, they are ready to go on an adventure with Eddie. Steve has done all he could, but he still feels they aren't ready, that he isn't ready. He'll die of worrying, he knows it. What is he even going to do now that the kids are gone?

But Eddie just smiles at him. "What, you put in all this work for them and now you don't even get to see them in action? Don't be stupid. Go and pack, we'll wait for you."

If Steve keeps thinking of Eddie's smile the whole time he's packing, it's only his business.

And that's how, with much of the kids' grumbling, Steve also leaves on adventure.

[staylovesmiley]

Give Me Your TMI~ Chapter 2

₊˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Yang Jeongin x Fem!reader, Stray kids x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; In a world where Humans and Hybrids should be living as equals, Hybrids are still viewed as being closer to their animalistic side than their humanistic. Deep in the woods lives a band of misfit hybrids who reject these societal views and keep to themselves, choosing to live away from humans. What happens when the youngest of this rogue group meets a lost Human girl, befriending her after an incident where he must rely on her for help?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; hybrid!au, female!reader, angst, mild violence, mentions of sexual harassment/assault and discrimination, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime fruits basket~

This chapter especially has mentions of attempted murder and a gun (nothing gory or descriptive), if that is something that triggers you please proceed with caution

Darkness. Everything was wrapped in a complete and total darkness.

You had been staggering all morning that day, your hunger finally having caught up with you as you had run out of food weeks ago and were relying on water from the river and what few plants you could confidently identify as edible to keep going.

As you felt your body weakening significantly you attempted to make your way into your tent to get some rest, stupidly believing yourself to just be tired. When your body hit the hard and muddy ground you barely felt a thing, already too far gone to feel anything but the cold that had settled deep in your bones.

So this was it, you were finally going to die. Bitterly you thought to yourself that this is what he had wanted, that he would be winning in the end after all. You weren’t sure how much time had past but through the haze of memories flooding your mind in what you assumed were your last moments here on earth, the vision of a strong yet somehow lithe body holding you, protecting you, came into view. He was beautiful, stunning even. There seemed to be a hazy glow around him, an aura you could only describe as angelic. That must be it- he was the angel meant to guide you into the afterlife. You felt at peace with such a kind soul watching over you, faintly making out a whisper of his name. “J-Jeongin?” You repeated after a while, feeling his attention solely on you. This felt nice, safe. You allowed yourself to bask in this embrace as you drifted back into the darkness once more.

Warmth is what brought you back to the land of the living, wrapped around you and almost too warm. Your eyelids fluttered open slowly and you began taking in your surroundings as your vision slowly came into focus. Where am I? You thought to yourself. A small room, the blinds were closed but you could tell from the sound that it was still raining outside, a heavy downpour at that. The lamp on the bedside table was on, and a light weight rested on your chest atop the quilt that covered you up to your neck. You looked down at what it could be laying on top of you, only to be met with the sight of a sleeping fox curling up on the lower part of your chest where your stomach began.

“Mr. Fox?” You said, voice hoarse from not using it for however long you didn’t know. At the sound of your voice the creature atop of you stirred, soft brown eyes looking back at you before he seemed to register that you were awake. Silently he rose, hopping down from the bed and making his way out of the room causing you to sit up and try to follow.

You groaned, wincing a bit at your stiff muscles but managed to sit up straight, the blankets falling to pool at your waist and it was then that you noticed you were wearing clothes that didn’t belong to you. “What-?”

Confusion set in, but then you realized that maybe this was the home of whoever Mr. Fox belonged to. Of course it made sense that such a smart and seemingly domesticated fox was a pet to someone since wild animals didn’t typically respond to humans the way he had. You were almost correct, but also so wrong. “Be careful, please. Your body is still very weak.”

In came Jeongin, your angel, causing you to gasp. “You’re real?!” Was the first thing out of your mouth, though as soon as the words left your lips you clasped both hands over your mouth as an embarrassed flush reached your cheeks. The boy laughed, moving closer to the bed. “Yes, I’m real..” You couldn’t help but giggle and slowly let your hands fall into your lap. “I only meant that- well I thought I had only dreamed you up…I thought I was dying and you were my guardian angel.” The words caused Jeongin to blush, looking away and that was when you noticed the pair of fluffy red triangles tipped with black atop his head and the even fluffier tail behind him. “Oh- Jeongin you’re-“ He froze, suddenly hesitant at your reaction

“A hybrid.”

“Mr. Fox-“

Both of you responded at the same time. He couldn’t help but smile, of course you would point out that he was your Fox friend before even thinking of him as anything else. “Yeah, I’m Mr. Fox…but please call my Jeongin?” You nodded, still taking in his beautiful face as you continued to blush. “Mhm, yeah I can do that- Jeongin…” The hybrid had to keep himself from chirping at the sound of his name on your lips, almost as addictive as your giggle. “Um- how did I get here? And where am I exactly?”

The hybrid looks a bit bashful, causing you to hold back from cooing at how adorable he looks with a soft blush on his cheeks. “Well when I found you lying there unconscious I panicked and so I brought you um…t-to my home so we could help you.” Oh, so this was his home. You smiled softly as you looked around, taking it in now with clearer vision. But wait- his wording threw you off a bit, causing you to tilt your head curiously. “We? What do you mean-“ Before you could finish your question there was a light knock at the door.

“Ayen-ah? I have some more broth for our patient~” At the sound of a newcomer you drew your legs up to your chest, ignoring the ache in your muscles as you wrapped your arms around them protectively. “Oh- she’s awake! Well hello to you, it’s nice to see you’re conscious.” The man had soft brown cat ears atop his head and his sleek tail was whipping behind him slowly as a soft smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “I’m Minho, I’ve been the one looking after you while you rested.” You nodded slowly, taking in his appearance as he set a tray with a bowl and glass of water on the bedside table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed closest to you. Goodness, he was gorgeous as well. You thought to yourself how two men could be so beautiful as Minho took the glass of water in his hand.

“Do you think you could drink something for me, pretty? I’m sure your throat is terribly dry after being out cold for three days.” Your eyes widened comically as you looked between the two hybrids. “T-Two days?! I was asleep that long?…”

Jeongin nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah…I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t ever wake up-“ Your heart softened as the concern in his voice, giving him a sad smile as Minho carefully handed the glass to you. “Careful, just take small sips yeah? Innie here was so worried he didn’t leave your side until I forced him to go take a bath to calm down.” You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought, taking a few hesitant sips of water as instructed.

While you sat and finished a little over half of the contents of your cup, both hybrids filled you in on everything you had missed from the time Jeongin found you up until that morning when you woke up. It was still early, yet with the cloudy skies and rain pouring down you could have been fooled into thinking it was the dead of night. “It’s been raining ever since that day…we tried so hard to keep things warm for you in hopes it would help you wake up sooner-“ You nodded, watching as Minho took the bowl of broth into his hands and began moving a spoonful towards you. “Oh no I can feed myself-“ you started to say but the cat hybrid shook his head. “You’re still weak. Don’t think I didn’t see your hands shaking as you held that glass. Now open.” Seeing there was no room to argue with him, you parted your lips slowly and allowed Minho to feed you the broth carefully and slowly one spoonful at a time.

Once you had your fill, shaking your head as he attempted to continue to feed you, he set the bowl down and the sound of footsteps outside caused you to flinch. “Um- pardon me asking but…how many people live here?” Just then the door opened to reveal a second cat hybrid with soft fluffy tanned ears and a matching tail as well as a hybrid you couldn’t quite classify with soft brown ears and slightly fluffy brown tail almost like a squirrel but not quite. “Ji, Lix, our pretty has finally woken up.” Minho smirked to the other hybrids, his words causing Jeongin to growl slightly before laying himself across you like he had been earlier though in this form his weight against your chest caused you to let out a little squeak.

His warm body pressed against yours, with his head resting against your chest wasn’t unwelcome and you gently began carding your fingers through his slightly curly locks just like you would have in his fox form. “Jeez, possessive much? Come on Ayen we’ve been waiting to meet her for sooo long!” The hybrid you couldn’t classify said, flopping down on the bed beside you and curling up comfortably. You giggled as you observed him, causing Jeongin to blush at the sound he loved so much and bury his face into your shoulder. “And who might you be?” Your voice was soft, airy, and it caused the hybrid to look up at you in awe with big round brown eyes. “I’m Jisung!” Minho could see you eyeing him quizzically and seemed to guess what you were trying to figure out. “He’s a chipmunk hybrid. I know there aren’t many owned by humans so you’ve probably never seen one before.” Jisung sat up on his elbows, seemingly enamored as he took in your appearance closely. “Don’t worry if you haven’t- I’ve never seen a human before so we’re even.”

You shrugged slightly, looking around at the four of them before answering. “Actually I’ve never seen a hybrid before at all…so this is all kinda new to me-“ At that the four hybrids gawked, not sure how to respond but in the end it was the cat hybrid who had entered with Jisung who spoke up. “Like- never at all? Never ever?” You shook your head, giving them a shy smile. “Nope- I am not exactly from a high class background and my family kept me pretty sheltered so I wasn’t allowed to go out much…I mean I know of them- heard of them. Just never met one before.” The second cat hybrid sat at the end of the bed with his legs folded, hands braced on his calves as he leaned forward to get a better look at you. “Well I’m Felix! It’s nice to meet you-“

Four sets of eyes looked at you expectantly, clearly waiting for you to say your name eagerly. “Oh gosh I haven’t properly introduced myself- I’m y/n.” Jeongin gasped a bit, lifting his head to rest his chin against your chest and fully meet your eyes. “That’s so lovely, pretty-“ you giggled again, trying to hide your blush but no matter where you turned there was a hybrid watching you carefully. “We’ve been calling you pretty this whole time because that’s what our innie referred to you as.” Minho teased, pinching the youngest’s cheek earning him a little yip in distaste for the action. “Oh- um, that’s fine if that’s what’s more comfortable for you? I’ve never had a nickname before-“

Jeongin blushed at your words, mumbling to himself that only he should get to call you that but the words were so soft they couldn’t reach your ears. However, the other hybrids heard him loud and clear and gave each other a smirk of acknowledgment. “Pretty it is then, it suits you.” Jisung said, nodding as he curled back up beside you. “Thank you- and thank you all for taking such good care of me…I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for your help.”

At the mention of your previous state the hybrids all gave each other a knowing look before Jeongin slowly sat up at the end of the bed beside Felix. “I couldn’t ever ask before because I was only around you in my fox form…but what are you doing all the way out here? There aren’t any other houses around for miles and the closest town is all the way at the bottom of the mountain…” His voice was soft, concern and curiosity laced within his words and your chest began to feel tight. “I-I…My husband-“ you started, tears welling in your eyes. At the mention of a husband Jeongin frowned, tilting his head as he remembered the small camp you seemed to inhabit alone. “He left me here…we- gosh this is so humiliating.” You hid your face behind your hands, trying to will your tears away as Minho gently began rubbing circles on your back. “It’s okay, take your time…we are here to listen, not judge.”

At the kind gesture, and the worried yet what faces watching you carefully, you took a deep and shaky breath. “We had just gotten married, something arranged by our parents, and this was supposed to be our honeymoon.” Your gaze fell to your lap as you began to play nervously with the edge of the quilt still pooled at your waist. “But I guess he didn’t really want to marry me, as if I had a choice in the matter myself- as I was busy setting up the inside of the tent he just…drove off.” The hybrids all gasped, practically sitting on the edge of their seats as they waited for you to continue. “I didn’t understand why at first….but then as I was looking around to see if he left any clues to why he just…left- he wanted me dead.” Minho frowned, brow furrowing as he looked into your eyes with a growing mountain of questions though he only asked one. “How did you know he wanted you dead? Surely he could have just gone to get something from town and planned to come back.”

You shook your head at the cat and sighed raggedly, hands falling limp in your lap before forming tight fists. “He left me a pistol and a note saying that he brought me up here to kill me, that he didn’t and couldn’t love me but that he chickened out and hoped that I would finish the job for him.”

Jaws dropped, completely and utterly shocked by the revelation, Jisung immediately wrapped his arms tightly around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck as you felt the dampness of his tears soak the collar of the shirt you wore, which you briefly wondered who it originally belonged to. “That’s so cruel! How could he even do something like that to his wife?!” You laughed bitterly, hands coming to caress the hybrids hair softly. “Thats why I was walking around the woods that day I met Jeongin for the first time…I was trying to see if there was anyone living in the area that could help me and maybe give me a ride back into town…”

The room fell into silence for a moment, the only sound being the rain fall outside and the quiet whimpers from a still crying Jisung and now a tearful Felix before he too crawled closer to wrap you both in his embrace. “Guys it’s fine- I’m…I decided that day that I was going to live, even if just to spite him. Though I guess I did a pretty poor job of that considering I almost died of starvation barely two months in-“

Your story explained so much, but still left questions. Why an arranged marriage in these times? Why were you so sheltered to the point that you weren’t allowed out side often enough to have ever seen a hybrid? These questions hung heavy in the air but the group didn’t want to push too deep and cause you any more distress as you were still healing.

“Well I’m glad our innie here found you. Things could have been much worse if not for him.” Minho lightly praised their youngest, reaching over to ruffle his hair and effectively bring him out of the daze he had been in ever since learning of your failed nuptials. “I owed you, you know….you saved my life and- and I knew I could trust you.” His words were soft, but firm in the belief he had for your friendship causing your heart to flutter. “Innie…that’s such a cute nickname.” Is what left your lips. You said it without thinking, meaning to have kept it to yourself but now the fox was blushing so deeply he had to hide his face behind his hands.

As Minho left the room, door closing shut behind him, a strong hand reached out and took hold of his wrist. “Minho.” Chan’s voice was low, obviously trying not to alert the younger hybrids in the room that he had been listening in to your story the whole time. “I know, she’s awake now…once I’m confident she isn’t so weak I’ll have Jeongin bring her back to where he found her.” The oldest shook his head firmly, wolf ears shaking twitching as his gaze fell to the floor. “No she- she can stay for now. But she better not do anything to make me regret that decision.” Minho smiled softly, eyeing the head of their little family with fondness. “Her story got to you, didn’t it? Poor thing didn’t have a chance out there if it wasn’t for our little fox, hm.” Chan sighed, nodding in agreement before letting go of the cat hybrids wrist as he began walking down the hall to his own room. “I still don’t trust her- but I’m not so cruel as to send her to her death after hearing all that.”

Minho chuckled as he made his way towards the kitchen to clean up and prepare some more substantial food for you to try and get your energy back. This was going to be interesting, considering not all the members of their family were so forgiving of humans as he was. He didn’t blame them, of course, with the tainted history each of them had varying in levels of severity and having caused all of them to end up here. Their own little haven, safe from a society that condemned them and treated them as nothing more than objects and pets. You were different though, he could tell. Minho knew from experience that not all humans were bad, and he felt in his bones just like Jeongin that you could be trusted. This would be good for them, he thought, maybe help some break down walls and work through their pasts in ways they never could on their own.

author’s note; waaahhh! Thank you so so much for all the love I’ve received on the first chapter of this series~ it genuinely means so so much to me hearing all your kind words and feedback on a project I’ve been so excited to work on! How are we feeling after that reader lore drop huh? There is still more to come as I not-so-subtly hinted but all in due time!! Also as I do with all of my fics reader has a lil nickname, this one being Pretty~ again I hope you all enjoy! I know this chapter is significantly shorter than the last but I didn’t want to add too much and make it feel like it was going all over the place just for the sake of making it match the length of the first post- anyways I’m gonna stop rambling now hehe ᕱᕱ₊˚⊹♡

taglist; (pink users means I couldn’t tag) @coastinglove @estella-novella @chancloud8 @skzswife @motheraiya55 @zofia515 @skybluelixie @breadedloafs @inaribu00 @silly250 @royal-shinigami @thatgirlangelb @bby-boo4u @emmxxsworld @vampkittenb82 @h0rnyp0t @alisonyus @im-sinking-in-mud @ihrtlix @mrs-hwangh @danixiulin @bookswillfindyouaway @daceyena @kiaralynn3838

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 25: you're not delivering a perfect body to the grave

Buried Alive + Storm (metaphorically)

3387 Words; River Runs Deep

TW for discussions of memory alteration, death mention, burying someone alive

AO3 ver

“What did you say in that letter?” Raz asks.

“Nothing important, really.” The reflection of Mail Ford responds.

“Just that I loved her.” Agent Cruller continues. “She just wanted to help, but they pushed her too far.”

“How should we have known?” Mail Ford asks. “It’s not like she was marked ‘Fragile!’” The typewriter passes from his hands to Agent Cruller’s.

“But I thought I knew her, and everything she held inside herself.” Agent Cruller laments. “Ahh, I had so much to learn.”

“Ah,” Mail Ford says, “I guess some packages are better left… unopened.”

And with that remark, Raz is left standing once again in the messy treehouse. He looks at the final piece of the mirror in his hands.

“Ford and Nona…” Raz has learned so much, just from poking around in Ford’s brain. His Nona’s memories of her past have been shrouded in mystery. The Aquatos feared the Psychonauts as much as they feared the Deluginists because of this fact—surely, if the Psychonauts ever learned that Nona used to be Maligula, they would prosecute her.

But Raz has learned so much. His Nona used to be a part of the Psychic Seven! She’s one of them! She and Ford were lovers! And oh, some part of Raz’ mind is almost giddy at the realization, that Ford Cruller could have become his great-uncle—but he pushes that part of himself to the side. Now isn’t the time to be fanboying. Raz has a mission to complete!

Still, the fact that Nona and the Psychonauts are more closely linked than Raz ever thought…

Maybe hiding from them is pointless. Maybe they won’t prosecute her. Maybe they can help.

Raz sighs, and puts the last piece of the mirror back in place. He has a mission to focus on. He pulls out the typewriter, and sets it on the shelf.

The silence stretches on, for a moment.

“Razputin.” Ford’s voice cuts across the space.

Raz turns to the mirror clasped in the body’s hand. “Agent Cruller!” He grins. “How do you feel?”

The reflection frowns. “I’ve done a terrible thing.” He shakes his head. “And so have you.”

“What?” Raz’ voice comes out smaller than he wants it to. “I just wanted to help!” And to see if Ford knows anything about whoever took his Father’s and Nona’s memories—though Raz doesn’t voice that bit aloud. “I don’t know who shattered your mind,” Raz steps forwards, “But now we can find out!”

“I already know who did this to me.” Ford admits. “That’s the first thing I’ve learned in here.” The mindscape begins to tilt, slightly, the sky above Raz starting to twist. “The rest you’re gonna have to see for yourself…”

And suddenly Raz is standing in a dark forest, Ford standing next to him. In Ford’s hands is a shovel, and on his face is a grim expression. He’s no longer dressed in a Psychonauts uniform, instead wearing a shirt and jacket.

“Ford,” Raz turns to him, “What is it?” Who shattered your mind? What are you trying to show me?

Ford points with his shovel. “See for yourself.” He utters, as Raz follows the end of the shovel to a stone archway.

Raz swallows. When he looks to his side again, Ford is gone.

Guess I gotta keep going. Raz walks through the archway, and finds himself in what looks like a cemetery. All of the tombstones are blank.

Slowly, carefully, Raz continues forwards, cool mist curling around his ankles. He picks up figments as he goes, looking this way and that for the answers Ford indicated would be here. The ground starts to curve sharply downwards before him.

Raz turns around at the sound of something scraping. His eyes widen—a massive comb is slowly advancing behind him, already past the cemetery’s entrance.

“Uh oh.” Raz hops on his levball and runs, rolling along the ground and collecting figments along the way. The sky darkens as he progresses, the comb advancing behind him at a steady pace, until the only light is that of Raz’ levball, and two lanterns hanging up ahead.

The lanterns are standing to either side of a deep hole. Raz hops down into it. The comb passes harmlessly overhead.

“Agent Cruller,” Raz calls up, “I’m getting less sure I want to see this!”

And Ford is there, at the edge of the hole, pushing his shovel into the dirt. “Oh no,” he mutters, lifting up a shovelful of dirt, “I don’t think you’ll want to see this at all.” He dumps the dirt into the hole—into the grave, Raz realizes, his eyes widening. Within moments, the grave is full, and Raz is struggling to escape the dirt surrounding him. Air! He needs air!

The dirt doesn’t give, pressing in all around Raz as he struggles. He needs to get out of here! But it’s heavy, and dark, and Raz can’t breathe—

Raz’ hand bursts through the dirt, and he scrabbles for purchase on the ground. His head emerges from the dirt with a gasp, his lungs sucking in all the air they can get. Even though he’s only a mental projection and would merely be dementestrated if he failed to make it out, Raz’ chest heaves and he struggles to regain his breath.

Well, now he’s even more sure that he doesn’t want to see this.

But he has to. So he picks himself up all the way, hauling his legs out of the dirt. He pops free, but instead of landing back on the ground he floats upwards.

No, Raz realizes, looking up above him—or rather, looking below—he’s not floating, he’s falling.

“What?” Raz reaches back towards the dirt, yelping as he falls—

Very slowly.

Okay. Okay. It’s okay. He’s fine. Raz looks back down, at the shapes floating in the gloom below him. He’s not going to go splat. He’s going to be fine. He’s going to be fine.

Sharklike-shapes swim circles in the gloom. Raz angles for a figment, grabbing it as he falls towards a candle-lit ledge. He lands, and runs over to the door, pushing it open.

A bowling alley stretches out into the darkness before him. A single light illuminates the beginning of the lane—and illuminates Bowling Ford, who’s lying supine on the wood, a bowling ball resting in his hands on his stomach. Raz walks up to him.

“Hey Ford,” Raz starts, “What’s the deal with the deep six treatment?” Couldn’t he just drop a memory vault or something? Points for the presentation, but Raz is tired. He has been running around all day trying to fix this, and he would appreciate a break.

“I did what I had to do.” Ford states miserably. “I loved her, after all.”

All of Raz’ annoyance comes to a halt. “Wait, what?” Okay, now he’s wondering if he actually managed to put Ford back together, because that makes no sense. It’s like he isn’t even responding to Raz at all—what does loving Raz’ Nona have to do with burying Raz alive?

Ford lifts his head up. “Someday, when you fall in love, you’ll understand.” He closes his eyes, puts his head back down, and, without any further comment, slides along the lane. A light that wasn’t there before sits at the end of it, backlighting a set of pins that Ford knocks over in his exit.

Oookay then. Raz tries to follow, but he can’t get any further than the edge of the light. Fine. He turns around, walks out the door, and makes his way to the edge of the ledge. There’s two more like it, further down, lit with the warm glow of so many candles. Raz jumps.

He floats down just as slowly as before, but it isn’t long before he comes to a landing on the next ledge, having grabbed two more figments on the way. The window above the door is yellow, this time, instead of the pink of the ledge above. Raz grabs a third figment, and enters the door.

Raz is in the hair salon, now, a single light illuminating a patch of green and yellow tile. Barber Ford sits towards the back, atop a massive jar of Hydrocide™. Raz walks into the center of the light.

“Ford, what’s going on here? What did you want me to see?” Raz is so, so tired of having to jump through hoops. It’s all he’s been doing, today, all he’s been doing since Truman asked him to put Ford back together. Raz would really like some answers now!

“I couldn’t let her go free, she was a danger to the world!” And once again, Ford’s talking like Raz isn’t really there at all. Raz huffs in annoyance. Ford continues, “Even though it was the world that made her dangerous.”

Okay, that’s not helpful. Raz already knows all of this—for all that Nona’s memories of her life before the Deluge are gone, she can still remember bits and pieces of her time as Maligula, for all that she refuses to share those bits. Besides, Raz saw all of this when he was running around in the hair-filled mindscape of Barber Ford!

Still, Raz persists. “I know this! But who took your memories?”

“Safe. She’s safe.” Ford says, like Raz isn’t there at all. “Well, she was.” He frowns. “We all were. Huh.” Ford shrugs, “Not anymore.” He plugs his nose, and falls backwards into the Hydrocide™. Raz reaches out, but Ford’s already gone.

Just like before, Raz can’t go much further beyond the edges of the light—not that there really is anywhere to go. So Raz turns around and leaves the room, standing on the edge of the ledge outside the door.

One more ledge to go. Raz already has a good idea of what’ll be on it.

He floats down through the twisted ground making up the chasm, collecting figments as he goes. The window above the final door is blue. Raz pushes the door open, and walks out onto a wooden floor. A typewriter dominates the space, and Mail Ford sits atop it.

Raz pushes up his goggles. “Look, Ford, whatever I’m supposed to know—just spit it out!” He’s so tired. Is it so much to ask that even just one thing comes easy today? Must everything be a struggle?

“I had to hide her from the world, because they’d never forgive her.” Ford rambles. “And I had to hide her from me, because I’d never forget her.”

Raz’ heart starts to sink. Ford isn’t saying… no. No, he must be confused, or talking about something else. “Where?” Raz asks, “Where did you hide her?” He has a sneaking suspicion as to who she is. He hopes it isn’t true.

Ford shuts his eyes. “She’s with family.” He falls backwards over the bar, sinking down into the slot for paper.

Annoyance and dread fill Raz in equal measure. He was hoping for answers about his Nona, about the Memory Man who took her and Dad’s memories, made them think they were mother and son instead of aunt and nephew, left them with nothing but broken pieces when the illusion finally shattered—

Now, Raz isn’t sure what he’ll find, and instead of being excited by the prospect, he only feels a growing dread. He grabs the Half-a-Mind dancing to the side of the door, and makes his way back out. One of the shark-shaped coffins floats by, a tag dancing on its back. As tired as he is, Raz slows it down with time bubble to grab the tag, then leaps off to float down further.

He tumbles slowly, starting to fall faster and faster—

Raz hits the ground with a thud. He picks himself up, and finds next to a tombstone marked “Maligula.” More importantly, though, he’s in a coffin, and despite his protests it slams shut on him, trapping him inside.

The world around him blurs. Raz finds himself still in the velvet-lined coffin, but now it’s big enough for him to stand in, like some weirdly-shaped hall.

What is it with Ford’s mind and Raz getting buried alive? Is it Bury Raz day? Can Raz catch a break?

Probably not. Raz continues on, the velvet hall expanding around him as he goes until it’s almost the same size as a regular hallway. Clusters of candles sit in the corners of the room he finds himself in, cobwebs hanging from the walls and ceiling. Before Raz is a bed, with two skeletons lying on it.

“Ah!” Raz jolts back. “Who’s that?”

Ford’s voice comes in from all directions, even as Ford himself is nowhere to be found. “That’s your grandparents, Lazlo and Marona. They drowned in the Valermo Dam disaster, remember?”

“I already know this…” Raz mutters. Though it is kind of weird for Ford to know it, he thinks. No wonder the Memory Man shattered Ford’s mind—they must have been protecting their own identity. Which means that Ford definitely knows who they were!

(There is another possibility, sitting at the edge of Raz’s brain. He ignores it.)

“You—what?” Ford sounds genuinely caught off-guard.

“Er—” Raz backtracks. “I mean, Grandpa Lazlo died, but my grandma made it out and came to live with my father.” He tries. It doesn’t sound very convincing.

“No, Raz. She didn’t.” Raz can’t tell if Ford believes him or not. Then again, Ford apparently already knows that Raz’ Nona isn’t really his grandmother.

Something clicks behind Raz. When he turns around, the wall is gone, revealing a long hall. Raz sighs, hops on his levball, and continues forward.

Ford’s voiceover continues. “Razputin, after the fight with Lucy, she was defeated, but alive. I snuck her away from the others and brought her back to the Gulch.”

But… wasn’t Ford’s mind shattered in the fight with Maligula? How could he have brought her back to America? Could he still teleport that far with a shattered mind?

(Unless Ford’s mind wasn’t shattered at all, Raz realizes. He shoves that thought down.)

“I put her in the Astralathe—one of Otto’s inventions.” Ford continues.

Raz comes to a screeching halt at the end of the hall. The room before him has wooden flooring mixed with the velvet, a stained glass window, and a strange machine that Raz has never seen before. His heart sinks. No, no, no.

“Created to make permanent alterations to the psyche.” Ford continues, ignorant to the rising panic filling Raz’ throat. No. No no no. Can Raz go back to being buried alive? Please?

Raz spots the purse behind the machine—the Astralathe?—and darts towards it, needing the distraction. He pulls out the purse tag and attaches it. Ford’s voiceover pauses, waiting until Raz is done to continue. After a long moment, Raz continues on past the machine, towards a blue door at the very end of the room.

“But I knew the world would never forgive her,” Ford says, as all of Raz’ hopes fall apart. “So I had to hide her somewhere safe.”

Tentatively, Raz opens the door. “Oh no.” Oh no, indeed—Raz is standing in the doorway of his family’s caravan, looking out over an empty and darkened version of their campgrounds.

“I hid her among her family, Razputin.” Ford says, “Among your family.”

Raz can’t deny it any longer. “You’re—” he gasps, his throat starting to tighten. “You’re the Memory Man!” He exclaims, “You’re the one who took Nona and Dad’s memories!” Raz’ chest tightens, the weight of the world crashing in all around him. No, no—this can’t be right. No.

All at once, the scenery playing out in Ford’s mind stops. “You… knew?” He appears next to Raz in the mindscape, surprise coloring his face.

Raz can’t be in here for a minute longer. He scrambles for his smelling salts and whips them out, popping them open in front of his face. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out—

“Razputin—” Ford reaches for him—

+=+=+=+=+

Raz snaps back into his body on the mailroom floor. He looks at Ford, once, his chest starting to heave. No—he can’t do this. He never should have done this.

Ford comes back to himself, whirling around to face him. “Razputin—” He tries, but Raz is already running. He needs to get out of here! He needs space!

Raz runs, using his levball to go faster. He runs, all the way through the atrium into the lobby, outside the Motherlobe entirely, across the floating platforms—

(The water feels his agitation, and trembles in shared rage-hurt. It reaches out to Raz as he passes over it, whispering offers to play and wash his cares away.)

Raz reaches the tunnel to the Questionable Area, and keeps going. He bursts out the other end, his chest and legs burning, and he does not stop—

He can see the fairy lights of his family’s camp strung up, bright against the darkened sky. Raz dashes, intent on getting to his parents so they can all leave this place, or something—

Ford crashes into Raz from the side, stopping him from reaching the campgrounds. They tumble across the ground, Raz’ panic hitting a peak—

“Let me go!” he shouts, squirming in Ford’s hold.

“Listen, Raz!” Ford begins, “I know you’re mad—”

“Of course I’m mad!” Raz shrieks. “You’re the reason my Dad can’t remember his mother’s face! You’re the one who put my whole family into this mess, who forced us to hide Nona without any help!” Tears are bubbling out of Raz’ eyes like steam from a kettle. He finds he doesn’t care. “My family’s had to keep Nona’s past hidden all on our own just because you felt the need to shatter your own mind and run from your problems!” He can’t believe this. All his life, he’s looked up to Ford—wanted to be a hero, just like him.

But Ford isn’t a hero at all.

“You’re right to be mad, Razputin.” Ford sighs. “I was young, and I made a terrible mistake.”

“You could have stuck around!” Raz yells. “Did it never occur to you that they might remember?”

“I had hoped they wouldn’t.” Ford admits.

Raz yells. “Well they did! Except they still don’t remember before the Deluge!” He glares at Ford with every inch of anger in his body, “Nona remembers Maligula, but she doesn’t remember you!” And maybe Ford deserved that, to be forgotten by the woman he loved. But Nona didn’t deserve to have all her memories wrenched away like that. The Aquatos didn’t deserve the fear of not knowing, of always looking over their shoulders for fear of what lurked in their shadows.

“Razputin—” Ford raises his hands in a placating gesture.

“DON’T ‘RAZPUTIN’ ME!” Raz is tired. Raz is so, so tired.

“What’s all this?” Augustus’ voice breaks through the tension, and all of the anger leaves Raz’ body at once. He’s tired. He’s so, so tired.

Ford freezes like a deer in headlights. He opens his mouth—

Raz points at him. “He did it!” He shouts. “He’s the one who messed with your memories!”

Augustus’ eyes snap onto Ford. “What.” He sounds so much smaller than Raz’ father should ever sound.

Distantly, Raz notices his mother and siblings wandering over, Queepie held in his mother’s arms, Mirtala holding Frazie’s hand and rubbing at her eyes. He shoves down the part of him that doesn’t want his family to see him crying—Raz doesn’t have it in him to care.

He’s so tired.

“Why?” Augustus asks, clutching at his chest. “You—why would you—”

“Because I loved her.” Ford laments, “And I thought it was the only way to keep her safe.”

“So you took her memories?” Raz doesn’t know how he has the energy to continue yelling. Anger’s just like that, he guesses.

His mother passes Queepie over to Dion, wrapping an arm around Augustus’ shoulders. She glares at Ford. “You.”

Somehow, Ford manages to look even more rigid. “Me.” He admits.

“You have some nerve!” All of his mother’s ire turns to Ford, and Raz can’t find it in himself to defend the man. “What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea the damage you’ve done to this family?”

Ford opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

“Wait.” Frazie pipes up, bringing everything to a screeching halt. They all turn to look at her.

“Where’s Nona?”

[starrywilliams]

baby i’m yours - abby anderson

and i’ll be yours until the stars fall from the sky. yours until the rivers all run dry. in other words, until i die

fem reader x abby anderson

synopsis: abby anderson hates seeing her girlfriend upset, so decides to show you just how much you mean to her.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: bad writing ??, general non-apocalyptic au, smut w a tiny bit of plot, top abby, oral sex (r receiving), fingering, some pet names, overstimulation, slightly insecure reader, not proof read !!

notes: i was gonna send this into someone’s asks but i thought it easier just to write it myself. so if it’s bad , ummm pretend it isn’t. wanted to add abby fucking r with her strap too but decided against it… so lmk if u want a pt 2 or something !!

it all started at a party. the music was loud and you were just a little tipsy, abby the designated driver as usual. she was talking to one of her friends beside you, rambling on about something you’d lost track of a long time ago. you could hear she was getting slightly angry as the conversation progressed, so you grabbed her hand to calm her down, y’know? but she decided to pull away. leaving you stood there embarrassed and feeling extremely awkward.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom, okay?” you mumbled seconds later, not staying long enough to hear her response: if there even was one. you cursed when you tried to open the door, finding it was locked. from the smoke filled air and bottle covered surfaces, everywhere felt crowded. more crowded than you deal with right now, so you made your way out onto the, thankfully empty, small terrace that would grant you refuge.

clearing your lungs with a deep inhale, sobering up slightly while looking out into the darkness. she’d dropped your hand. maybe it was the alcohol making you overthink it, but you weren’t THAT drunk. abby always let you hold her hand, she knew you got nervous at these things. so you couldn’t understand why she didn’t this time. was she angry at you? had you done something wrong without realising? this spiral would’ve continued if it hadn’t been for a voice behind you.

“baby, what are you doing out here?” abby asked, voice laced with a slightly worried tone, as she kneeled down in front you. “nothing.” you choked, trying to avoid the tears that had accumulated in your eyes. “thought you said you were going to the bathroom?” she said, putting a hand on your knee. “it was full.”

she pouted, looking you up and down with concern. “d’you wanna go? i won’t mind.” she smiled, pushing your hair behind your ear in an attempt to cheer you up. biting your lip, you nodded, standing up. you walked silently behind her to the car, not really wanting to talk.

abby opened the door for you and held your side as you got inside. you took a deep breath as she walked around to the driver’s seat, knowing she would have questions. she slipped in, putting on her seatbelt and starting the car. abby let the sound of the radio fill the car for a few moments, driving away from loud house out onto the dimly lit street.

after what felt like a lifetime of awkward silence, she turned the dial down. “so you gonna tell me what’s the matter?” she said softly, gripping the wheel tightly as she did. “it’s nothing.” you muttered before looking down to your fumbling hands. “it didn’t seem like nothing.”

“well, it was. okay?” you snapped; voice croaking as you finished. abby frowned, turning to you as you reached the red light. “have i done something?” her voice was low - accusatory - and her eyebrows were furrowed. you looked up to the green light, “go.” she huffed, sticking her tongue into her cheek before nodding to herself. “so i have.” she whispered. “abby-“ you started. “what did i do?”

“it was nothing, i’m just overreacting.” you rambled, quietly thankful you’d reached your street so you could get out of this seemingly tiny car. “no, i must’ve done something. so tell me.” she sounded calm, words slow and sure. but you knew she was the opposite. she parked outside your apartment building, having failed to answer her request, you quickly got out and rushed towards your door, her not far behind you. “i asked you what i did to make you upset. answer me, please.” you pushed the key into the lock, turning it and pressing down on the handle before finally answering. “you dropped my hand.”

“i- what?” abby replied, laughing softly. “knew you’d think i was being stupid.” you whispered, throwing your stuff onto the side as you walked towards the kitchen. “i don’t think you’re being stupid. just tell me when this happened.” you grabbed a glass, “before i said i was going to the bathroom, you were talking to whats-his-face when i tried to hold your hand and you let go like- immediately.” you went on, finishing as the water reached the top of the glass.

“no it wasn’t like that.” she shook her head as you faced her, your furious pout not seeming to approve of her response. “it sure seemed like it.” you hissed, pushing past her towards your bedroom. you could hear her footsteps heavy on the floor behind you. “no, baby stop. sweetheart listen to me.” you pushed the door open, settling the glass down on the nightstand. “okay talk.” you began to undress, wanting to just go to sleep already. you were fully sober now, and very tired.

“i didn’t mean to drop your hand, i was about to get an eyelash off your face- but you pulled away before i could!” you looked up to her, sighing with a mix of relief and adoration for the girl. “oh abs. i’m so dumb.” you said as you stood up. softly smiling, you wrapped your arms around her waist and leant your head against her chest. “you’re not stupid, okay- maybe a little.” she joked, kissing your forehead. “how about i make it up to you?” she whispered in your ear before pressing her hips against yours “yeah, good idea.” you mumbled, slightly breathless.

that’s how you found yourself laid back on the bed with her whispering sweet nothings against your skin. each kiss against your thighs was making your patience disappear more and she could tell. “you sound so pretty like that.” you looked down at her, meeting her darkened eyes. “so fucking desperate for me.” you caught a glimpse of a smile before her tongue delicately made its way through your folds. the noise you made when she reached your clit was borderline pornographic, let’s just hope your neighbors weren’t in tonight.

feeling her tongue swiping back and forth against your needy little clit, your hands reached to her scalp; pulling her hair softly as you pulled her closer. “hands off baby.” you groaned, having to use your hips to get her closer. “abby, fuck.” you whimpered, thighs suddenly tightening around her head. “mhm.” she hummed, looking up to you again. “look at me.” she said against your pussy, moving her head lower once you did. “those fucking eyes.” she mumbled before slowly pushing her tongue into your hole, smirking as she felt it pulse around her. she moved it around slowly, before pulling back out just to thrust it back in again.

then she stopped. deciding to now leaving soft, far too gentle kisses around your lips. close to where you needed, but ever so far. “please don’t stop.” you whispered, screwing your eyes closed as if that would hurry her up. perhaps it worked, as you instantly felt two fingers push roughly inside you. your hips bucked upwards, a loud whine rolling out of your throat. “look so good for me, taking it so well.” she cooed, using her other hand to spread your lips. “your clit’s so swollen baby, want me to take care of it?” abby asked, her hot breath against it making you go crazy. you nodded, not receiving anything in return.

“use your words baby, tell me what you want.” she spoke, slightly mockingly as she dragged out the final word. feeling her large fingers thrusting inside of you relentlessly, you were almost rendered speechless entirely. but you managed to stutter out a “please touch my fucking clit abby.” that had her immediately suckling on it like a starved woman. the added sensation had you quickly getting closer and closer, that knot in your stomach tightening more by the second.

“feel so tight around my fingers, pretty. gonna cum for me?” she said, instantly returning to her assault on your clit while her fingers pressed against that spot inside you that made you see stars. you made some kind of noise to tell her yes before the cord snapped and you were drowning in her. “that’s it, sound so fucking beautiful when you cum.” abby hummed, stretching out the beautiful as her fingers started thrusting even faster. your legs snapped together as you pulled away, but a hand pressed down firmly on your hip, keeping you locked in place.

“you can take it can’t you? i just want you to feel good baby.” she cooed, keeping her pace rapid. “it’s too much.” you cried out, feeling your twitchy clit sting at the continued pressure against your insides. “you can take it.” she said, whether it was to reassure you or simply an order, you didn’t know. but to be honest, you didn’t care. you were gonna take it whether it hurt or not.

“fuckfuckfuck-“ you whined, feeling that knot tighten back up again. but with her fingers fucking into you like that, it felt so, so much more overwhelming. your mind was just chanting abby on repeat, and perhaps your mouth was too - you were too out of it to know.

then it was like a fucking explosion inside you, limbs spasming around her as your mind went foggy. you gripped onto the bed for some kind of relief from the pleasure that was consuming your every cell, but eventually you were just fucking floating. abby pulled her fingers out at some point, before softly licking up the mess you’d made all over your thighs. she left to go and grab a warm cloth, wiping you down before cleaning her face.

abby pulled your underwear back up your legs gently, stroking your hips as she did so. “i’d never drop your hand.” she whispered. you smiled at her, eyes barely open. “maybe you should, if it’ll end like this.” you joked, eliciting a small laugh from her.

she may have never dropped your hand after that, but she did fuck you until you saw stars, that’s for sure.

[blackseafoam]

Marked Part 1

PART 2

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations :)

This is my first time writing fanfiction!

“Omega” felt like too sci-fi of a name for this universe so I changed it to “Meggy”. Everyone else is the same.

If you haven’t played RDR2 don’t worry, I’m not counting on every reader having done so. All you need to know is it’s about a gang of outlaws in 1899 running from trouble, chaos everywhere. The world is set in a kind of “fantasy” United States, where the places and cultures are heavily based on real life, but have different names for the most part. There are also some sci-fi elements to the world that I may or may not implement :) This takes place around the first chapter of RDR2 when the Van Der Linde gang is camped out at Horseshoe Overlook.

Word count: 2045

Rating T

The foothills above Valentine were peaceful, densely forested, and rarely traversed. Above the treetops the snowy peak of Mount Hagen shone like a beacon. Below the hillside the earth plunged into the deep and narrow Dakota River canyon. It was a perfect place to lie low for a while. Plan the next move.

Meggy sat on the back of her brothers’ wagon, the horses had been unhitched and were grazing on the small clearing where they had set up camp. The contentedness of the beasts calmed her. The two massive horses simply snacking away and existing, nothing else on their mind. She wished she could escape worry so easily as the breeze blew her short blonde hair and ruffled her skirt.

Swimming in her own thoughts, she didn’t hear her brother's voice calling to her until he was beside her. “There you are!” Hunter sighed with relief as he approached. “Are you… alright?” His tone dropped quieter. 

“Yeah, just thinking I guess.” Meggy swung her boots ponderously. She held something in her hands, resting on her lap. 

“What’s this?” Hunter came closer, looking at her hands.

Meggy froze. Frozen like she had rehearsed time and time again at the school. Bracing herself physically and mentally to be in trouble, again. She looked down with shame. 

Hunter parted her hands, revealing a tiny rabbit kit, its unweaned eyes still closed. “Where’d you find this?”

Meggy looked up and was confused to see her brother smiling. This was wrong. She should be in trouble for touching dirty animals. 

“Under the wagon.” She muttered, still not convinced she wasn’t about to be reprimanded, especially now that she had just confessed to a second crime: crawling around under a vehicle. 

“We should find its nest, it needs its mother.” Hunter took a step back. Meggy stared at him, her mind was still not catching up to the fact of what was going on. “Pick him up, let’s go look.” Hunter helped her off the wagon so she could safely cup the tiny creature in both of her equally tiny hands. 

“Look for a hole capped with fur, there might be tracks of bare earth in front of it, and cropped grass.” Hunters eyes scanned the forest floor for rabbitsign, Meggy watched him and then mimicked his movements. 

Hunter noticed that Meggy was uncharacteristically quiet as they searched. Did I do something wrong? Having a kid around had been an ongoing adjustment. In the short time she had been with them Meggy had shown a wide range of emotions, profoundly sensitive and resilient at the same time.. But this was the first time he had seen her freeze up like this. 

The kit began to squeak incessantly. Hunter saw a flit of movement near a Boulder. Meggy followed his gaze. A rabbit doe near her burrow. 

As they neared she scurried back underground, Meggy deposited the kit near the hole and they watched it crawl inside.

“Nice work, kid!” He held his hand out for a high five, Meggy flinched, almost imperceptibly, but Hunter noticed. 

In a moment the worry melted off her face and she grinned, slapping his hand with her new energy. “That was fun! Do you think I can learn to track like you someday?” 

“I think you just had your first lesson.” 

-

The next few days were a much needed break from action, for the most part. The gang lived on small game, wild edibles, and what was left of their canned goods. Wrecker showed Meggy how to pick the best firewood. Echo lent her a couple of his books, glad to have a third person around who knew how to read. Crosshair kept his distance, but patiently entertained some of her questions as he cleaned his rifle. Then sent her away after warning her to stay away from their munitions crate. 

Tech finally caved to Meggy’s insistence on riding one of their draft horses. He picked Marauder, the slightly less excitable of the two. The chestnut gelding was certainly not a kid’s horse, but as a retired warhorse, he was desensitized at least. Meggy was surprised at how much thinking went into riding, or maybe that was just because Tech was her teacher. He had a lot to say about riding technique. As he lunged Maurauder with Meggy astride, barely able to straddle the barrel chested beast, he rattled on about gaits, position, neck-reining, posting, side-passing, halting, and so on.

-

Meggy woke on the fourth morning. A wave of bliss washed over her as she sat up in her bedroll. The last few days had truly been the best ever, living off the land with her brothers who she didn’t even know she had until a couple weeks ago. They chose to risk everything to save her. 

She was still coming to terms with what they had sacrificed for her. Couldn’t help but feel a twitch of guilt every time she could sense them censoring their usual crass demeanor in front of her (even though Wrecker had already willingly taught her a few of his favorite curse words). She didn’t want them to change for her, but also didn’t want to be anywhere else in the whole world. Crosshair seemed especially snide about her presence, always keeping his distance and almost never speaking to her. 

She scanned the camp, the fire was still smoldering, the bedrolls still lined around it like a flower. Two of which were empty, one was neatly made, the other looking like a wild animal had escaped from it. 

She got dressed and walked around the wagon, surprised to see Hunter and Echo tacking up the horses. 

“You’re leaving?” 

Hunter looked up first “You’re up early!” He adjusted Havoc’s bridle. “Just getting some supplies in town, we’ll be right back.”

“Can I come? Please?!”

Echo glanced up at her,, and then looked to Hunter “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He said before going back to picking Marauder’s hoof, holding it on his thigh between his torso and what was left of his right arm.

There was a long silence. Echo could practically smell Hunter’s guilty look, even with the ass end of a horse between them.

“Of course you can come.”Hunter gave in. Echo rolled his eyes. 

Meggy tried to contain her excited squeal.

“Hunter, there are people looking for her, we can't bring her to town.” Echo spat as he stood up.

“Don’t worry, I have an idea.” Hunter smirked.

-

The world was so much bigger than she ever could have imagined. The trees flew by as the trio cantered down the wagon trail toward Valentine. Meggy rode with Hunter on Havoc, his black mane nearly whipping her in the face. The speed was terrifying at first, but Meggy’s fear was quickly replaced by excitement as they got closer to town. 

Her skirt had been replaced by a pair of extra trousers lying around, they didn’t have a belt small enough so a length of rope held them up. Finding a hat that didn’t look ridiculous on her was more challenging but a wool cap ended up being the best fit. 

Now hopefully anyone looking for a “girl kidnapped from the Saint Denis Orphanage” wouldn’t think twice if they saw a boy. 

Echo still didn’t think it would work.

-

The streets were still a sloppy, muddy mess from rain several days ago. Echo frowned as he dismounted and his boots sunk into the filth. They hitched the horses and went about their business, Echo to the gunsmith and Hunter and Meggy to the general store. 

The streets were fairly quiet, an early start to the day meant less eyes around.

Meggy marveled at the abundance of items in the general store as Hunter bartered with the shop owner. She had so many questions, so many items she couldn’t identify, but tried to keep quiet so her boyish illusion would remain uncompromised. Once Hunter had packed the new supplies into his saddlebag they exited the store. 

”G’morning, mister. Got a light?” A tall burly man leaned against the wall just outside the store. Meggy startled a bit, Hunter did not, he heard the lumbering figure approach while they were still inside. 

“Sure.” Hunter fumbled in his pocket for his lighter and handed it to the man. The flame illuminated his face, his eyes rimmed with the cracked tan skin of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. His battered brown hat and dirty blue jacket bore similar weathering. He took a long drag and handed the lighter back. “Thank you mister.” He blew out the smoke “and little miss.” 

Hunter nodded and began to walk away, then realized what the man had just said… “little miss”. It could be nothing… just a slip of the tongue… there’s no way someone this far out could know who she was. He quickened his pace as they rounded away toward the gunsmith. 

The man took one more drag from his cigarette before putting it out on the ashtray on the windowsill, as he did so he scanned across the street toward another figure sitting in front of the saloon. A shorter, thinner man with black greasy hair and a black hat, two long scars clawed from under his eye to the corners of his jaw. The blue-jacketed man gave a nod just big enough to be seen from the distance between them. 

Inside the gunsmith, Hunter spoke in a low voice from behind Echo “we should go.”  

“I’m not finished yet.” Echo was inspecting the quality of the bullets he was about to purchase. 

“Just get them and let's go.” Hunter murmured.

Echo gave an annoyed look, but reluctantly agreed and they paid the gunsmith. 

As they exited the store Hunter’s paranoia climbed several levels when he saw the stranger was gone, his presence replaced by his still smoldering cigarette. 

The trio hurried to the horses, mounted up, and headed back up the hill into the forest. 

“What the hell was that about?” Echo scolded once they were farther away from town.

“I just got a bad feeling.” Hunter checked over his shoulder for the fifth time in a minute, instinctually resting his hand on his thigh holster. 

-

“But we just got here!” Wrecker complained loudly, the only way he knew how to complain. The gang deliberated around their late morning campfire. 

“I agree, moving camp would be unwise.” Tech fiddled with some type of hardware from the wagon on his lap. “Moving around would only draw more attention from more people.”

Crosshair remained silent, dragging on his first cig of the day. “If you really think they were after Meggy, don’t you think that guy would’ve just taken us then and there while we were in town? Instead of now when we’re back with our full party?”Echo wondered.

“If he’s such a good bounty hunter that he found us all the way across three states, surely he could take on one guy, a gimp, and a child.” Crosshair smirked. 

Echo ignored his antagonistic younger brother.

Hunter sighed. 

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault, isn’t it?” Omega sulked in the grass, hugging her knees at her chin. Flowers she had picked drooping in her hands.

“Her situational comprehension is quite high for someone her age.” Tech observed.

“We’ll be fine. We’re far off the trail, hidden by the trees. I did my best to cover our tracks. Let’s just keep the fire small tonight, we’ll be fine.” Hunter reassured them. 

-

“Four men, two of them are the ones we saw in town earlier.” Arthur focused his binoculars across the canyon. “No wait, five.” 

“What’s the plan?” John shifted. 

“Bounty is for all of them, but the kid is the biggest reward.” 

“And we gotta bring them all back to Saint Denis?”

“Nah, I talked to the sheriff in town, said he can hold them until we can wire someone to collect. For a price.” 

“No way we can take all five of those guys.”

“For once, we agree, Marston.” Arthur noticed one of the taller fellows cleaning his rifle. “Poster said they’re ex-military.”

“What are they doing kidnapping an orphan?”

“I don’t know, but it can't be good." Arthur lowered the binoculars.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @omegafett99 @griffedeloup

[naffeclipse]

What if Eclipse from AP was a naga? And this took place in the deep jungle of the amazon, where photographer y/n is trying to take pictures of the wildlife?

I'm vibrating at the speed of sound over this ask while also nudging my naga au

Naga Eclipse from AP would have the tail of a Green Anaconda, with an olive green scaly color dotted with black, framed by burning-like flares of orange along the length of his slithery body. He's also decorated with orange-yellow striping on either side of his long, slipper form. His upper half is scaley with a lithe deadliness to his musculature and decorated by frills surrounding his head with brighter orange-yellow colors, almost hypnotic in their gradient hues. One eye is deep emerald green, and one is midnight blue.

Lucky you—you're out on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to explore a jungle closed off to the public, funded by Fazco, and occupied by two researchers who will be your bunkmates for the next few weeks. You're itching to take photos of the large river, including swamps, marshes and streams, and whatever wildlife is out there.

The few locals you did meet before you left to hike the rest of the way to what would be your new, isolated home warned you of a dangerous snake—a large, mythical beast. You take note of the local folklore. You understand the truth is hidden in there somewhere, and you are well aware of the dangers and diseases you could be met with in such a harsh environment, but you're determined.

It doesn't take long for you to feel eyes watching you when you first venture out by yourself. You take beautiful pictures of freshwater fish, big and beautiful, unlike any you have ever seen. Of course, you have hundreds of snapshots of the local flora, the trees, the floating meadows, the thick vines that drape each branch and hang thickly about the ground. You almost forget that you eerily don't feel alone.

But you swear something moves in the water—the ripples stop as soon as you look. The stillness is suddenly stiff, lifeless. Even the birds have stopped chirping.

You lower your camera and carefully put it away. A trickle of fear slips into your heart. You turn away from the river's edge only to be met by a low hiss and a creature, unlike anything you witnessed in your travels, spooling itself neatly out of the water, blocking your path to the base. An incredible creature with long arms and a great, serpentine tail that seems to stretch for yards and yards. You can hardly breathe in his presence—he's otherworldly with his frills and scales and fangs.

His eyes contain a mesmerizing shine as if staring into a fire as it burns or watching the ocean as it laps up against the beach, drawing your attention, demanding you don't look away. You couldn't anyway. Half-frozen, you struggle to keep from collapsing. He beckons with a sharp talon. He hisses softly for you to come closer, mouse. He wants to see you. You try to beg no without revealing how terribly you tremble. He doesn't let you go. He insists. His eyes flash with an allure. You almost step close when he murmurs that you need to be good.

But then your sense of survival kicks adrenaline into your heart, and you turn to run—

He strikes faster than your eyes can follow. Two loops of his green and orange tail surrounded you in an instant. You're dragged to the ground, your arms pinned under his mass, and the back of your head cradled by his large palm as powerful muscles squeeze you in the slightest—a gentle rebuke for thinking you could get away. You're hyper-aware of the terrifying bulk of muscles as you lie trapped in his coils. One strong twist and your eyes could pop out of your skull, and every bone protecting your heart and lungs would crumble to shards. You gasp. An urge to kick your legs and struggle erupts in your panic; a sinking feeling tells you it would only make things worse.

He coos over you, hissing and humming in an ancient song of the jungle you have no name for. When you whimper, he shushes you and strokes your cheek. He tells you how lovely you'll be. When you talk back to him, somehow finding your tongue amid your horror, you find out his name. Eclipse. He moves you more upright, resting you on his tail so you're not petrified by how vulnerable you feel lying down, but he never loosens his scaly bindings. He hovers over you. You gaze into his stunning frills of yellow-orange and wonder how a being like him came to exist. He studies you as you study him. He grins at how you shiver when he traces your collarbone with a sharp fingertip.

You remind yourself that you can still breathe. He hasn't crushed you—yet—but you don't like how wide his smile is. Sometimes, his jaw stretches a little too long as if dislocating from his skull, ready to devour you. His eyes gleam with a ravenousness as scales twist around you, holding you close enough to smell the slick green water he had been in and deep musk.

He tells you that he'll see you again very soon—away from other humans, lest you bring him a fine gift for a meal. You can only flex your fingers, silently pleading in your heart that he won't unhook his jaw and eat you alive.

Then, he unravels himself from your limbs. But before he lets you go entirely, he leans in close, his serpentine tongue flickering close to your neck and by your hair, tasting the air around you as you muster all your strength to not scream. He inhales deeply, pleased, before he murmurs, "Sweet mouse. You are mine. Say it."

You don't understand, but you echo his command, and when he taps your chin once in what might have been a loving gesture, you force your jelly legs to solidify before you run and run, all the way back to base. You slam the door to your room behind you. You touch your ribs, your arms, still caught in the heavy sensation of his loops as if he were upon you right now.

The stories are true—there is a giant snake in this jungle, and he wants you. You're afraid to discover if Eclipse's intrigue with you is only an exotic way to satisfy his hunger.

[ivyvenus333]

satosugu fic rec list!!

16 fics, 20k - 260k words (ordered by word count), lots of slow burn and angst with happy endings:), all on a03!

✪ – stsg staples (if new, start here ;o) | ✵ – personal favs

+ blurring all the lines, you intoxicate me (flyingmonkiesattack)

"Or: Getou Suguru is married and doesn't believe in soulmates. But when he meets Gojo Satoru, he can't help but be enthralled by the man." (Soulmate-identifying Marks, Cheating, ANGST) wc: 20k / Complete

+ loved you first (flyingmonkiesattack)

“Satoru is used to being clingy with his best friend, draping himself all over Suguru at any and every opportunity. Suguru never seems to mind, giving back just as much as he takes. And then he gets a boyfriend, and Satoru’s world comes crashing down.” (Jealous Gojo Satoru, Getting Together, First Time) WC: 21k / Complete

+ ✵ i'll become your wound (ordinarymonsters)

“He would know this voice anywhere—the softness of it, the warmth. It curls around him, achingly familiar. It’s been ten years, but there are some things not even time can erase. He’s certain he would even recognize the smell of him. The air is thick with coffee beans and breaded pastries, but if it was all stripped to nothing, Satoru would know the slight spice and clean scent of Geto Suguru as well as he knows himself.” -Or, it’s been ten years, and this is how they fell apart—only to fall back together again." (Getting Together, Falling Apart, Second Chances) WC: 23k / Complete

+ ✵ me and my husband, we're doing better (interludewings)

“In which Satoru Gojo decides to adopt two children, only to discover that he accidentally married his ex-boyfriend, Suguru Geto, during a drunken episode just months before their breakup. Now, they find themselves living together, forced to maintain the facade of a loving couple. This leads to a series of petty tricks, cringe-worthy pet names, and the unexpected challenge of raising children together.” (Exes to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Family Fluff)  WC: 46k / Complete

+ crash course on intoxication (velourfantasy)

“There might not be any curse more twisted than love, but frequent alcoholism sure does come close. Gojo Satoru and Getou Suguru are in the prime of their lives. They share an apartment together at the same college, they're studying things they both like, and their best friendship is just as strong as ever. It's everything Gojo hoped for and more...until he walks in on his best friend getting laid at a party he forced him to attend. Or: Gojo realizes his feelings for Getou run much deeper than friendship, jam packed with alcohol-induced incidents and metaphors.”  (AU - College/University, Roommates, Unrequited Requited Love) WC: 48k / Incomplete (pray that we get an update soon.)

+ ✪ carry me home (valleykey)

“The boy shifts on his feet. “The year is two thousand and eighteen? Common Era?” Slowly, smile still plastic on his face, Suguru faces Satoru. This fucking dumbass. “Satoru,” he says, dangerous edge to his voice, “what did you do?” Satoru makes some bastardization of a sound, half between a laugh and a cough. “...Whoops?” “I,” Suguru grits, pinching two fingers together, “am this close to mass murder.” He’s joking. Probably.  ///OR: Shortly before Getō would have massacred a village, he and Gojō are thrust eleven years forward into a would-have-been future that Getō is conspicuously absent from.” (Time Travel Fix-It, Geto Suguru-centric, ft. mental spiraling) WC: 58k / Complete

+ ✪ 愛のある場所; river of light (that brings me to you) (cosmichorrour)

“A lesson in love is a lesson in swimming. Except for Suguru, it’s getting dropped into the deep end with the tide licking at his neck, no kickboard or life preserver keeping him afloat.  (Or: This is how Satoru finds the ocean.) (“in love with your best friend things + butterflies in the stomach things.”) WC: 67k / Complete

+ what's it worth to you? (FrozenChopsticks)

“Geto Suguru has done some wild shit for a dollar. He's worked crappy jobs, he's endured awful bosses, but this might be the craziest yet. How hard could it be to be a sugar baby for some pretty boy with a couple million followers online and enough money to run a small nation? Very hard, apparently. And it's not just Gojo's high-maintenance behavior that's hard on Suguru. (no pun intended) Neither man has done this before, but it's a good thing they are both experts at pretending like they know what they're doing. And accidentally falling for each other isn't exactly what they had in mind.” (SUGAR DADDY, Influencer Gojo Satoru, Graduate Student Geto Suguru, SMUTTY) WC: 86k / Complete (so angsty. so horny. FrozenChopsticks >>>)

+ ✪ little things to live for (LyricalPary)

“Suguru is ten years old when Gojo Satoru comes into his life. He's nineteen years old when Gojo Satoru becomes his life. (or, falling in love with his childhood best friend during their annual trip to Okinawa was never part of the plan).” (Growing Up Together, Summer Romance, Hurt/Comfort) WC: 101k / Complete

+ ✵✵✵ crimson supernova (serenadewave)

“"You don't know what you're talking about," Suguru says dismissively, his voice laced with quiet indifference and a hint of irritation. The deliberate clink of books and pens echoes in the stillness, a subtle reminder of the distance he’s putting between them. His gaze flickers toward Satoru. “And get off my desk.” Satoru’s lips curl into a smug smile as he rolls his tongue over the lollipop hanging lazily from his mouth. Unbothered, his eyes sparkle with mischief. "Or what, Professor?" OR: It started out as a game, just something for Satoru to pass the time in lectures so as not to go insane. Really, that's all it was. How the hell it managed to erupt and morph into this, Satoru has no idea.” (Professor Geto Suguru, College/University Satoru, Teacher-Student Relationship, both are adults, SLOW BURN) WC: 104k / Incomplete (THE slow burn of slow burn. I would genuinely sell my soul for this fic. the weekly updates keep me alive).

+ ✵ (when facing) the things we turn away from (Darkness747)

“Suguru had let it go too far with Satoru. But what else was he supposed to do when Satoru was right there, looking at him in the beautiful way he always looked at people? What else was he supposed to do when he could feel Satoru’s body heat from across the bed? Or when their hands accidentally brushed as they walked through the hallways at school? Suguru’s heart broke within him, reconstructing, swelling, bleeding, and breaking again each time Satoru’s eyes met his, looking at him in the beautiful way he really only looked at Suguru. Or (in a less poetic version): the coming-of-age American high school trope but it's Satosugu.” (AU - high school, ANGST, Teen Romance) WC: 109k / Complete

+ you left your mark (FrozenChopsticks)

“At 28, Gojo Satoru's got a whole lot of things going right. He's got a business he loves, co-workers who adore (read: tolerate) him, and a kid he looks after. To his mother however, there are a whole lot of things he's doing wrong. In a bid to assuage his mother's worries about her son staying single forever, he visits a matchmaker. What he expects is a fun time to laugh about later. What he gets is a run in with the man who loved him and left him eight years ago. Geto Suguru is a different man from the boy he grew up alongside and shared so many firsts with. Even if Suguru has been assigned to find Satoru his future wife, they both can't deny the tension that still simmers between them. And Satoru's going to do just about anything to get back the man he fumbled so long before…”  (Matchmaking, Second Chances, Tattoo Artist Gojo Satoru, Romantic Dramedy?) WC: 112k / Complete (Tattoo Artist Gojo Satoru. TATTOO ARTIST GOJO SATORU.)

+ for you, my life (TokyoBunny)

“A story where Gojo didn't- couldn't kill Suguru Geto that day and the windfall that came with his weakness in that moment.” (if gojo saved geto, And they fell in love, caretaking) WC: 136k / Complete

+ split (ohsocyanide)

““Speaking of,” Nanami said, possessing all the eloquence of someone who knew precisely how devastating words could be, “I heard you were getting a divorce.” "A separation," Gojo corrected him primly.” (Married Geto/Gojo, Parents Geto/Gojo, AU-Canon Divergence)  WC: 142k / Incomplete

+ see you through my eyes (svarozhich)

“Satoru Gojo is the pinnacle of strength and standing at the apex of the jujutsu world comes with a price paid in lonely hours and haunting memories. Not so long ago the now-empty spot beside him was occupied by someone capable of reaching out through Infinity and keeping up with his pace; another name worthy of standing equal to his. A best friend he killed with his own hands. The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons happened almost a year ago. Suguru Geto is supposed to be dead. -- “So what actually happens when in assumption the body dies, but turns out the soul does not?” A story about second chances.” (AU- Canon Divergence, Post-Shibuya, Fix–It of Sorts, Getting Together) WC: 231k / Complete

+ ✪ coanda effect (bunniehoney)

“The JJK motorsport AU based on Formula One.” (Childhood Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Driver Gojo, Team Principal Geto) WC: 262k / Complete (The woman, the myth, the legend herself. Basically invented satosugu.)

++ drop your fav fics in the comments below challenge, go!

[fairyysoup]

cowboy like me

part two: takes one to know one

pairing(s): wild west outlaw!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: The strange man who stumbled into your hiding place is an idiot and also really pretty. It turns out trouble is something you have in common.

cw: mature themes, cowboy/wild west au, slow burn, enemies to lovers-ish?, past eddie x chrissy mention, guns, implied outlaw!reader, death threats, gunshot wounds, definitely inaccurate descriptions of frontier medicine, blood, some dark comedy.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: Behold the newest installment of Rose playing with barbies: cowboy edition. This is a continuation of an initial chapter I posted nearly a year ago now. I want to thank everyone who has been patient with me, since this year has been really terrible for my inspiration and creativity. I do my best to write when I can, but shit's been real hard if I'm honest. So thank you for sticking with me, even when I haven't been all that active on the writing front.

THIS ENTIRE FIC IS EXPLICIT. ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

part one | fic playlist for your listening pleasure

Once he loses consciousness, Eddie’s wound is fairly easy to dress. You find three old bottles of whisky hidden behind a false back to a cabinet, and uncork one to use as antiseptic. 

He hasn’t lost a lot of blood, to be fair. His blouse is ruined, but the blood had barely begun to saturate his coat, and the wound isn't more than a deep gash in his side. It seems that the bullet had only grazed him. 

It doesn’t help your predicament that Eddie is very, very handsome when he’s not actively creating an extreme inconvenience. The shadows make his cheeks look more sunken than they actually are, but his eyelashes flutter like he’s seeing a pleasant dream behind them. They touch his cheeks and make him look like a prince from a fairytale book you had as a girl. 

M’just doing whatever you tell me to, princess. 

He’s a regular damsel in distress, this Eddie character. You wonder what his end goal is. You wonder what he did to be on the run from Jason Carver and his goons. 

But this isn’t a fairy tale, you remember, and nor are you any kind of a princess, despite what he calls you. Nothing is more apparent when you look down at Eddie’s blood on your hands and dress, and you have to use a cut piece of your underskirt to tie against the stitches you gave him with a sewing needle you found at the bottom of a desk drawer. Sterilized with fire and a bit of liquor, of course.

By the time that Eddie finally stirs, night has fallen. You’ve already shed your bloody day dress and soaked it in some cold water from the well out back; which you harvested in the dark, mind you, because you don’t know if Jason Carver’s buddies are still hanging around to see if you actually are hiding a fugitive in here. The last thing you needed was someone seeing you come conspicuously wandering out of a cabin covered in blood, for no discernible reason. 

There’ll be a stain on the dress, but that’s nothing you can’t tie an apron over and call it a day. What you really wish is that the well was a bit more of a river, so you could jump into it and let it pull you downstream, away from all this mess, and take all the blood and grime of the day with it. What you wouldn’t give for some proper soap. 

Eddie groans, and for the first time in hours you find yourself genuinely scared. Scared that maybe his wound was worse than you expected. Scared that he’s gonna die of sepsis right in front of you. Worse, scared that he’s gonna ask you questions, and you don’t know what you’ll even say. 

Your gaze falls on the leather satchel by the door– the one that holds everything you have to your name inside of it. Everything that put you in this predicament in the first place. You have a mind to burn it on the fire, but you hesitate. There’s still hope for you yet, if you can just get out of here.

Eddie’s eyes blink open just as soon as you’ve turned toward your soaking dress, hanging from a pin on the mantle, and you reach to turn the wetter side toward the flames. There was just enough old wood in the cabin to build a half-assed fire, which is about the only thing you can be thankful for at the minute, considering the wind rips through the canyon quicker than a mustang and the cabin gets the brunt of it.

Behind you, Eddie coughs. And then he says something– or, he tries, but it comes out about as pretty as a braying donkey with laryngitis. 

“Hush,” you tell him, and hurry to pour him a cup of leftover clean well water. ‘Clean’ being a term used loosely. It’s water and it wasn’t used to clean your dirty clothes, but that’s about what you can say for it. 

He takes it graciously all the same. After he’s drained the cup, his head flops back onto the pillow in another cloud of dust, and he scrunches his nose up in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is. “How long was I out for?”

It’s the first thing he’s said that you can make out, but it’s a question that doesn’t make you cringe to answer it. “Couple hours. Patched your wound.”

“Oh, y’did?” Eddie cracks an eye open and peers down toward his hip– which is when he realizes the gravity of his state of undress. 

You see, the thing about hip injuries is that it’s really difficult to deal with them when there’s fabric blocking your access. And the thing about fabric on a hip is that it’s usually connected to a garment, which on men is usually a pair of trousers, which usually need to come off if you’re going to get anything done. 

Eddie yelps suddenly and yanks a pillow across his groin as a crimson blush blasts over his face. The torn piece of your underskirt is wrapped around his torso– but to get it to stay put, you had to take an extra length and fasten it around his thigh as well. Which means you got very familiar with his anatomy in the process. 

“Well, you, ah–” Eddie shivers, avoiding your eye like the plague. “You’ve been thorough.”

You snort. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a naked man. At least your bandages won’t go anywhere when you move.”

“You a nurse?”

The question makes you scowl, but you’re not sure why it does. Maybe because you don’t want him asking any questions about your life, but you can answer this one. “No. So thank Christ it wasn’t worse than that.”

Eddie chuckles, creases forming in the corners of his eyes. His eyes rake over you, taking in your corset and cotton skirt, now missing a few inches off the hem. The lacey bottoms of your combinations poke out from beneath the cut-off hem of the petticoat. 

“You’re real pretty, y’know that?” he murmurs sweetly, meeting your eye finally. 

You scoff at that, turning away from him finally. It feels a little like admitting defeat. “You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause I’ve taken your pants.”

“Well, I got your underwear around my waist, so I think we’re even.” 

He grunts as he struggles into a sitting position, still clutching the pillow against his pelvis. It doesn’t do much to cover him; when you turn, you can still see the trail of hair leading from his belly-button to his crotch, his thighs spread apart on either side of it. His legs splayed out across the old mattress, its sheets rumpled and dust covered beyond usability. 

“So, you’re not a nurse but you know pretty well how to dress a wound. So… what do you do?”

You bristle at that. “You shouldn’t move too much, you’ll tear your stitches.”

“Ah– avoiding the question. Okay, I know this one.” He’s overly pleased with himself, flashing you a sardonic grin. “You think I’m a pissing sonofabitch who’ll use anything you say against you, so you’re not gonna tell me anything about yourself, even though we’re gonna be stuck together for god knows how long–”

“And whose fault is that?” You snap. He looks taken aback by your biting tone, even though you held him at gunpoint just hours ago. “I could be miles away from here if you hadn’t fuckin’ waltzed in with all your trouble. I could be moving on. I wouldn’t be stuck here playing house with you. And you’re hogging the fuckin’ bed, so thanks for that, too.”

You huff and turn back towards the fire, smacking it with a poker a few times just for good measure. Sparks fly from the burning wood, emitting a cloud of smoke that billows out a bit, but then gets sucked up the floo. 

“Hey,” Eddie says gently now, like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I didn’t know that anyone was here. I wouldn’t have broken in if that was the case, y’know? Usually when you’re on the run, you try to avoid people. I mean, what the hell kinda good is someone else…”

Eddie trails off as he’s talking, and your heart starts beating hard enough to reverberate in your ears. You’re still prodding the fire, kicking up sparks, even though it’s about as stoked as it’ll get. 

“You’re on the run.”

His voice is low. Hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer. 

You nearly roll your eyes at how long it took him to come to that conclusion. You told him you were hiding, after all. “Don’t fuckin’ worry yourself about it now.”

“Aw, hell. Shit.” The bed frame squeaks. He’s trying to get up. “Fuck. Shit shit shit–”

“What are you doing?” You hiss, getting up to plant a hand firmly on his shoulder before he entirely gets off the bed. “Are you insane? You’re gonna tear those stitches and then I’ll have to fix them right back up. Stay. Still.”

“You’re on the run,” he repeats, gazing up at you wildly.

“We both are,” you tell him. “So don’t make it harder on the both of us, all right?”

“But what are you running from?”

You don’t answer him. You’re too busy fussing over the makeshift bandage around his waist, trying to tighten it even though you tied it rather well to begin with, and it hasn’t moved much. 

“What did you take from Jason Carver?” you ask him mildly instead. “He said that you took something from him.”

“Well. First of all, she wasn’t his property.”

“Oh.” You pause, eyeing him closely. 

“And second, I didn’t take anything. I only did what she asked me to.” Eddie looks away from you sheepishly. “And I loved her. Which is more than he can say, anyways.”

You don’t say anything, keeping your eyes downcast at the bandage around his middle. You feel your cheeks heating up in spite of yourself. 

“Not that there’s anythin’ to do about it now, y’know,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “He’s got her locked down in some pre-matrimonial agreement and she’s not gonna leave that big bad oil tycoon for some good for nothin’ piece-a-shit outlaw who can’t give her nothing no-how, so.” 

“You clearly have a high opinion of yourself. I’m sure you must have given her something she wanted, or else you wouldn’t be here,” you remark, and you pretend not to notice the crimson blush cresting his cheeks. 

Eddie takes a shuddering breath, his eyes roving around the room rather than looking at you. “Nah… I was just a good time for her. But– but Jason’s got it in his head that I forced her, y’know. That Chrissy didn’t… she wouldn’t have done it willingly. Which I didn’t. I would never.”

“Okay,” you tell him gently, pushing one hand on his bare shoulder to ease him back against the dusty pillows. “Don’t get worked up trying to sell your story, darling. As far as I’m concerned, if you’re not gonna throw yourself at me, that’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

“Who says I’m not gonna throw myself at you, sugar?” He fixes you with a wide grin, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. They’re too sad for that. “I’ve been known to be real loose in my time.”

You give him a deadpan look, and then reach down to gently flick his hip with your middle finger. He jumps, yelps, and then readjusts the pillow against his crotch. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. No good times for you, slick.” 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Eddie sighs in defeat, laying back like a martyr. “Well, I showed you mine. What’re you running from? Pretty thing like you… can’t imagine what kind of skeletons you’ve got hidden in that corset.”

“Closet, you mean.”

“If you insist.”

You stare down at him, breathing one long exhale through your nose. He’s infuriating, even when he’s just covering up his raw emotions. 

You think for a long moment. He may not be a direct threat to you right now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t turn you in when the fancy strikes for a good enough bounty. 

“Someone… close to me. Made some people angry. And now they’re after me, too. That’s all.” Your halting speech doesn’t lend much credence to your words, but it’s just succinct enough that it doesn’t really matter. Your eyes flit nervously around the room, the satchel in the corner over your shoulder nearly buzzing like it wants to get up and tell the story itself. 

That your brother is dead. That he left you a gun and some papers that could make or break you. And right now, all it seems to be doing is breaking you. 

Eddie doesn’t bat an eye. “Who made who angry?”

“That’s not really your business, now, is it?”

“It is if they’re comin’ after me, too, sugar.” He tilts his pretty head against the pillows, and the fire gleams in his eyes. “Why do they want you?”

“The details don’t matter,” you snap at him. “I’ve told you enough. Now you know. Everything else is personal, and frankly, I don’t trust you.” 

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Shucks. That really smarts, y’know. And here I thought, what with you playing house and seeing my junk and all, maybe we were on the way to some kind of understanding.”

You suck on your teeth. He grins at you like he’s just caught you bluffing in a game of cards. You’ve spent too much time in saloons to not know a grifter when you see one. He has all the personality of a gambler without any of the subtlety.

I play dice real good. Yeah, you bet.

“Go to hell, Munson,” you grumble, turning away from him spitefully. 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. But what’s in it for me?”

You’re halfway to figuring out exactly what would be in hell for him, when a bullet bursts through the front door and past your shoulder, hitting the back wall of the cabin. It takes you half a second to register it at all, but by that time, three more shots have taken out the left window.

“Get down!” 

Eddie’s hand snatches your wrist tightly, and the room tilts. You gasp and find yourself on the floor, in a heap, with Eddie’s weight pressing down on you. 

A bullet hits the pillow where his head just was. You can’t help the scream that rips out of you, while feathers drift through the air and bullets fly overhead. Eddie’s hand cradles the back of your head, tucking your own against his neck. Your legs are tangled in his, which is tangled in the dusty sheets from the bed and your torn petticoat. In the madness, it barely even occurs to you that he’s shielding you with his body.

“Where’s my gun?” Eddie pants in your ear.

“What?”

“The gun!”

You swivel your head to the side and spit out a strand of his curly hair that had weaseled it’s way into your mouth in the ruckus. You’d put both his guns in your satchel, and the rifle by the door. You gesture in the general direction of it.

“Motherfuck-!” Eddie’s colorful retort is drowned out by another bullet ripping into the wall just over your heads, spraying wood chips across your face.

The gunfire stops abruptly, following several shouts from outside. Masculine voices ring out in the night beyond the now-broken window. 

Suddenly, a clear voice rings out over the uproar. “Eddie?” 

Eddie turns his head in the direction of the young man’s voice. There’s nothing but darkness beyond the window, but he seems to recognize whoever it is by the sound alone.

“Henderson?” There’s a murmur of laughter from several other voices besides the one that Eddie identifies.

“What’re you doing?” the one supposed to be Henderson calls.

Eddie shifts on top of you and grunts in pain. You turn your head to look at him and see the sweat on his brow. You figure his wound must be hurting him. You lay a gentle hand on his bare shoulder, and he almost flinches when he remembers that you’re underneath him. His skin burns hot against your palm.

“Uh,” Eddie calls, his eyes flicking between you and the window. “Trying not to get shot. What’re you doing?” 

More laughter. There must be four or five voices coming from all around the cabin. With a loud, humorous gasp, Henderson calls back jovially, “Tryn’a shoot you, of course.”

[blingblong55]

Bloom- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request:

Could you do a fic, simon x witch! reader where the reader is a very powerful witch (like Scarlet witch powerful). Simon gets lost in a forest during a mission after being shot by some blue energy by the enemy team. He doesn't know that the forest is an enchanted one. The reader finds him wounded and with a mysterious energy so she takes him to her sanctum sanctorum in the forest (🙈) and then he has to stay for a few months for the reader to study that energy and then they fall in love.  Thanksss ❤️ ---- F!Reader, witch!au, fluff/romance? ----

You live near a small, calm, beautiful and peaceful river. It is said that this river is special, that if you follow it, you'll find the mythical and wonderful creatures that roam it. From fairies to soft fur cats, this place is truly magical. 

One day, as the sun is still looking over the trees, a tired soldier finds the peculiar place you call home. It was like out of a soft and kind witch story. A flower-filled garden was the entrance to such a place, the birds chirping and two cats roaming by what welcomed him. It is as if the sweet creatures lured his wounded body into this side of the forest. 

It's a long walk before he can even get close to such a place. Simon walks with caution, gun steady as he approaches this place. His eyes were vigilant, looking over the vegetation, the windows and then the door. His body begs to sit down and he complies. He finds some tree, sits down and looks at his wounds. "Bloody hell, Simon. You fuckin' had to ruin this mission, you blood muppet," he curses himself and shakes his head.  

The second you see him, you can tell there is truly something wrong, no right-minded person comes to this part of the woods. Your cat looks up at you and you nod. As you approach him, something tells you to be cautious and you follow that feeling. 

All of a sudden, his body freezes and he is turned over. His eyes come in contact with yours. They are so beautiful, just like the nature that surrounds him and you. 

"Who must you be?" you ask him rather later after your eyes scanned his body. "...Soldier...I'm a soldier, and you are?" Simon's voice is deep and raspy. "I'm Y/N, I live here, what are you doing here?" He takes a moment to try to explain his situation, "..I stumbled through here, running away-"

"Oh god, you're bleeding-those damn farries," you take his hand and guide him into your home. It was always known to you that when you found this place, the farries that here long before you did, always tried to get you to help any and everything. You were too powerful, they weren't and since they were sneaky but helpful, you and them made such a good team when help was needed. 

His brow was bloody, and so was his cheek, arm and left thigh. What must someone do to earn this?

There is truly no evil in you, which is by some force, you stumbled upon a home like this. It's a perfect, secluded place and it even brings magical friends now and then. 

"Who did this to you?" you ask him gently, trying to not alarm him with a louder voice. "I...it's not important," he lies and you shake your head. "They seem superficial, except the leg, which one needs a lot of time to heal," you explain, not trying to push the previous subject. 

When you put on your special glasses, made by the kind fairies, you can see why such thigh injury would take time to heal. This man was not hurt by any human, any normal one that is. 

You run to your garden, urging to find red tulips. Your eyes turn a sage green colour before switching to a soft pink as the plant decays and you rush back in. "What's wrong?" Simon asks but you shush him up. "You stay seated, don't interrupt," you say, not trying to be gentle anymore. The mark of black magic was always noticeable to those with the special eyewear. 

A black with gold buttons cape comes flying from the nearby table and places itself around your shoulders, the hood so effortlessly falling on your head. You begin to whisper, calling for all help to turn the decayed flower into medicine to heal him. 

The room goes completely dark and silent and before he knew it, you had a bowl in your hand. 

You kneel in front of him, and he panics but before he can say a word, your cat walks to him, licks his hand and purrs. Your cat always knew best and calming Simon was a wise move. 

Simon sighs as he feels relief in the medicine you're applying. His wound finally became normal, the odd colour it had now gone. You stand up, "You mustn't leave, not until you are safe," you advise with caution. "Why not? what will happen if I leave?" he asks with fear in his voice. "Whoever did this is still out there, searching for the mark it left on you, now, whilst you're here, you mustn't leave this part of the forest," you tell him softer this time. 

He looks down, weighing his options. 

Once those sweet brown eyes of his lay back on you, you smile, knowing his answer. 

For nearly five months, Simon has it here with you. Adoring the days and nights when he doesn't feel like his life is at risk by some gun or bomb, all he looks out for is those fairies playing tricks again. 

With time, you and him enjoy the time you spend together. He tells you his life story under the willow tree by your home and you tell him yours. 

Nights become sweeter when he and you sit under the moon. "I like this place," he confesses and you smile. Truth be told, there is an odd feeling you've been getting each time he flashes you a smile. What must it be? No clue, you lie to yourself. 

Slowly, month six comes by and you've decided to enjoy all activities, not wanting to be the powerful witch you are but a woman in her twenties, enjoying the sun in the safest forest there is to be. Simon has become the person you roam the forest with, telling him silly stories of the animals you find along the way. Every day, he sits down in the leaf-covered room you call your laboratory and lets you inspect the dark magic wound. And every day, he watches you in a different light, at least now he does. 

With time, he sits under a full moon, confessing that his heart began to beat for more than the gun he held dear. "I think I have begun to enjoy you by my side, Y/N. It's weird, I don't know if I should like you or feel...different about you but I do like this feeling." He looks at you as your eyes soften. 

"Simon," you begin but he cuts you off. It's like a symphony that plays beside you when he cups your face. "I like that I'm not afraid of life, not since you walked into it," he whispers before nervously kissing you. Both your eyes closed as this warm and sweet feeling rushed through your veins. 

Isn't it beautiful? 

Being heaven-struck by the kiss of a soldier who he, himself always wanted that feeling too. Yeah...there is something else this forest holds. 

A/N: I don't why..but let me confess that each time I write something that isn't smutty, I get sleepy and its such a good feeling..anyway..bye

Tags:

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