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dilatorywriting · 6 months ago

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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 4]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: It is very, incredibly important not to get attached to someone who will no doubt be leaving you high and dry to die stranded on an island any day now—be they man or fish. And you are definitely, definitely following that rule. For sure.

🌶️ Obligatory Warning for Mild Spice

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The next morning, there was a conch shell set beside the familiar offering of half-mauled fish.

The insides were a shining, pearlescent pink—smooth and sleek. You picked it up curiously and turned it over in your palms. You’d never seen such a complete one before. Normally they were at least a bit dinged, cracked here or there along the thin edges. But this one was practically perfect. It sat heavy and warm in your palm, and you brushed a finger along the rough ridges.

You looked up and the Siren was lounging at the shoreline, waiting expectantly.

“Thank you,” you said. “It’s really pretty.”

He preened, the fins along the side of his head fluttering wide and colorful. You huffed, amused, and set the shell neatly at the forefront of your slowly accumulating corner of Things. You’d rebuilt the little shanty shelter that he’d had his seagull minions pick apart into useless nonsense that first day together, and it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep some of the sun off your shoulders at the height of the afternoon and would probably (maybe) hold up under a bit of rain. And that pleasantly cozy hovel of yours was where you’d been keeping your Stuff. The best sticks for poking at the fire, a rock that you’d found with a dip in the middle that made it sort of, almost a bowl if you squinted hard enough, bunches of drying beach grasses that you’d been tediously twining together into bits of rope and other nonsense. That sort of thing.

You placed the conch shell on the roof of it, prodding at it with the tips of your fingers until it sat just so. Like a figurehead on a ship. The crown jewel on your little mess of ferns and driftwood.

“What do you think?” you asked, turning back to the Siren. “Really brings the room together, huh?”

He puffed something under his breath and rolled those amethyst eyes of his, but there was a curl to his lips that looked far more amused than irritated.

You trudged back over and plopped beside him in the sand, the soft, low roll of the waves playing against your toes.

“Today feels like it’s going to be gross again,” you sighed, squinting up at the sun overhead in distaste. The big ball of glowing fire had barely crawled its way over the horizon and already it felt like the world was beginning to steam.

The Siren curled his claws around your ankle and tugged.

You arched a brow at him and he pushed his stupidly, perfectly shaped ones up right back. Like he was positive that he could out stink-face you with ease.

“It’s too early to swim,” you complained.

He tugged again.

“I can’t be in the water that long. You’re going to turn me into a prune.”

He said something back, mouth quirking in irritation, and you focused hard on the shape of it. His expression smoothed with that familiar, near-eerie perception of his and he was reaching forward to dig his free fingers into the sand at your hip.

‘Don’t know what that is.’

“It’s like a—” you frowned, waving your hand around your head. “Y’know. A fruit, that’s gone pruney. A prune.”

He looked at you like you were the dumbest human he’d ever met, and to be fair you very well could have been. You doubted it was an extensive list. And even if it was, you tended to have a proclivity for landing near the top of those illustrious sorts of rankings either way. At least that’s what your Captain saw fit to remind you ad nauseum.

So, like the very mature and intellectually competent person that you were, you kicked a mess of seawater right into his face. And then the Siren was screaming something silent and mad that had all the goosebumps on your arms popping up to say hello, and he was dragging you into the shallows ass first. You skidded along the wet sand and landed in the white surf with a laugh that you had to swallow real fast. Because if you drowned in three inches of water just because you couldn’t manage to not choke to death on a giggle fit, you’d never forgive yourself.

That night, you were lounging by the fire with a belly full of seared snapper and the Siren curled just as contentedly only a few feet away. His fins were splayed out across the damp sands, and you couldn’t help but compare them yet again to some of the finest, spun silks you’d ever seen. Even when they’d been pinched and shredded beneath the prickly teeth of your ropes, they’d still been lovely. But now that they were near-fully-healed, the spread of them was truly impressive.

And they were. Almost healed, that is. You could barely make out the trailing, scar-puckered lines of even the biggest tears anymore. Which was good! Great, even. Because that meant he’d be able to begin his journey home soon, didn’t it? And then at least one of you would manage to get away from this barren mess of rocks and sand.

There was a thump against your thighs that had you jolting back into focus, and you looked down to see a pair of familiar, gem-cut irises staring back in the dark.

The Siren was glaring up at you like there was a Purpose to his sudden loss of personal boundaries, and you blinked down at him in confusion. After a long moment of nothing but your silent gawking, his brow started to pinch and the skin around his eyes went tight with irritation. The fins along his ears rippled like a pissy cat raising its hackles in preparation to lunge, and you cautiously placed a hand against the edge of one. The grumpy fluttering stopped all at once, and if you were a touch more sun-poisoned you would say that those delicate, purple pins relaxed against your palm. Either way, you were clearly on the right track. So you let your fingers trail down towards his temples, and then to the salt-curled waves of his hair. His eyes slipped closed with a pleasant rumble that you could feel all along your skin, and you puffed in half-hearted irritation. Prickly, fussy, bastard man.

You weren’t really sure what he wanted, but for now the gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp seemed to do the trick. After a few cycles of lazy petting, you let your fingers catch in some of the softer, pale hair beneath his fins. It was a bit tangled—possibly from all that frilly posturing of his—and you carefully began picking apart the small knots there one by one. Once those were cleared away, you found yourself with little else to do but sit and play with the newly freed waves of lavender-tipped gold. You tucked one strand over the next, twisting the familiar pattern of a simple braid beneath your palms.

“Deuce grew his hair out at one point,” you chattered idly as you wove those silky locks together beneath your fingers. “That’s someone from my ship, by the way. Deuce. Anyways. He thought it’d make him look more rugged, or whatever. But he just ended up looking like some rogue, sea elf, and everyone was teasing him about how he’d gone for ‘windswept sailor’ and ended up with ‘foppish, little lordling.’ So he chopped it all off again.”

The Siren hummed, and you could feel it against the pads of your fingers.

“Which was a real shame,” you continued. “Because obviously I spent all that time learning to braid it, but also because it actually looked pretty nice—OUCH! What is your problem—"

You yanked your hand away from his sharp teeth and cradled your smarting fingers to your chest. Because the stupid fish had bitten you! Not hard, or anything. Just a little nip. But it’d still hurt. If less as a genuine injury and more as a sting to your pride.

The Siren spat something quick and harsh under his breath, turning up his nose like you’d been the one to err here, and not his wandering fangs.

“What?” you huffed, reaching out to flick at those purple fins in irritation. They twitched against the side of his head to smack at your fingers. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I not allowed to call anyone else pretty, your highness?”

The Siren rolled his eyes with a look that screamed ‘well, duh,’ and you forced your irritation to override the little, bursting bubble of fondness in your chest. So silly, so silly. This ridiculously primped fish of yours.

“Well, too bad,” you grouched, tugging at the end of that half-bound braid. “Just because you win ‘most attractive specimen on the island’ doesn’t mean you get to tell me to pretend I’m blind on top of being deaf. Let me have something, you prick.” And it wasn’t like it was much of a competition—seeing as the entrants were you, him, and the octopus (if you were being generous). Less of a contest and more of a merciful slaughter, perhaps. A kindness that you were even allowed to share the same stage at all.

The Siren muttered something low and amused under his breath, the amethyst in his irises twinkling with the crackling, orange light of the embers beside you. He reached up to twist his claws along your palm and snatch the hand he’d so viciously nipped—bringing it down to eyelevel to observe it more closely in the dim glow of the fire. There was a steady trickle of blood bubbling up along your thumb. Honestly, not much worse than a papercut. Nevertheless, his brow quirked at the soft trail of red and his gaze jumped up to yours with a pointed sort of curiosity.

“What were you expecting to happen? Humans are fragile,” you huffed. “At least more than you are. It’s not like I have scales or things to keep me safe.”

His mouth tucked down on a frown, and his tail swept irritably back and forth through the sand.

“What? It’s not like you didn’t know that,” you tried, awkward. Because he ate stupid, little flesh bags like you for breakfast. Surely he ought to be well aware that there wasn’t much there. Just skin, and muscle, and all the gory, gooey bits beneath. Just like how you knew what it felt like to bite into a piece of bread, or the crunch of an apple. Solid enough to survive in its own right, but something that would give beneath your teeth easily enough that calling it anything other than ‘delicate’ would have been a gross exaggeration.

He turned your palm this way and that, brow pinching down more and more with each fresh prick of crimson. His tail beat against the sand and his talons curled up and away from your skin—like he was worried just touching your fragile, little, egg-shell of an exterior would burst it.

“It’s fine,” you blurted out, still far too confuddled over his progressive panic. You pulled your hand away from his claws and popped your finger in your mouth. “See?” you garbled around the faint taste of copper. And then pulled it out with a pop to show him the slowing trickle. “Totally fine. Just a scratch.”

The Siren watched that little bubble of red with all the vigilance of a hawk eyeing its super, and then he was snatching your wrist back between his talons and dragging your hand down towards his own mouth. And oh my God, this was it. He’d finally decided to eat you after all. What was it? Had your oh-so-breakable human foibles finally pushed him over the edge? Or was it the blood? Were Sirens like sharks? Driven to hungry frenzy by the very scent of your—

There was a gentle, wet warmth along your skin and you blinked through your hysteric descent into adrenaline-manic-mania to see the Siren carefully cleaning the blood along your cut, just as you had only moments before—his tongue running smooth lines along the teeny wound until the sore skin was tingling and spotless. Granted, his endeavors were carried out with a great deal more delicacy than your earlier example of just shoving your whole finger into your mouth like a gremlin, but…

“Uhm—” you spluttered, too gobsmacked to come up with much else. “You—ah—you don’t have to—uh—"

The Siren grumped something at you that you could feel the shape of against your palm, and then returned to diligently wiping away each new drop as it appeared. It was a strange sort of sensation. Not bristly like a cat’s tongue, but certainly not all human. There was a sting to it—something hot and prickly. Poison, maybe? Or… something. Whatever it was, it had the hair on the back of your neck rising to attention and a shiver working along your shoulders. He kept at, silent and meticulous, until finally—finally—the bleeding slowed to a stop. He hummed and turned your palm this way and that, looking over the drying nick in your skin like an artist admiring their work.

Once he was content with whatever it was he’d been searching for, he tucked your hand back along the fins at the side of his head and butted up against your palm in as blatant of a ‘get back to work’ as you’d ever seen.

You swallowed the weird mess of something that had clawed its way up to tangle your tongue and dug your nails back against his scalp just to give yourself something to do other than—than—

“I hope you don’t expect me to do that for you,” you babbled, still far too out of your head with What In The Fuck Was That to do much but gawk like an absolute imbecile at the fact that he’d actually, factually, just—

The Siren rolled his eyes and reached over to drag the point of his talon along the sand at your hip.

‘No need. Already healed.’

You barked out a startled laugh and tugged at the ends of his hair. Your fingers caught at the edge of the braid you’d been weaving, loosening one of the twining sections, and he was hissing and swatting your hands back into place—poking around with his dark claws at the little end you’d fussed with until it was exactly how it had been. And then was dragging your hands back to the half-woven bulk of it with a pointed snarl that was clearly an order to finish what you started, human. Or else.

“Okay, okay, jeesh. I’m on it.”

The Siren trilled low and rumbling under his breath, and beneath the weight of your palm it almost felt like the steady drone of a cat’s purr. Warm, and pleasant, and comfortable in a way you couldn’t quite place. The thin strands of chain-twined-rope you’d woven to make his necklace pressed into your thighs with a scratchy tickle, and the pretty piece of sea glass at its end reflected the low light of the fire in a kaleidoscope of purples. His fins flicked against your fingers in a steady tempo, and when you gave in and pinched one he was rolling onto his side to shove the full weight of himself into your lap. You whined, and bitched, and complained about suffocation, and the stupid bastard of a fish just smacked his tail indignantly against the wet sand and draped over you even more.

Seven, he was such a nightmare. And you were going to miss him so, so much.

The next day passed in much the same way as the one before, and the day after that, and the day after that. And as pleasant as it was, you couldn’t help but feel like the headsman's axe was hanging over your neck. Always there—just a breadth away from falling.

You were fixing your Siren’s hair—redoing that braid of his that he insisted you tuck into his golden locks each and every morning—and normally he was quite responsive to your prattling. Flicking you with his fins and curling his tail along your ankles as you rambled. A silent, steady way of expressing his interest when you couldn’t hear his own responses in return. But today he was… distant. Amethyst eyes locked on the grand expanse of the ocean before you with a forlorn sort of expression on his face. The water was still and quiet today, with sunlight bouncing off the low, rolling waves in a pretty glimmer like the glow off his own, shining scales.

You trailed off, fingers falling from his finished braid to twist in your lap. And he just kept staring. Fins half-pricked along the side of his head and gaze heavy with focus.

You swallowed around the tightness in your chest and forced a smile. You hopped to your feet with a merry, little bounce and reached down to pat him on the shoulder.

“It seems like a nice day for a swim,” you said, and ignored how you could feel your nerves eating through the words. The wobble of them in your throat.

The Siren startled, as much as someone as grandly majestic as he could really do such a thing, and turned your way with a fondly exacerbated huff. He held up a hand, like he was expecting to drag you along with him into the lulling tide, and you shooed away his fingers. His brow pinched and his mouth turned down at the corners.

“For you, I mean,” you clarified. Like your blatant stepping away from the water’s edge wasn’t an obvious rejection in its own right. You turned back out towards the ocean beyond your little cove. “Your fins are doing a lot better, aren’t they? You could probably stretch them a bit, right? With how smooth the waters are today.”

He hummed, considerate, gaze skirting out to track your own. You swallowed around another ball of prickling ice in your throat and kept your grin buoyant and encouraging.

And then he turned back and offered you his hand again.

You frowned, confused. “I can’t follow you out there.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward to dig his talons into the damp sand.

‘I will swim with you.’

A pause, where he reached out to poke at your ankle with a pointed jab, jab, jab before finishing off with a—

‘Like always. Stupid.’

“Oh, yeah? Well, I won’t be so stupid when you ditch me halfway out and I drown in the riptide,” you harrumphed and his eyes narrowed grumpily.

He dragged his claws through the sand in short, angry jerks.

‘Won’t leave.’

“Uh-huh,” you drawled, swallowing stiffly again when that curl of awful something tightened behind your ribs. Hoping you could manage to choke it down. It sat heavy and unpleasant on the back of your tongue, like food gone off.

He underlined the ‘won’t’ with hard, pissy strokes.

“How about this,” you tried, because man oh man, you couldn’t do this. It was going to turn you into a ridiculously weepy, clingy mess if he kept talking (writing?) like this. “Prove that your fins work well enough to keep you up and alive before I risk it. And then we can go from there.”

The Siren huffed, sending the longer ends of his hair flipping out to the sides. But those gem-cut eyes of his kept flicking out to sea, and you could see the tip of his tail twitching back and forth—like he was itching to just leap forward and swim. The fins along his ears pricked up again, and then he was turning his nose up at you with some petulant comment under his breath and diving forward into the surf. He smacked his tail down with a splash!, drenching you in a mess of salt and seafoam. You spat, and hacked, and scrubbed the water from your eyes.

“Great way to prove you won’t try and drown me!” you called, hands cupped over your mouth and still spluttering around lingering saltwater. He reared up quick enough to swipe another wave your way before slipping back under, and you laughed through the spray of mist.

You settled yourself back in the sand, ankles crossed and chin pillowed in your knees, and watched the shadow of him dance just beneath the surface—starting in his familiar, looping circles before slowly venturing towards the mouth of the cove. He paced along the breakwater, pectoral fins cresting above the waves to glint bright and sleek in the light of the morning. And then he was darting forward with a great beat of his tail, spraying salt behind him as he dove towards the depths. You waited, anxious, as one moment faded to the next, and then—finally—there was a burst of frothing bubbles as he broke the surface with a great, curling leap—fins flared wide like the wings of a great bird and scales shining like jewels. It was nearly effortless, how he crested over the water. Diving back down in a mess of spitting mists with a flick of those long, trailing fins. He leapt up again, twisting in the air to crash down on his back and it almost looked like he was dancing. You could see the white flash of his grin even from all the way where you were sat. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him so happy. Truly, a sight worthy of every grand tale you’d heard of the Sirens of the Sea.

He circled the mouth of the bay at least a dozen times more—fast, and wild, and breaching the waves in a burst of seafoam like he was trying to give every pod of dolphins out there a run for their money. Gradually, he began to lose steam, and those grand leaps melted into soft curls of his tail in the tide. And honestly, this was the part where you expected him to sink beneath the surface and glide off into the sunset. You braced yourself for it—for the moment that golden head of his would vanish beneath the water and never pop back up again—but instead he bobbed closer.

The Siren rolled in with the waves, panting, and flushed, and looking like someone coming off of a marathon. The muscles all along his torso were jittery with the strain of it, and he looked positively exhausted. Ecstatic beyond compare, but exhausted. He slipped up the damp shore with wobbly arms and came to a stop at your side before very gracelessly and rudely flopping the entirety of his sopping wet bulk onto your person and squashing you into the muck.

You squawked, rightfully indignant, and he just puffed against your neck and let his tail smack harder against your flailing legs.

“You’re going to crush me!” you wailed, shoving at his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes and curled his fins along your hips—spreading himself out in the sands like your complaints held no merit whatsoever. You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against yours, and the rabbit-fast thump-thump-thump of his heart. His skin was so warm. You could even feel the heat of it off his scales, which you hadn’t even thought was possible. Weren’t all fishy, scaly things supposed to be cold? Slimy, and gross, and like poking a wet blob of some unmentionable gunk scraped off the hull of a ship? Instead it was just… smooth. Glass-polish sleek and all warm muscle twined along your much, much smaller self.

You cleared your throat and turned to blow a frustrated raspberry against the sand.

“You do realize if you break all my bones that there isn’t going to be anyone to cook your stupid fish for you anymore.”

The Siren grumbled something against your shoulder that almost felt like the breathy puff of a laugh, and then he was collapsing all over again with a sigh that ruffled all the soft, short hairs at the nape of your neck. He scrubbed his cheek against the curve of your throat and you froze. Because it almost felt like—was he purring?

A deep, low, tremulous thing that you could feel rumbling against your skin. Like laying a hand against a mast strung too tight in a storm. Or maybe more like that one time you’d found a stray cat lounging in the sun by the docks—the sweet, old thing chirping softly beneath your palm in a lulling drone that tickled all the way up your arm.

The Siren’s purr wasn’t quite like either of those things, but perhaps a mix of the two. Dangerous but warm, powerful but cosseted. More predator than pet, and, well, that’s what he was, wasn’t he? And honestly, it was pretty nice. A language you could feel rather than hear, something just for you.

So you let yourself relax beneath the weight of his scaly bulk with a sigh that wasn’t quite as aggrieved as you would have liked, and his tail twisted another loop around your calves. His fins spread around the pair of you like a roll of fine silks, and while the texture wasn’t exactly soft, they were delicate enough not to feel suffocating or coarse either. Sleek and cool to the touch, and maybe the thickness of canvas. And there were just so many of them. Long, and trailing, and ruffled along the edges like the folds of a fine-boned fan. Your weird, purple blanket. If Riddle ever found out you’d been using a Siren as bed linens, he’d probably have an aneurism and scrub you in one of the scullery buckets for a week straight.

It was stupidly easy to fall asleep like that—wrapped up in lavender and plum, with the thrum of his heart next to yours. You napped all through the afternoon, and only woke up once the sun had set over the horizon.

You blinked awake to stars in the sky and a strange, scratchy sensation at your hip.

The Siren had apparently finished up whatever little bout of insanity that had made him think you’d be the perfect impromptu pillow. He hadn’t gone far—or even anywhere at all really—but he was propped up at the hip now instead of crushing you into the shore. His hand was resting just beneath the hem of your shirt, right over the origin of that bizarre, ticklish feeling. You blinked again to clear the salt and sleep-grit from your eyes, and realized it was his talons. Not ripping, or tearing, or rending. Just very, very carefully tracing a set of shapes into your skin. The same three symbols, over and over. Up, and down, and up, and curled.

He traced those shapes again, and again, and again. It was almost—you’d think it was letters, if not for the strange, swirling pop of them. Almost like the words he’d written in his own language all those days ago. His claw dragged along the skin there in the faintest prickle, leaving slowly growing streaks of red in their wake with each repetition. You opened your mouth, ready to ask him what exactly he was so painstakingly etching into your hip, and paused.

You’d realized over the past however many weeks you’d been marooned on this little crescent of sand and stone that maybe Sirens weren’t all you’d thought them to be. And that maybe you really didn’t know much about them at all. Something about the slow, cautious way that his claws were tracking along your skin made you think that this was another of those things that you just didn’t get. And going by how quiet he was, how stalwart and careful he was being not to let the knife-sharp curves of those talons dig too deep or do anything other than trace back and forth, and back and forth, it might be something… Something important. Or at the very least something that you had no business bothering him about.

Least of all if he’d be leaving any day now.

So you tossed your head back on a very loud, very dramatic yawn and used the ensuing stretch to gently swat his hands away.

He didn’t look put out by your ridiculous show of flopping around and scooching out of his grip, so that was good at least. You sat up and rubbed at your eyes, and he just kept staring. Kept to his place in the soft, wet sand not a foot away and eyes sharp in the lowlight of the evening.

“Well,” you chuffed on another yawn. “I’m starving. Dinner?”

The Siren rolled his eyes and dipped his chin in what could perhaps generously be classified as a nod. He reached up to flick at the mused braid in his hair with a pointed scowl—twisted and tangled from the salt of the sea and his earlier rambunctious tomfoolery. You sighed, overly put upon, and hefted your way to your feet.

“Yes, yes. And I’ll fix your stupid hair.”

Another nod, this one far more pleased, and the Siren settled himself neatly back into the low roll of the waves to watch you work.

The next morning when you clawed your way back into consciousness, the Siren was already awake and staring off into the distance.

The fins along his head were pricked in that same, focused way from before that made you think of a hound dog catching a scent. There was a strange sort of energy about him—not quite nervous, but certainly not anything comfortably at ease either. Unsettled. Jittery. The end of his tail flicked against the sand, and the fins along his spine curled and arched to an unsung tempo.

You followed the path of his leer and didn’t see much of anything yourself. Just an endless stretch of blue in all directions with the occasional white crack of a wave breaking along its surface.

His tail smacked at the muck again and you felt something tight and stupidly, stupidly selfish curl in your stomach.

You swallowed it down, just like you’d said you would. Because you’d meant it when you’d told him he deserved his happy ending, and you weren’t going to let the rotten, nervous thing growing in your guts stop him from having that. Not that you could even if you wanted to, but it was the principle.

“…are you going to swim again today?” you asked, and one of those fins swiveled in your direction. You came to stand at his side and curled your toes in the sand to keep yourself steady. “You should, you know. To make sure everything is really all fixed.”

The Siren tore his gaze away from the sea to cant his head at you with a sharp, suspicious narrowing of his eyes.

You held your hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. You want to be able to go home, don’t you? Back to your pod?”

He frowned, tight, but his glare flickered back out to the mouth of the bay like he couldn’t help himself.

After a long, long moment, he reached out and dug his claws into the sand.

‘Not safe yet.’

You arched a brow. “Oh, come on. I’m sure it’s fine. If anyone could make it back, it’d be you.”

He turned back your way and arched a brow, looking entirely unconvinced.

You huffed and crossed your arms. “Don’t get all modest now. You’re the most obnoxiously proud person I’ve ever met—fish or otherwise. I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.”

His brow pinched again, and there was something almost like worry sparking in those amethyst eyes of his.

“Look—” you said, reaching out to plant a palm against his shoulder. “If it doesn’t work out, you can always just come right back here, okay? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

You weren’t going to think about how nice that sounded, and how absolutely, bitterly selfish it was to hope that he’d turn right back around and head back. You weren’t.

The Siren’s brow pinched and he turned back to the open water, fins rippling against his sides and mouth twisted down at the corners.

You tugged at the braid in his hair.

“Don’t make me tie you back up again just so I can drag you out.”

He scoffed and spat something at you that looked like it was properly bitchy, and it had your lips quirking on a smirk. But prissiness or no, he’d started to let himself slip down against the surf, to lull deeper into the shallows and flare his fins at his sides for balance rather than a show of irritation.

You swallowed the last, lingering bite of dread at the back of your throat and offered him a winning smile.

The Siren huffed, and right before he sunk all the way into the water, he set his talons by your feet and scribbled—

‘Do not do anything stupid.’

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved off. “Sure.”

He underlined the ‘do not’ with a harsh sneer that could have made paint curl and the fiercest of generals quake in their boots, and you burst into peals of too-fond laughter.

“Okay, okay. I promise. Swear.”

He nodded, firm, and finally—finally—sunk beneath the surface with a grand, sweeping beat of his tail.

He circled the whole of the bay once, twice, thrice, and then set out past the breakwater with another of those bounding leaps that looked like something straight out of a painting.

You sat and watched the rolling waves until the sun was high in the sky, and then long after it had begun its creeping descent. Fat and sluggish over the horizon, dripping gold along the water like the strokes of a paintbrush. Until there were no shadows in the tide, no purple fins popping up from beneath the surface to smack at your ankles. There hadn’t been for hours now. The glint of his tail had slowly grown further and further away, and you’d been staring out at nothing for longer than not.

You stood with a sigh, legs wobbly and prickling with static as you stretched out of your scrunched up crouch.

You moved towards your little shanty hut and carefully readjusted the conch at its helm so that it sat just so. You stepped back with a soft nod and began your familiar trek towards the other side of the island, dutifully ignoring the stutter in your steps and that tight, miserable something twisting in your guts that you refused to name.

It was fine. He’d be home soon, surely. With his pod—his family. Which was what you’d wanted. And now… well, you had to go catch some dinner for you and your octopus. And there was no use waiting around.

You fucking sucked at fishing.

Which was a lesson learned with miserable, sopping wet consequences. You sat in front of your stupid fire, ringing out your stupid, soaked shirt, and sneezing in the chill of the night air. You’d never been responsible for hauling in food on The Rose Queen, and the Siren had basically been feeding your stranded ass from day one (whether intentional or otherwise). And so now here you were. Fishless, friendless, and freezing.

You sighed, miserable, and carefully made your way back to the familiar, little tidepool in the crags. You knelt down by the teeny pool of water there and the octopus inside was immediately scurrying for cover. When no tasty treats rained down overhead like the gift of some benevolent god, it slowly creeped its way out from beneath the stones with a trudging sort of paddling you wanted to call pouty.

“Sorry, little guy,” you huffed. “I don’t have anything for you today.”

You reached forward and the octopus panicked—trying to flee so fast that the poor thing wound up twisting itself in knots. Its stubby tentacles curled and flailed uselessly in its puddle, and you tutted in sympathy. You scooped the blob into your palms and immediately four sets of tentacles were curling around your fingers like a lifeline. Its little suckers pulled at your skin with sticky smacks as it tried to burrow away into your skin. And Sevens—OW! What the Hell!

“Chill, chill!” you squawked, trying to wrangle the thing more securely into your hands and stop it from pinching the flesh clear off your bones. “I’m just—would you—look, I don’t want to drop you, okay? So would you just—"

The octopus screamed, and you didn’t even think that was possible. You could feel the sharp, yowling vibrations of it all along your fingers and a few of the gulls nesting along the rocks took off into the air with a harried flurry of feathers and scrabbling claws. Their wings thwacked the back of your head and you swatted them away with a shrill scream of your own. Why did everything on this stupid island have to be a no good, dramatic, serenading, piece of shi—

“Fine!” you shrieked, feeling your molars ache with it. “Begone!”

And hurled the thing as far as you could over the edge of the rocky shore. It landed in the water with a lackluster plop of fat bubbles and immediately darted away like a prisoner fleeing captivity. And not, you know, the benevolent hand of the very lovely pirate who had been feeding and caring for it all these weeks.

You kicked angrily at a mess of pebbles, and then swore loud and furious when all it did was scuff up your toes and prick bruises into your heels.

You trudged back to your stupid, little hovel and collapsed miserably into the sand.

Here you were, trying to be noble, and kind, and give all of these ridiculous sea creatures the second chance at life that you would never have. And what did you get for it? An empty stomach, an aching heart, and gravel in your fucking feet—

“Well,” you chattered to yourself. Pleasantly poisonous and tendons jumping in your jaw, “I suppose at least it can’t get much worse.”

Which should have been the universe’s signal to do something truly petty. The skies opening overhead in a torrential downpour. Your little, stick home collapsing under the sheer weight of your patheticness. A crab scuttling up from the depths just to pinch your toes. Something like that.

Instead, there was a gentle breeze that tickled your cheeks and coaxed you into looking out over the horizon.

There was something there—something in the distance that you couldn’t quite make out from where you were curled up suffering in the sand. You sniffled past angry tears and scrubbed the back of your hand over your nose, and then let that touch of wind guide you forward on wobbly legs. You had to climb all the way up the salt-slick rocks to get a good look at it. But there it was. Not too far at all actually.

A ship.

Large, and wooden, and cresting through the low rolling waves with all the ease of the monstrous vessel it looked to be. There was a silver insignia emblazoned on its side, but it was still too far away to make out the particulars. But you didn’t care, because it was a ship. An actual, factual ship.

You waved your hands high over your head and shouted at the top of your lungs.

And holy shit, holy shit—maybe the universe didn’t actually hate your poor guts. Maybe there’d be a happy ending to this whole thing after all.

You watched in the distance as an anchor dropped, and you had to stop yourself from tumbling off your rocky perch in your excitement. One of the small dinghies was lowered into the water and a gaggle of crew climbed down to man it. Slowly but surely, that little boat grew closer, and you sprinted down to the shoreline to meet it.

A man with short, dark hair climbed over the side and met you halfway. His eyes were soft, and brown, and kind, and he offered you a warm smile when you nearly tumbled straight into him in your haste—catching a hand around your arms and helping keep you upright.

He said something polite that you assumed was the usual sort of greeting and intrigue into how exactly you’d managed to find yourself in this state of affairs, and you hastily made to explain your situation as you always did.

‘Thank you—I can’t hear, but I can write and read—And I—’

Your train of thought cut off sharply, and your rambling explanations with it. The brunette was already nodding your way in sympathy and rattling off instructions to his crew. They were all decked out in slightly differing variations of the same, white and navy uniform. With golden buttons and sashes glinting in the low light and silver pendants pinned to their breast pockets. Your doe-eyed savior turned back your way and offered you his arm with another of those sap sweet smiles that lit his cheeks in a merry, rosy pink.

You hesitated, throat bobbing around something tight and cold that curdled along the back of your tongue.

Twining songbirds, wings frozen in flight as they soared up towards an endless sky.

The intricate, little emblem stared back at you proudly from its place on his chest, and you couldn’t help but think of the Siren who’d only just left your cove a few hours before.

‘Not safe,’ he’d demanded, dragging you away from the wreck so frantically you’d nearly drowned from it. ‘Not safe.’

The brunette’s smile wavered at your hesitance, and he wrapped his hand around yours to tug you into the boat.

You climbed in on wobbly legs, because—what else were you supposed to do? Stay stranded on this little patch of sand and stone until you starved to death or went mad from loneliness? Run? From sailors with swords on their belts as long as your arm? To hide on an island that you could traverse in its entirety in a half hour or less? You were always one to happily snatch up the weird and wonderful opportunities life could present to you and run them into the ground, but now… What else was there?

You were settled against one of the small, wooden benches and the brunette shucked off his jacket to drape over your shoulders and the silver songbirds glinted in the low light. He offered you another of those warm, warm smiles before turning to call an order to his crew.

You sighed, miserable, and slouched against the siding—fingers dangling down to brush along the surface of the water.

‘Do not do anything stupid,’ your Siren had said.

And you’d really been hoping to last more than twenty-four-freaking-hours before inevitably breaking that promise, but it seemed the universe really was out to get you after all.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 4

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ophelieverse · 5 months ago

Note

Hii there Lia,i’m a little embarrassed because i’ve been following you since the beginning and i loved all of your posts,this time i wanted to be brave and ask for a request.I’m a Daemon girly,so can I request an imagine where he and reader kinda have a thing going on?Like it’s not official but they do😏😏things?Thank you for your service and your works,luv u💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

✦ ⟢balance

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

—Summary:reader is a dragonseed,the daughter of bastard child of one of the Targaryens,when the Rogue Prince went to search for dragon riders to fight in the war he sets his eyes on her for more than one purpose.

—Warnings:poor smut writing,reader will have the valyrian silver hair,kinda of incest,Daemon cheats on Rhae with reader(i apologize my Queen i love you)age gap(reader is legal)and Daemon being himself as always.

•—thank you so much for requesting and let me know what you think🫶🏻🩷

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

If as a child they had told her that balance would be one of the basic requirements to ride a dragon,Y/n would never have believed it.

Because after all,even though she could have guessed it with the strength of the intellect,she was just a child who loved to dream and saw soldiers as heroes who had become such thanks to the strength of training.However,the truth was in the middle:it took talent and strength to become a good soldier,then a good dose of willpower and finally balance.

Y/n had lived her whole life on the island of Dragonstone and she was pretty sure that she was also going to die of old age,maybe in her warm bed or with her feet deep in the sand,in the place that she had always called home.

Her father was a fisherman from Essos,Volantis to be exact that loved to take her on his boat and tell her stories about his home in the other continent.A simple man,an insignificant part of sand in the sea.Nothing special.Her mother however,was definitely something more special and it could be seen in her wild silver hair that danced in the morning breeze.

The white tangle of mess that crowned her head was the only thing that Y/n had inherited from her mother.The stained and not pure Valyrian blood that circled in her veins,the proof that the fairy tales about dragons,princesses and castles that her mother used to whisper to her at night before putting her to sleep,were part of them.Her mother was a bastard child,daughter of the princess Gael Targaryen.

And Y/n was her granddaughter,her mother made sure that she remembered that before her death,that she was also the blood of the old Valyria and that the dragons that she had saw on the island were hers by birth right.That she shouldn’t be settling down for an ordinary life but that she could be so much more.A dragon rider.

Balance.

And she would have never believe it as a child that that word would be one of the keys to her entire future:of choices made on the spot that could aim for the balance of the situation in just a few seconds.

But also of balance merely on the physical side: she remembers how long it took to find the balance necessary to stand straight on Vermithor,the bronze fury who seemed to have taken a liking in her choosing Y/n as his new rider. When from the bottom of her eight years and with a few teeth missing it seemed so easy to her for the Targaryen to fly up there.

She had spent years of her life,running up and down the docks,nose up in the air,eyes never leaving the sky and the beautiful creatures flying back on the hills of Dragonstone.Never in her life Y/n thought that one day she would have been up there with them,riding King Jaehaerys dragon for the coming war.

She remembers it as if it were yesterday:the heavy wood on her shoulders, the suspenders pulling on her dress,the smell of sweat and fish -by who stood still under the sun,like her,to look at the Rogue Prince,Daemon Targaryen walking through the dirty streets.She remembers the gravel under his feet,the clean smell of his clothes,the way his purple eyes seemed to shine under the light and the way they were studying her whole body from the top of her head to her bare feet.

Y/n could also remember the way she felt her skin catch of fire,they way her father trembled next to her without saying a word,as the prince took a strand of her hair between his fingers.Carefully,as if he was counting every single hair,he brought them to his nose to give them a sniff.

«Yes.»his voice was low,it made her shiver,his eyes never leaving hers«You smell like a dragon.»it sounded like he was disgusted but on his face there was no trace of it.

It’s been months since then,but Daemon hadn't aged much from that day,or at least,she remembered him exactly with that aspect.The long pale hair styled to perfection,the nails well-groomed,the voice deep.Clean clothes.The blade of his sword shiny and sharp.Purple eyes with pure fire behind them.White skin and beard shaved to perfection.

He is sitting in front of Y/n with his legs apart at the foot of the bed as he finishes reading a report.The war was closer each day and they needed to be ready.Y/n slipped into his room like every night.

Daemon was married to Queen Rhaenyra,but he didn’t spend much time with her.He had a war to prepare and to win.He was the one that suggested to find more dragon riders,the one that went searching for them and the one that trained them.All of them,four to be exact,were simple people before a dragon had claimed them.

Y/n was chosen by Vermithor,a massive creature with more teeth than anything else,whose roar shook the very foundations of Dragonstone.

«The best for the best.»Daemon had commented,holding her hand as he helped her getting down.

«I’m sure he is.»Y/n had muttered once she was steady on her feet,on the solid ground«But i don’t know if i will be able to be of any help.He will be better without me on him.»she said,placing a insecure hand on the dragon head.

The Rogue Prince observed the way the creature nuzzled against her touch«You have blood of the dragon in you.He knows it,you know it.You exist and there are no more excuses,you were born to do this.»his voice was more gentle this time.

He hadn’t been this caring and careful with Ser Hugh or Addam,keeping his face stoic and his eyes cold while he was telling them what to do with their dragons.But the war was closer each day and the last thing he needed was a scared little girl that didn’t knew how to ride a dragon.

Y/n was young,naive,soft and pure.Everything that he wasn’t,everything that he saw in his niece when he was just a child,everything he took from him previous wife,that he had lost in the daughter he didn’t met and in the one that he ignores.Everything that he craved and wanted,that was pulling him to her like a moth to a flame.

In the beginning he thought it was because of that.Y/n was much younger that he was,she didn’t had any manners,he would think of her as a ignorant and savage girl that didn’t knew how to read or write,which silverware to use at the dinner table,how dress properly or how to take care of her beautiful moon hair.

So he took care of her.He thought her how to read and write,how to sit at a table,how to hold a sword .Once her face was clean from the dirt and her skin smelled of roses and vanilla,dressed in one of Rhaena pastel pink dresses,he saw in her the purity and familiarity he had lost in those years.The innocence that he took from the women in his life without asking,the perfect immaculate skin that he didn’t stained yet,the hair,just like his,that he didn’t pulled,the beautiful heart shaped lips he didn’t tasted.

It was like looking at a ghost from his past,as she was in front of him so unsure and with the desire to please in every possible way,to make him proud,to have him pay attention to her,to just become his favorite.

«The key is in the balance.»he had explained to her,his big hand covering her lower back as he walked her back to the castle.

«Balance?»Y/n asked confused with a little voice.

Daemon nodded«Once you will find your balance and be steady on your own feet,everything will be easier.»he said.

Balance.

Y/n marks it in her mind,every letter as a stepping step.It's what she thinks she's found for the first time in her life:Daemon gives her a sense of calmness,peace after the battle,even after the biggest losses,even if he seems more broken,more broken after every defeat or every time that he has a fight with Rhaenyra.

But his presence is still reassuring.It's like a hot tea when you have a sore throat.Like honey in milk.Reassuring,comforting.Somehow.

Daemon was the first person that had spent so much time to take care of her and Y/n knew it was wrong.It wasn’t proper the way he would sit next the bathtub while she was washing,in the way he would brush her hair every night,kiss her forehead and cradle her head on his chest before falling asleep.It wasn’t proper when he was married,to the Queen no less,it was treason and it mean death penalty.But that didn’t stop them.

He had a perfect balance between Y/n,the young and virgin girl,the pure maiden,the new thing in his life and Rhaenyra,the old mad Queen,the one thing he already had possessed and had nothing else to offer him.

Daemon is all Y/n knows about life.He made sure to teach her that.It is the balance of the spirit and the balance of the body.It's the beauty of his armor and in the way he stands proudly on Caraxes,the way he spend his time to clean Dark Sister.The shirt just opened and messy hair on his head.

He is tired.He is already half undressed.The cloak hung him on the chair.

Y/n,on the other hand,is not as balanced as he is,she had tried for him but she had failed:she still feels the adrenaline running through her blood, running through her veins and singing her soul.She knows what she wants to put out the fire,to turn off the brain,to regain balance.

And she waits with all her might just like Daemon with patience.

Balance.First duty then pleasure.He had talked with Rhaenyra about the battle plans and then he went to call for Y/n to spend the night with her.

Y/n is learning to be patience,so she observes him:she looks at his long silver hair tickling down his neck,the first buttons of his shirt open and his lips reading.His purple eyes are hidden behind the paper in his hand:he has a curved back and his arms resting on his thighs.

Y/n can't help but think about how much he likes Daemon,even with sweaty hair,especially like that. So human,so true.In that little corner that is created between them,in the late evening,in that room.

It seems to her that everything else does not exist,that the world is not that terrible place dominated by fire and blood,that human beings are free,that she can love Daemon and that Daemon can love her.

And so she wait impatiently on the bed with her bare feet rubbing placidly on the sheets«Do you still have a lot of those?»she whispers not to be heard outside the room and perhaps not to be heard even by Daemon himself,because she knows how this war is important and how easy he is to piss off.

«Yes.»Daemon answer was short and he didn’t moved a inch from his previous position.

Y/n didn’t responded.She barely snorts and drops her head on the pillow.Her mental balance is quickly faltering.After that day all she wants is Daemon,she wants to forget,she wants sex and to hold him.

She wants to tell him all those things that can only be said in bed.Where she could pretend to be princess,the only woman in his life,the only one that he has ever touched and wanted like this.

«I'm almost done.»Daemon then adds without saying anything else.

But Y/n smiles.She knows that message.Daemon does this when he realizes that he has been too rude,too unpleasant or cold especially after a battle.

«Alright.»Y/n lifts her back from the mattress and leans with her forehead against his.

It's hot.She breathes his perfume and goes straight into her veins and it's like wood on the fire:she can't do it and grabs him by the jaw and makes his head turn to the side,she kisses him with her tongue,puts it in his mouth as much as she can and then bites his lip.The breath hiss against her cheek because there is not enough room for the air to pass through.

Y/n hears him moaning with annoyance but he doesn't move.And the balance is lost in that fire of souls and bodies that is being consumed.

He puts a hand in her hair and kisses her again.He wants it,he wants it more than anything,more than revenge,more than blood.Daemon indulges her because after all he needs it too,he needed the taste of skin,the smell of her body,that balance was broken,broken like them.

Then he turns around and puts a hand around her neck and pushes her forcefully against the mattress.That's enough to start to make her feel the familiar warmth between her legs.

Daemon notices it right away.He knows she likes it,he knows it excites her.He blocks the air in her throat and sticks his index finger in her mouth.

«Do you want me to fuck you,little girl?»his voice is far more gentle than the one he use to commands armies,but still it made her shiver«Is that what you want?»he could still sound so authoritative.

«Yes.»Y/n mutters with his finger in her mouth and the air that lacks in her lungs.

«I told you that I’m almost done.»he reminded her,referring to all the papers that were now on the cold floor.

Y/m mumbles something similar to a «I’m sorry.»her eyes are shiny.She’s red in the face and looks so desperate.

Daemon loosens his grip«Never mind,you made me want it too.»he said.

He kisses her without taking his hand off her neck,he kisses her vigorously,his tongue that caresses hers and in that moment she knows that Daemon has also lost control,the balance.

Y/n stretches her hand on his dressed erection and squeezes it,feels it hard,feels it warm and tense and this makes her arch her hips while they still kiss.

He once told her that dragons prefer heat and right now she feels like she's in a hot bath:her body is on fire.Daemon is able to do that to her,she doesn't understand it,she doesn't control it.She can't.

Y/n bites his lip and slowly unbuttons his shirt, discovers his chest like the first time and finds it – like every time – beautiful.

Even after a battle he always looks so clean,in this he reminds her of her mother.But Daemon more, he’s cleaner,more beautiful,more like fire and balance at the same time.He’s is the greatest contradiction of her life;yet,her greatest certainty.

Daemon hikes the material of her nightgown up her soft legs,keeping them open with his beautiful and muscular thighs.Trapping her in his spider web of pleasure and warmth.

Before Daemon,Y/n had never been interested in sex,or men.To anything that wasn't living another day on the island.Then he came looking for her,first as a soldier then as a man.

And he killed and at the same time gave birth to a part of her.By now her life was divided into before and after of Daemon.

He let the nightgown slide over her rib cage,his fingers feels like fire as they trace a path on her pure skin leaving goosebumps all over it.Her breast,her perky little nipples,the way her chest rise and fall so fast was enough to drive him crazy.He takes the nightgown off and leaves it at the foot of the bed with the grace that distinguishes him.

He leaves her neck flushed just to place a messy kiss on her puffy and rosy lips«It's really too easy to get you excited,little girl.» he murmurs,perhaps more to himself than to her.

However,Y/n is not embarrassed because she sees him in the same state:then with a tacit look she asks him for permission to undress him and finishes untiening his shirt, in a hurry as only she can do,then she moves on to his belt and pants.

He feels her skin on fire when his naked body matches with her own,when his erection and her wet flower meet and dance like their tongues.There is something poetic in that dirty dance,because everyone knows they shouldn't do it,but it's the only thing that makes it stable in that life devoid of any meaning,devoid of balance and certainties.

Daemon and his body,Daemon and his perfume,Daemon and his mouthpiece.Daemon and his tongue digging into her mouth as if to want to suck even the last particle of oxygen into her lungs.Daemon and that rude and delicate way of doing things at the same time that sends him into ecstasy when he fights and fucks her.

He takes his time preparing her,caressing and tasting the sweet wet flower in between her legs.The purest ambrosia gifted by the gods,the most delicious sounds of pleasure.She feels his hot erection pressing against her little entrance,ready to ravish her.

Y/n tries to relax just like he taught her but her heart is stally and suddenly she feels like she is in a battle:she clings to Daemon hair,loses her balance on her elbows and leaves herself totally to him.

Daemon enters her with a blow drier than his hip,he mutters something in her mouth,as he bites her lips red as blood and she scratches his back.There is no need for words:he begins to push,and she feels her flesh give way,widen for him and make room for him,squeeze him in that welcoming way that vaguely reminds Daemon of home.

He pushes and Y/n tries to breathe as best as he can,she looks for oxygen that is not there,touches him on his back and spreads her legs more:she wants it more,more,more.She doesn't even have the strength to call his name for how strong the thrusts are and he touches that point so sweet and secret inside of her that makes her tremble.The one she,sometimes,looked for on her own but never found.Daemon knows how to touch it,he knows how to loosen her every uncovered nerve.

He knows how to make her lose her balance and then find her in that bath of sweat and moods,saliva and scratches.

The bed squeaches and no one cares,not even that anyone can hear them at that moment because,when they are together there is nothing else.The sheets are a disaster under their bodies, they are the perfect synthesis of what is going on in that bed.

Y/n welcomes the thrusts of Daemon,welcomes the moans with her mouth,squeezes him between his thighs and does not let him go but indulges him in that fluid and dancing movement.

The hands that squeeze her neck,then her arms and then her ass.

And then the orgasm comes like a thread that suddenly breaks;like a rubber band that breaks and bounces into the body and mind.He hits her deeply and can't help but indulge in those sensations.To that sea that invests her at the same time while Daemon comes inside her but she no longer understands anything.

Y/n feel like she is on a cloud,she feel like she is flying.The sweat-soaked back doesn't touch the bed but the sky.

And all of a sudden everything becomes calms and quiet.

Daemon kisses her shoulders as if to console her because he knows her thoughts,he knows his little girl.He cautiously gets out of her and moves to her side.And the balance in silence returns,as the beats of their heart slow down.

Because after all,life was a game of balance,and that was the perfect balance for them.

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javierpena-inatacvest · 5 months ago

Text

Melt

"And if I die because you made me melt, oh well."

Summary: You and Frankie spend a hot summer day by the pool

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Husband!Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, semi-public shenanigans (we're assuming there's a big, tall fence around the pool lmao), Frankie being our 🐱 eating king, Frankie being the sweetest and so obsessed with you, poor Pope probably needs to clean his pool after these two leave, reader wears a bathing suit, can swim and can get sunburned

A/N: HEY HOMIES, IT'S YA GIRL!!!!! What better way to celebrate National Catfish Day than with a lil poolside Frankie 🤪 It has been hotter than Satan's ballsack out here in the midwest, so this song is dedicated to this ongoing heatwave and this song that I am absolutely obsessed with and is SO Frankie coded 😭 This is the first thing that I have worked on since May so apologies in advance for bein' a little rusty, but I'm excited to finally be back on the writing train again!!! ily all, big forehead kisses for each of you MWAH!!!! 🥹 poorly beta'd bc that's how i roll

Love it or hate it, if there was one thing that you could always count on, it was the fact that summers in south Florida were hot.

Really fucking hot.

So when Pope had offered up his pool for you and Frankie to use while he was out of town for the week, it was a no brainer that the two of you had ecstatically accepted his invitation.

“We really owe Pope for this one, huh?” You smirked, setting down your beach bag on one of the lounge chairs spread across the pool deck, pulling out some sunscreen and towels for you and Frankie.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Frankie sighed, nodding his head in agreement, admiring the crystal blue water sparkling in the heat of the hot summer sun, hands on his hips as he looked out over the pool.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you stood behind him, secretly whipping out your phone to take a picture of Frankie inspecting the pool before quickly texting it to Pope, knowing what a kick he’d get out of it.

You: Thanks for letting us use the pool! New pool boy is taking his job very seriously. 🫡

Pope: Haha. Would have looked better if he showed up in a bikini. Have fun u 2.

“What are you laughing at?” Frankie asked, turning around to the sounds of your sneaky snickers before feeling his own phone buzz in his pocket, looking down to see a text from Pope.

Pope: Your wife thinks you’d make a good pool boy. Told her you need a bikini first. Have fun with Mrs. Fish today.

Pope: Not too much fun though. 🤨

Frankie: Sorry to disappoint.

Frankie: What’s that supposed to mean?

Pope: I just cleaned the pool before I left. Don’t need any baby fish swimming around in there if you know what I mean 🐟 💦 lol

Frankie: Jesus christ, Pope.

Frankie shook his head as he slipped his phone back into his pocket as he made his way over to you, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you closer to his chest.

“You think I’d make a good pool boy, huh?” He smirked, planting a chaste kiss in your lips as the two of you laughed.

“The best. But only if you give me another kiss and put some sunscreen on me so I don’t turn into a lobster.” You teased, kissing him right back before pulling away to grab the sunscreen bottle, passing it off to him.

“Fair enough.”

As he took the bottle from you, starting to shake it up, Frankie couldn’t help stop and watch in awe as you began to remove your coverup. Underneath, it revealed the little, strappy, bright yellow bikini you had just bought, deciding that today would be a good choice to show it off for the first time with just you and your husband together.

“Fuck me…” Frankie whispered under his breath, his tongue darting out of his mouth and swiping over his bottom lip as he looked you up and down, admiring every sun-kissed inch of your soft skin and the way the fabric of your swimsuit hugged your curves. “Is this- fuck, is this new?” he asked softly, his sweet brown eyes just about popping out of his head, trying to use every ounce of self composure to even form a coherent question.

“Do you like it? I got it a few days ago when I was out. Figured I could use a new one.” You blushed, biting down on your lip at Frankie’s reaction, wondering how in the world he still managed to make you feel as beautiful as he did the first night he’d met you after all your time spent together.

“Can I show you?” Frankie asked, running his hands along your waist, gently toying with the strings holding your swimsuit bottoms together.

“Show me what?”

“Show you how much I like it?” He responded, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as his fingers slowly began to undo the bow tied around your hips while he gently nipped at your neck, making your stomach swell with arousal.

“Mhmmmmmm.” You nodded, carefully backing up until your legs hit the lounge chair behind you, Frankie gently guiding you to sit down and lay back while he nestled himself between your legs, draping each one over his bare, broad shoulders, his tanned and freckled skin glowing in the blazing afternoon sun.

Frankie wasted no time planting soft kisses up the inside of your thighs, the familiar scratch of his beard and mustache against your skin making you moan in eager anticipation as you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your swimsuit bottoms.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that? I’m so lucky.” He whispered between kisses along the meat of your thighs before stopping at your core, letting his fingers brush against the fabric of your swimsuit, sneaking under the material just enough to feel how wet you had already become in the few short moments since you had sat down.

“Seems like you're pretty wet for not even getting in the pool yet, Hermosa.” Frankie teased, the ghosting of his fingers along your cunt making you whine as you propped your head up to see the devilish smirk between his cheeks.

Almost painfully slowly, Frankie untied the first, then second bow holding your bottoms together on each hip, watching your swimsuit fall to the ground, revealing your pussy, slick and puffy, worked up from Frankie’s touch.

“So pretty…” He cooed, letting his fingers drag across your cunt, collecting your arousal and rubbing at your clit, already aching to be touched.

Frankie was nothing if not a methodical man, memorizing every twitch and hitched breath beneath his touch, learning all the things that absolutely drove you wild.

Knowing that he could be the only one to make you feel this good got him off more than anything else ever could.

He couldn’t help but grin at the way your lips fell to a perfectly parted “O” as he pressed more pressure against your sensitive nub, and how they fell even wider as he pressed two of his fingers into your entrance, gently curling them to bump against the soft, spongy spot inside you that had you clenching around his hand.

“Oh Frankie… Fuck…” You whimpered, your head falling back as Frankie’s fingers were soon followed by his tongue, licking a long, broad strip across your cunt, putting just the right amount of pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers worked in tandem to make that all too familiar sweet tingling sensation to start build in your stomach.

Frankie’s tongue danced in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you with just his fingers. That, combined with the meticulous and skilled motions of his tongue had the coil in your belly beginning to tighten further and further.

Your hand shot down between your parted legs, reaching to grab a fistful of Frankie’s brown, curly locks, thick and sweaty from the heat, tugging just hard enough to force his gaze up towards you, your eyes locking with his rich, brown ones.

“F-Frankie-” Was all you were able to mutter as he continued with his fingers to press against your g-spot, slick coating his digits with each stroke. He licked one more strip along your pussy before placing soft kisses on your clit and the inside of your thighs, peeking up at you with a boyish grin.

“That’s it, Hermosa. I know you’re close, baby girl. Let me feel you, mi amor. Wanna taste you all over me.” Frankie moaned, the low rumble of his words making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as he dove back between your legs, wrapping his free arm around one of your thighs, firmly holding you in place.

Curving his fingers ever so slightly and latching his lips around your clit, you knew it was only a matter of moments before Frankie was about to make you fall apart completely. You could feel your legs begin to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter around his fingers, able to utter nothing but a “F-fuck…” as you felt your orgasm rip through you, your pussy fluttering as pleasure radiated in your veins and soaked Frankie below you.

Frankie worked persistently through your high, only pulling back after making sure that you had cum for him with everything that you had in you, sitting back on his haunches as he admired the blissed out and ragged mess you had become. Your pussy was slick and swollen as your chest rose and fell in wrecked inhales and exhales, trying to compose yourself from the way Frankie had fucked you senseless with just his tongue.

“Frankie, holy fuck.” You whispered under your breath, still trying to regain your composure as you looked down at a satisfied Frankie, wiping the slick and juices glistening in his mustache with the back of his hand with a smirk.

“Always taste so sweet, Hermosa. You’re so fucking hot, I swear you’d make me melt faster than the sun.”

The two of you both couldn’t help but snort at Frankie’s cheesy comment, sitting up as you giggled to grab Frankie’s face and bring him in for a long, deep kiss, the taste of you still fresh on his tongue.

“You are such a cheeseball, Fransisco Morales. I can’t believe that- Frankie! Frankie! Put me down! No, no, no, no, you better not-” But before you could finish the rest of your sentence, Frankie had already picked you up out of your chair, flung you over his shoulder and had you flailing your arms and legs as he carried you towards the edge of the pool, jumping in with you mid-way through your poorly fought protest.

Your heads bobbed to the surface, still in a fit of laughter as you floated in the refreshing cool of the sparkling pool water, you wrapped your legs around Frankie’s waist, draping your arms over his shoulders while he pulled you closer to his chest.

“Sorry, mi amor, what were you saying?” Frankie teased, raising a playful eyebrow at you as he grinned with his goofy smile, making you over dramatically roll your eyes at him.

“One, that you are the biggest goof I’ve ever met and I love you for it,” You snickered, plating a soft kiss on his plush lips, “and two, I think I can practically hear Pope screaming at you for the fact I’m half naked in his pool.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Taglist

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby

@fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha

@jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed

@pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns

@missladym1981 @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color

@persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow

@vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller

@mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover

@bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring

@itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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russellsppttemplates · 8 months ago

Note

Could you write something with dad Lando where his kid likes fish and they go to a sushi restaurant and he is trying to not die or throw up?? Please

When Matilda asked Lando if they could have dinner in a sushi restaurant, he couldn't say no to his little girl, even if it meant he wouldn't eat anything there and would have to try his best to not puke his guts out.

"When she asks you for sushi, you immediately say yes, but when I do it, you tell me to eat in whenever you're having a dinner out and I'm not there", you teased your husband as you walked inside the restaurant, bouncing Fraser on your hip as your little boy looked around while you waited for someone to direct you to your table, "I have been here before with you, baby", Lando reasoned, holding Matilda's hand in his, "I know, just teasing - it's actually cute how she has you wrapped around her finger", you kissed his cheek.

Lando excused himself to go to the bathroom just as the waiter came to take your order, discussing with him what the best ones would be for you and Matilda, "so that one for me and her to share, some rice for this little guy", you said as you skimmed over the menu looking for something else, "And for your husband, would you like me to suggest something?", he offered as he looked at the menu too.

"Daddy doesn't like fish, mummy", Matilda whispered as she pulled on your sleeve to get your attention, "That's true, princess", you spoke to her to let her know you heard her, "he doesn't eat fish - do you still have spring rolls?", you asked the waiter who nodded, "then he'll have those! thank you", you smiled.

By the time Lando was back, you could tell the smell was getting to him, "do you want to smell my perfume? I put an extra spritz on my wrist for you", you stretched your arm out, Matilda busy drawing on the small sketch book got for her and Fraser happily fiddling with your necklaces and pendants, "And people still say romance is dead", Lando deadpanned as he took your hand, kissing your knuckles and taking a big whiff of your scent, blowing you a kiss after he winked at you.

When the food was brought to the table, however, it became hard for Lando to control the scent, sitting as far from it as he could, taking deep breaths with his mouth, "it really doesn't smell nice", he muttered before straightening his back and focusing in dipping his spring rolls on the sweet and sour sauce.

"I know you don't like fish, daddy, so thank you for coming with us", Matilda said sweetly, "are you sure you don't want to try this one? You can barely taste the fish", she said, holding her chopsticks with a small piece out for him.

Lando swalled thickly before answering, "Matilda, I love you and mummy and Fraser more than any words can say or any amount of trips to the sushi restaurant, but I'm going to pass on that, okay? Daddy is fine, I'll get something else on the way home", he assured her as the spring rolls onky satisfied him so much, "thank you, though, sweet girl", he kissed her forehead, mindful of the little fingers that hand been touching the fish every now and again.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#lando norris blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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rhaenyrathecruell · 4 months ago

Text

Angelic

Aegon ii Targaryen x pregnant wife! Reader

Word count:1,108

Warnings: pregnancy, Aegon is his own warning, and labor, blood and mentioning of death.

A/n: hey y'all, happy house of the dragon Sunday! sorry for the long wait for this one shot. If you like this I made a Robb stark one shot too! Thank you! Enjoy!

Screams could be heard through the red keep, servants scrambling grabbing towels. The princess had gone into labor. Aegon is drowning in his cups as usual. He groaned as he clutched his head, what was all this commotion about? He jumps up as his mother the queen slams open the door.

The displeasure of being interrupted and his headache did not help his mood to not be sour. “What? Must you be so loud?”

He looked up at his mother noticing his mother’s scared expression and labored breathing. “Mother?” the prince asked now suddenly sobering up at the sight of his usually calm mother so stressed and disturbed. The queen stared at her son and said in a Shakey voice “y/n has begun her labors.” Aegon jumped up from his bed and quickly rushed out the door with Alicent following him.

“Where is she? In her chambers?” Alicent quickly replied “yes, she’s in her chambers with the maester and a couple midwives. She was asking for you.” Aegon may not be the most caring person to his wife but he loved her in his own way. He could feel his heart beating like it did when they got married.

The halls feel never-ending as they make their way to the princess’s chamber. When they finally make it to the door, they can hear cries of pain and hushed talking between the midwives and the maester. Aegon burst through the door, the hinges rattling from the force of it.

“Y/n! My love I'm sorry it took me so long.” he cried out as he rushed to her side. Alicent closed the door and went to converse with the maester.

“Aegon I'm scared.” y/n said, with tears in her eyes from her physical pain and from her worries. Aegon puts his palm on her cheek and wipes her tears with his thumb. He could see the pain and fear in her eyes.

He finally finds his voice and says in a shaky voice “i won’t let anything happen to you or our child. I swear this on the old gods and the new.” He cringed internally, he sounded so unsure when he said that. He had to be strong for her, for their child. Y/n rests her head in his palm, exhausted from everything. Aegon looks over at the maester and his mother, they speak in whispers.

“What are you whispering about over there? My wife needs assistance maester. You are here for that not for gossiping with the queen.” he says with pure frustration in his voice. The maester immeditally comes over and checks how much y/n is dilated. He looks slightly worried. Aegon’s heart drops in his stomach. “what? Why do you have that look on your face maester?!”

The maester sighs, “your grace she is dilated but the babe is breached.”

Y/n gasps “what oh god.”

Aegon is confused, “what does breach mean maester?” he asks his heart rate going up by the minute. He squeezes his wife’s hand in silent support. They would figure this out, they had to.

“During a normal birth the babe is facing head first. In your wife’s case the babe is coming feet first. I must go in and manually turn the babe before she starts pushing.” The maester explains, while ordering the midwives in position.

Aegon sits there like a fish out of water for a minute before immediately turning to his wife. As he looks at her face his chest tightens with worry and sympathy for his wife as he sees her scared expression.

Y/n pulls aegon close to her as she is moved downwards on the birthing bed so the maester can attempt to move the babe. She gets close to aegons ear before saying “if they can’t turn the babe, they will want to cut me open like my mother. Please don’t let them aegon. Please don’t let me die.” she sounds frantic and scared.

Aegon tightens his hold on her as her words sink in. He pulls her chin up to look at him, before he looks deep into her teary eyes and says “i would never allow them to hurt you, my love.”

Y/n visibly relaxes at his words, the maester looks at the young couple.

“are you ready for me to attempt this your grace?” he asks aegon.

Aegon replies “don’t ask me, ask my wife you idiot.”

The maester’s eyes widen in apology before looking at y/n, who nods in agreement. The maester’s hands are cold and rough from age. Y/n tenses as the maester attempts to move the babe. She clutches Aegon's hands tightly as he whispers encouragements in her ear.

The maester’s sudden words break the silence as he exclaims “i feel the babe! I'm going to attempt the rotation now.” the maesters hands leave y/n’s body and he lets out a relived sigh.

Aegon asks suddenly “is it done? Did you, do it?”

The maester nods “it is done now all that is left to do is push.”

Everyone in the room lets out a sigh of relief that the princess and the baby were out of danger for now.

Alicent finally breaks her silence “thank the mother!”

Aegon kisses his wife’s head as she begins to push. Y/n’s face is scrunched up in pain as she pushes. Shes sweating and grasping Aegon's hand in a iron grip. Aegon is not fazed, as he gives words of encouragement and tells her she's doing good.

Y/n stops pushing to catch her breath before she pushes one last time with all her might with a scream.

Finally, y/n collapses on the bed in exhaustion as the babe comes out with a shrill cry.

The maester hands the baby over to the young couple, the babe resting in its mothers arms no doubt feeling the love in the room. The maester speaks “a boy your grace.”

Wides smiles are on Y/n and Aegon's faces as they sit and admire their beautiful son. Aegon breaks his eyes away from his newborn son and looks at his radiant wife. In that moment he swore he would never dishonor her. She was angelic like she was sent from the gods themself. He was never more in love than in this moment.

Y/n breaks the silence “Aemon, his name is Aemon.”

#house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii #house of the dragon x reader #hotd fanfiction

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p0orbaby · 2 months ago

Text

Mud, Sweat and Tears

summary: you like the outdoors, leah doesn’t, what could go wrong ?

warnings: none

a/n: based on this request ! thanks !

word count: 1.5k

It’s Saturday morning, early. Unforgivably early. The kind of early where the sun’s still hiding behind the trees, and any reasonable person would be asleep. But you’re not reasonable, and you’re not asleep. You’re packing the car with fishing rods, a tent, and Leah Williamson, who’s standing in the driveway, half-awake, holding a thermos of coffee like it’s the only thing tethering her to this planet.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Leah asks, squinting up at the sky like she’s expecting it to open up and swallow her whole.

“Yes,” you say, a little too cheerily for this hour. You’re from a camping family—one that considers sleeping bags and bug spray essential items. For you, weekends are made for hiking trails and catching fish with nothing but a stick and a string. Leah, on the other hand, is the type of person who thinks “roughing it” means staying in a hotel without room service.

Leah sighs, long and dramatic, and you can tell this is going to be a weekend of constant commentary. You love her, but she’s never been one to suffer in silence.

You get in the car and drive. Leah stares out the window, probably counting the number of coffee shops you pass that she’s being cruelly denied. You try to distract her with stories from your childhood, tales of catching frogs and sitting in a fishing chair eating beans out the tin, but Leah’s only response is, “Couldn’t you just do that in your garden?”

When you arrive at the campsite, Leah’s first question is, “Where’s the toilet?” You point to the woods, and she stares at you like you’ve just suggested she eat dirt.

“You’re kidding,” she says, though she knows you’re not.

You grin. “It’s called nature. People have been doing it for thousands of years”

“People also used to die at thirty,” she shoots back.

You set up the tent while Leah hovers nearby, looking like she’s trying to work out how to teleport back to London. She’s mumbling to herself, something about bears and serial killers, and you catch the phrase “the beginning of a horror film” as you hammer in the last tent peg.

“It’s not that bad,” you say, shaking out the sleeping bags. “Look, we’re surrounded by trees, fresh air, the sound of birds—”

“—and the nearest bathroom is in the next county,” she interrupts, arms crossed.

You laugh, but she’s still frowning, looking at the tent as if it’s a creature that might bite her.

“Is it too late to go back?” she asks, and she’s only half-joking.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “You’re going to love it. Just give it a chance”

Leah doesn’t answer, but you can see her mentally reviewing the terms of your relationship, wondering if it’s really worth it.

The first hike is a gentle one. You choose a path that’s scenic, with views of the lake, thinking it’ll win Leah over. She starts off strong, even enjoying herself for the first ten minutes. But then she hits a rock with her boot and lets out a string of words that would make a sailor blush.

“I don’t know how you do this,” she mutters, rubbing her toe through her boot. “I’m a footballer, and even I think this is excessive”

You offer her a hand to steady herself over a tricky bit of trail, but she swats it away. “I can do it,” she insists, right before she stumbles and nearly faceplants into a bush.

You help her up, biting back a laugh. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she grumbles. “But if I die out here, I’m haunting you”

“Noted,” you say, still smiling.

A little further down the trail, you stop to point out a bird—something you’ve seen a hundred times but you know will be new to her. Leah squints at it, trying to look impressed.

“Wow,” she says, without any real enthusiasm. “A bird”

“You’re not even trying,” you accuse, though you’re still grinning.

“I am,” she argues. “I’m trying to stay alive. This is a survival situation now”

Fishing is the next disaster. You’re by the lake, showing Leah how to cast a line, when she gets the hook tangled in a tree branch on her first try. She’s staring at it, hanging like a Christmas ornament, and you can see the moment she decides fishing is the worst thing ever invented.

“This is stupid,” she declares, as you untangle the line.

“No, it’s relaxing,” you correct. “It’s about patience”

“I have patience,” she retorts. “I put up with you”

You laugh, but Leah’s dead serious, looking at the water like it owes her something.

You manage to catch a fish—small, but it’s something. Leah just watches as you handle it with ease, her expression a mix of admiration and abject horror.

“Now what?” she asks, eyeing the fish like it might jump up and slap her.

“Now we let it go,” you say, holding it gently before releasing it back into the lake. “Catch and release”

“So we’re torturing fish for fun,” she sums up, crossing her arms.

You roll your eyes. “That’s not the point. It’s about being in nature, enjoying the peace and quiet”

She looks around, like she’s searching for this peace and quiet you’re talking about. “If by ‘peace and quiet’ you mean insects and dirt,’ then sure”

“Come on,” you say, leading her back to the shore. “You’re doing great”

She grumbles something about Stockholm Syndrome, but she follows you, brushing a mosquito off her arm with a look of pure betrayal.

The first night is the real test. You’re lying in the tent, cozy in your sleeping bag, while Leah fidgets next to you. You can hear her shifting around, trying to get comfortable, letting out exaggerated sighs every thirty seconds.

“I can hear you,” you finally say, eyes still closed.

“This ground is trying to kill me,” she replies, her voice muffled by her sleeping bag. “How is this comfortable?”

“It’s not supposed to be a hotel bed, Leah,” you say, still amused. “It’s camping”

“Right, camping,” she mutters. “Which is just paying money to pretend you’re homeless”

You laugh out loud at that, and Leah finally cracks a smile, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

After a few more minutes of restless shifting, she huffs again. “I need to piss”

You point towards the trees, again. “Nature’s calling”

She doesn’t move. “You’re really not joking, are you”

“Nope”

Leah stares at you like you’ve just suggested she drink the lake water. “I’m not going out there alone. What if something eats me?”

“Like what?”

She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Bears. Wolves. A very aggressive squirrel”

You sit up, knowing you’re not going to win this one. “Fine, I’ll come with you”

You both get up and trudge out into the dark, Leah clinging to your arm like she’s convinced the woods are full of monsters. After she’s done, you’re walking back to the tent when she suddenly stops.

“What?” you ask, turning to look at her.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers, eyes wide.

“Hear what?”

She doesn’t answer, just pulls you along faster, practically dragging you into the tent. You both dive in and zip it up like you’re sealing yourselves in a bunker.

Leah’s heart is racing as she gets back into her sleeping bag, and you can’t help but smile at how seriously she’s taking this.

“Nothing’s out there,” you say, trying to reassure her.

“I’m not taking any chances,” she mutters, pulling the sleeping bag over her head like it’ll protect her from the unknown terrors of the forest.

You lie back down, still smiling to yourself. “Goodnight, Leah”

“Goodnight,” she mumbles, and you can tell she’s already planning how to survive the night.

By the end of the weekend, Leah’s still grumbling, still complaining, but there’s a softness to it now. You catch her smiling when she thinks you’re not looking, like maybe—just maybe—she’s starting to see why you love this so much.

You’re packing up the car, and Leah’s pretending to help, mostly by standing around and giving unhelpful advice.

“You know,” she says, as you load the last of the gear, “this wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be.”

“High praise,” you say, wiping your hands on your jeans.

“I mean, I’m never doing it again,” she clarifies, “but it wasn’t awful”

You grin, knowing that’s as close to a victory as you’re going to get. “I’ll take it”

Leah gives you a look, one that says, despite all the complaining, she had a good time in her own way. “You’re lucky I love you,” she says, and it’s the first time all weekend she’s said something without a hint of sarcasm.

“I am,” you agree, leaning in to kiss her.

And as you drive away from the campsite, back towards civilisation, Leah finally falls asleep in the passenger seat, the weekend’s adventures catching up to her. You glance over at her and smile, thinking maybe you’ll get her to go camping again one day. But for now, you’ll let her sleep, knowing you’ve survived the wilderness together.

Even if she still thinks it’s trying to kill her.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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luveline · 9 months ago

Note

Can I request Eddie and R tending to each other’s wounds (given they both survive the demobats in the UD)?

ty <3 fem!reader, 1.4k

cw canon typical violence

“You’re sweating like crazy.”

“Eddie, that’s the sort of thing you don’t say to a girl,” you say, hands shaking hard as you ruffle through the duffle bag at your side. Your knees burn like they’re on fire, your arms raked with claw marks, but Eddie’s been minced. If you hadn’t climbed your way back to him with the makeshift flamethrower at his feet, Eddie would probably be dead. Scorched demobat is a gross smell.

“What are you so scared of? It’s like, running down your cheek,” he says.

“Shut up,” you say, glancing back, hoping Dustin will be right behind you. You hadn’t stopped to make sure he was alright. What if he’s hurt too? “Seriously, just don’t talk. You’re gonna bleed to death and die and your last words are gonna be about how sweaty I am.”

You peel back a soaked square of gauze from his waist and smash a clean one overtop to soak up the pooling blood. Eddie gasps in agony, writhing away from your touch, but to his credit, his voice is strong as he says, “Shit, true. I can make them better. How about, um… oh. You’re smoking. Like, seriously gorgeous. That better?”

Your eyes sting as you turn your face to your shoulder, cupping his cheek, his blood wet on your fingers and staining his skin red. “How would you know? It’s dark out.”

“I’ve seen your face in the light hundreds of times. I know what I’m talking about.”

He would’ve been turned to mulch without your rescuing. There are split cuts all over him, it’s awful, and you won’t be able to fix him yourself here, but you don’t have to. You just need to stop his bleeding and help him deal with the pain until Dustin makes it through. The two of you can drag him to safety.

Maybe the best way to do that is to let him tease you. “You really think I’m pretty?” you ask, pressing another piece of gauze over this second one, wincing when he lets out a pained gasp.

“Are you kidding?”

“I thought you liked, you know, the really pretty girls, like–”

“You are a really pretty girl, are you kidding? Don’t fish for compliments.”

You shake your head, laughing, half-terrified. The blood isn’t slowing. “Eddie, I have to press down harder, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Just do it,” he says. You dig the heel of your palm into his side. “Fuck!”

“You’re really not gonna like this next part,” you warn, pushing his legs flat to the floor.

You climb over his thighs and sit on his lap, hand twisted to cover his wound and the other peeling the paper covering off of another sterile square of gauze. Eddie swears like a sailor as you squeeze down, the majority of your upper weight being pressed to his open wounds. It would be an uncomfortable sensation without the cuts. You know it’s torture.

“Oh, god,” he says, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“That’s a great reaction,” you say, lifting the edge of the leftmost gauze. The blood pools but doesn’t gush down his side. You sigh in relief. “Oh, thank god.”

“Maybe don’t say stuff like that sitting on my crotch.”

“Are you for real?” You meet his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You’re really thinking about your dick right now?”

“Of course not, I’m a gentleman, but you’re kind of on top of me and it’s been a really hard week.”

You burst out laughing. He gags in pain and turns away.

The cavalry arrives not long after that, though it feels like hours. Together, somehow, you drag Eddie back to the gate, and things get a little blurry after that.

—

You’ve never been so tired in your life as you are right now, but you’re so relieved that the world has taken on a golden quality, and Eddie looks golden too.

His hair is wet. You think Wayne might’ve washed it for him over the bath; it’s been greasy for a week while his stitches started to heal up, and he spent it in Steve’s bed. The only good thing about having absent parents apparently is being able to harbour a fugitive without being noticed, and anybody else who couldn’t go home without explaining their injuries.

“You okay?” Eddie asks.

“Mm.” You scrunch up into yourself on the couch, cradling your arm where it aches to your chest.

“You’ve been sleeping all day. Figured I’d make sure you weren’t in a coma.” You think about poor Max. He must see your wavering expression, sitting on the couch by your legs with an apologetic smile. “She’s doing even better today. Sinclair thinks she was squeezing his finger, so that’s something.”

“Can’t believe all that stuff really happened,” you mumble, the blanket pulled over your chin muffling your voice. It’s a wonder he can hear you.

“Feels fake, right? I keep forgetting about it when I wake up, and then I have to stand and feel my stomach try to split open and remember I was bat chow.” He nods to your arm. “Still hurting?”

It’s nothing compared to his. Your cuts didn’t need stitching, but the were deep still. You’ve only had the butterfly bandages taken off yesterday. The skin aches where the scar tissue is forming. “Sort of itchy,” you say.

“Yeah?” He pulls a little white tube from his pyjama pants hesitantly. “Maybe I can help?”

“What’s that?”

“Non disclosed ointment. Pretty sure it’s the good stuff from Mike’s girl’s government friends.”

They’re gonna clear Eddie’s name, apparently. So far they’ve done a whole lot of nothing while Hawkins falls apart around you. Well, besides the drugs. They’ve given out plenty of painkillers.

Eddie shuffles closer to you and takes your arm into his hand. “Her name is Eleven,” you say.

“I know.” He pushes your sleeve up over the bump of your elbow to expose the worst of your scarring.

You think he’s aware of what you did that day to save him. He’s been achingly nice to you since he woke up. Even when he couldn’t walk, he’d been shouting down the stairs from Steve’s room to check if you were alright on the couch. Usually met with a chorus of Shut the fuck ups, it had been sweet, if a little embarrassing to have to call back. I’m okay. Thanks!

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he says.

You watch him uncap the ointment and squeeze a ball of it onto his finger. It’s semi-translucent, smelling of arnica with a bit of kick to it. He turns your wrist gently in one hand and begins to trace the lines of your scars one by one, as gentle as anyone’s ever touched you, his pinky finger suspended and shaky as he draws toward the crook of your elbow.

“Well, don’t leave me waiting,” you say eventually.

“Right, just. I’m trying to be braver. It’s not working in my favour yet.”

You laugh. “No, really?”

“But you saved my life. Everybody knows it. You and Henderson saved me, and I can’t make it up to you. This,” —he smooths ointment over the ridge of your cruellest scar— “is permanent. And scaring you like that, I mean. I shouldn’t have gone back in, and I should have kept running, it was selfish, trying to do a good thing and…” He holds your arm in his hands and meets your eyes. You don’t see a trace of the shrill, loud boy you’d spent the last two weeks with. “Getting you hurt.”

“I got hurt trying to save the world,” you say. “‘Cos, you know, not everything’s about you…”

His smile is slow as molasses and doubly sweet as he wraps his arm behind your shoulders. He’s careful, you’re both fragile right now, but he squeezes you and laughs warmly against your ear and he’s back to the Eddie you remember. “Everything is about me. It’s totally about me, babe, and you’re just jealous.”

He rubs your back.

“You know,” he adds, hand trialling lazily to the small of your back, where it stays, “I wouldn’t be here without you. So if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back. He kisses your cheek as he does, his hands falling on top of yours. “Alright. You’re still smoking hot, you know that? The scars are sick. You’re cool now.”

Your fingers twitch against his palm. “Thanks, Eddie.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year ago

Text

A Sting in the Way You Kiss Me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Poorly written, raunchy smut, Dom/sub dynamic, p in v, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), prostate stimulation

Summary: You and Daryl take the next step in your relationship. And it’s a big step.

A/N: Lawd, this took forever! I’m not 100% happy with it but happy enough to call it complete. I think I like Sub!Daryl. I’m sleepy now so I’ll proofread and fix errors tomorrow.

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Daryl Dixon made you feel powerful.

Given his nature, you could never be sure if it was intentional. From day one at the quarry, he was rude, standoffish, and vulgar. You found him difficult to tolerate, but hey, you didn’t get to choose the people with which you had survived an apocalypse. It was a random twist of fate that had brought you all together. Better to just make the best of it.

So, you did. You made it a priority to get to know everyone in your group, saving the Dixons for last. Merle, you quickly surmised as a lost cause. Women, to him, were meek and fruitless, destined to die without a big strong man to ensure they were protected, fed, and bred like cattle to repopulate the earth.

You found Daryl to be a tad more reserved. He only offered his opinion—usually loudly and to include several swears—when the conversation revolved around an important topic that would directly affect him or his brother. He otherwise attempted very hard to keep to himself. So when you began to follow him around, he naturally bucked against the idea. Still, you saw potential there and persevered.

You took an interest in the things he was doing, namely hunting and trapping. He was a skilled tracker and a marksman with his crossbow. You started small, asking how the weapon worked. He had been skeptical and scrutinized you for sincerity, all with a glower in the span of five minutes. It was only uphill from there.

When Daryl began to teach you his trades, he made sure you learned by doing. His only praise for getting something right was usually a curt nod and a “that’ll do.” By giving you weapons, having you track a buck that would feed the group for days, spear a fish, and skin and clean your own kills, he had put power in your hands. He had single-handedly molded you into a force that could survive in the new world.

When it came to walkers, Daryl somehow knew things that others didn’t. “S’gotta be the brain! Don’t ya’ll know nothin’?!” You knew. Thanks to him. You had spent a lot of time in the woods, the perfect place to learn how to take down the undead. It was virtually impossible for them to sneak up on you. Too many ways to make noise if you weren’t actively trying to be silent. Once again, a weapon had been placed in your hand and you were thrown to the wolves…erm…walkers. The difference between this and hunting, you noticed, was that Daryl was never too far away with his own weapon ready. He knew how to make you feel independent without wagering your safety.

The months and tragedies continued to pass slowly, each profound in their own way. Surviving was top priority and to continue to do so as time marched on became more and more of a victory. You lost people and homes, each leaving a mark on your soul that would never be erased, chipping away at your humanity bit by bit. Surprisingly, it was Daryl who kept you grounded.

By the time you arrived in Alexandria, things between you and the archer had evolved into something just short of a romantic relationship. You had been sharing space with him for months now, falling asleep warm in his arms every night. You would show him affection in front of your friends and, though he scowled and grumbled, he accepted it. Kisses alternated between slow and passionate and long and needy, each accompanied by intimate touches that never seemed to go far enough.

Today, you had been helping him with the bike Aaron had gifted him to keep him busy. He had shown you back at the prison how to make repairs, along with the correct name and function of each part. He was sitting beside you while you both diagnosed what could be causing the thing to sputter and die randomly. Your eyes were drawn to his muscles when he would tighten a bolt, and more than once, you had caught his gaze roaming up the length of your bare legs until he reached the hem of your shorts and quickly looked away.

It was becoming a problem. An absolute dilemma that was resulting in a pulsing, wet need between your thighs. You chose to ignore it and focus your energy on the task at hand. Daryl, however, decided that he needed the wrench that just happened to currently reside between your lower thighs. When he reached for it, you were unprepared and reacted instinctively. You smacked the back of his hand before you even realized you had moved. He pulled back the limb with surprising quickness, wide blue eyes zeroing in on the red welt that began to form just below his knuckles.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you grabbed his hand to inspect it yourself. He let you pull it closer even though it meant he had to lean forward awkwardly. Your fingers brushed over the irritated flesh and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your lips to the mark you had left. A chance look from under your lashes showed he still wore the wide eyes, but the brilliant blue was merely a thin ring around his dilated pupils.

‘Oh.’ Could it really be? You had honestly thought Daryl just wasn’t into sex since the world ended. He had never made a move, never given you any indication that he was waiting for you to make one. Sure, your make-out sessions would get pretty heated, but honestly, things were always too hectic or dangerous for anything more. Maybe, just maybe, now that your family was safe behind the walls here…

You knew Daryl had lovers in the past. It was a topic of conversation once during a night watch before the prison had fallen. Your head was on his shoulder as you recounted — in more detail than he had liked, if his growls and grunts had been anything to go by — your average-size list. When it had been his turn, he hadn’t been as forthcoming as you but you at least surmised that he knew his way around a pussy if ever the opportunity presented itself.

On a whim, you flipped his hand and let your lips whisper over his wrist next, drawing up your legs to sit on your knees. He still didn’t stop you while you moved up his arm with hot, open-mouthed kisses and kitten licks. Eventually, you needed to skip over his clothed shoulder (for now) and his neck became your next target. He leaned back slightly when you threw a leg over both of his to straddle him, unleashing an onslaught of attention over his carotid pulse. His breath hitched, his palms hovering over your hips but seemingly not yet willing to touch you. You would use that to your advantage at some point.

Salt, smoke, and earth were mingling on your tongue. “I like how you taste.” You whispered in his ear, smiling against his skin when you felt him shiver. You leaned back to bring your face in front of his, fingers grabbing his chin when he started to look away. “I think we need to go to your room.” He swallowed hard, his Adam's Apple bobbing.

You stood straight up from where you were on his lap, leaving your feet on either side of his hips and the apex of your thighs directly in front of his face. Once again, he tried to look away. “Don’t.” You ordered before you thought better of it. To your surprise, he stopped short and turned back, even as he scowled from being bossed around. ‘Oh.’ The things he told you without saying a word. “Don’t keep me waiting, Dixon.” You stepped back and then over, swaying your hips more deliberately than usual as you exited the garage.

You didn’t turn to see if he would follow. If you were reading him right, he would.

And you were about to have the time of your life.

Entering the home you, Daryl, and Carol shared, you passed the staircase that led up to your room and stepped into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. You probably had a good ten minutes before Daryl would stop pacing the front porch and actually come inside.

Descending the stairs from the kitchen, you opened the basement door and flipped the light switch. Even though you had separate rooms, you spent more time in his room than your own. The things you used most were down there. You slept there. Nothing was really going to change if this happened, right?

Pursing your lips, you shook the thoughts away and placed the water on the nightstand, twisting the switch on the small bedside lamp. After you turned off the overhead light, satisfied with the subtle glow left behind, you grabbed the bottom of your shirt, pausing just before you were going to lift it over your head. No. You’d stay dressed for now. Your boots came off, along with your socks, and you sat on the edge of the mattress and waited. Sure enough, after a little less than ten minutes, you heard the slow, heavy footfalls descending the stairs.

He must have needed another moment because there was a silent span of about fifteen seconds before the door slowly opened and Daryl entered, already gnawing on his thumbnail.

“Hi.” You beamed, crossing your legs and leaning back. The bowman nodded minutely, looking so adorably uncomfortable that you came close to calling the whole thing off. You did need to ensure this is what he wanted. If it wasn’t, you could live without it. You had him and he would always be enough.

When he closed the door and didn’t take another step, you rose to your feet and walked toward him, adding that extra sway to your hips. It was a pleasure in and of itself to watch him watching you. When you were close enough, you started by pushing the open vest off his shoulders, smiling when he dropped his hand from his mouth to let the garment fall from his arms to the floor.

“Daryl.” You purred his name, and his eyes found yours instantly. “I need you to answer some things for me, and I need you to use words.” You worked at the buttons of his shirt agonizingly slow. “Can you do that for me?” He nodded. You shook your head and tutted. “Words, Dixon.”

“Yeah.” He answered immediately in a quiet tone.

“Do you want me?” A button came free.

“Yeah.”

“Do you know that I want you?” Another.

“Yeah.”

“Will you let me be in control tonight?” Your fingers paused when he hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah.” He may have hesitated but his answer sounded certain.

You smiled. “I’m going to give you a safe word. If at any time, you’re uncomfortable or you need or even just want me to stop, do you promise me you will say that word?” Another button opened. You had zero intention of going very far, but it would never hurt to establish rules when you wanted so badly to play with him. And he was letting you. You feared getting carried away in the heat of the moment, and his safety and comfort were the most important thing in the world to you.

Daryl inhaled sharply and nodded, following quickly with a mumbled “yeah.”

“And if at any time, you can’t speak and want me to stop, will you double tap somewhere on my body to let me know?”

“Yeah.”

“Good boy.” You felt his sharp inhale beneath your fingers while you finished with the buttons, opening the shirt but not removing it. You could see a few of his scars like this. Not wanting him to grow self-conscious, you stepped into him, tracing one with a gentle fingertip only to follow with your lips. “You’re beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?” Daryl shook his head. “Daryl.”

“No.” He whispered.

“Well, you are.” You let your finger continue upward to stroke his jaw before abruptly turning away. “First thing’s first.” When you reached the bed, you turned back to him. “The safe word is chupacabra.” A flicker of annoyance was immediate in his eyes. “Say it.” Your tone remained no-nonsense.

“Safe word’s chupacabra.” He drawled, trying not to sneer.

“And what do you do if you need to stop and you can’t speak?”

“Tap on ya twice.” The archer replied almost immediately.

You cocked a brow at him. “Good. I need you to understand that I will never be upset or disappointed if you need things to stop. Ever.”

“Alright.”

You smiled at him fondly. “Good. Now, come over here and undress me.” There was that hesitation again as his eyes raked over your body, pausing at every curve just long enough to let you know he was appreciating what he saw. Finally, he stepped toward you. Once he had reached you, he again paused. You let him. He had touched every part of you before through your clothes. This was the first time he would see you bare.

After a few moments, he reached for the bottom of your shirt while you raised your arms above your head. The garment was pulled from you and tossed aside. Your bra wasn’t anything special. Something you had grabbed on a run a few months back; white and at least one cup size too small. You decided to do this part for him, unfastening the clasp at your back and removing the thing yourself. Daryl didn’t seem to mind, his gaze lingering on the newly exposed skin. Men and boobs, a tale as old as time.

“Shorts.” You stated simply, a smirk firmly plastered on your face when he snapped out his daze and met your eyes. There was a slight tremble to his hands as he reached for the button, his eyes narrowed. You watched him and he watched what he was doing. Button open, he dragged down the zipper, and his eyes flickered up to yours. You gave him a nod.

His thick fingers dipped inside the waistband at both hips, but just as he started to pull, you interjected. “Panties, too.” You heard the shaky inhale as he adjusted his hold to grip your underwear as well, lowering to one knee as he pulled both garments down your legs. They were quickly shed and kicked to the side and your hand found the top of his head when he made to stand. “I think I like you there.”

Daryl tilted back his head to see you, taking the hint and lowering his other leg so he was fully kneeled.

“Good boy.” You breathed, feeling a pulse between your legs. You had wanted to do a few other things with him before really jumping into the fun bits but your needy cunt simply would not be denied. The mattress dipped as you sat in front of him, spreading your legs in an obscene display just to gauge his reaction. The blush that crept across his cheeks should have been adorable but only served to stoke your arousal. “Come here, Daryl.” A few feet separated the two of you, so it was only natural for him to assume you wanted him to stand.

That isn’t what you wanted at all.

“I didn’t say get up.”

The archer paused halfway. The look he sent you had you wondering if this was where he would end this game. He’d say ‘fuck this’ and do things his way, pounding into you until you were red and sore and screaming his name through your release. The thought was appealing.

You arched a brow when he lowered back to his knees, a quiet curse on his lips. Would he do it? The minute he leaned forward to place one palm against the floor, you thought you might cum then and there. Daryl Dixon was crawling toward you because you told him to.

He stopped just short of your spread knees, one of your legs coming up to rest on his shoulder. He looked over at it but quickly turned back to you.

“Closer.” As soon as you could, you started digging your heel into his back, urging him onward until his warm breath was wafting over your core. You bit your lip, reminding yourself of the role you were playing. Your first instinct was to beg him to touch you. No, not tonight. He’d have his turn. The thought of Daryl taking charge sent another sharp pang of arousal straight to your center, your cunt clenching around nothing. The way his eyes left your face and focused on the wet mess between your legs confirmed that he had noticed. You had to reel this in if you wanted to continue. Clearing your throat, you placed your other leg across his other shoulder. “I can’t decide if I want to feel your mouth on me or those fingers inside of me.”

You tapped your chin, feigning deep thought. You had every intention of utilizing both of those delicious options. Dropping your hand, you rested back on your elbows. “Let’s see how good you are with your tongue first.” Daryl gave you a look that would have melted your panties clean off had you still been wearing them. Goddamn, he was handsome, even more so when he was showing some confidence.

Before your mask had a chance to slip, you felt his fingers spread you open but dare not venture between your lips. Blue orbs stayed on you when he leaned in and pressed his tongue flat against you, dragging it from opening to clit before pulling back to repeat it. The second drag ended with the tip swirling around your bundle of nerves. Sparks of pleasure jolted from where he touched you. You could feel it coursing through your veins like lightning, burrowing deep in your lower belly.

He paid special attention to your clit, taking his sweet time alternating between flicks and swirls of his tongue to gentle sucking to grazing his teeth over it with just enough pressure to make your head fall back and your fingers tangle in his hair. Then he moved down, lapping at your opening with the same attentiveness, the wet slurps and appreciative hums pulling the knot inside you tight. When he dipped his tongue inside, pumping in, out, in and then wiggling it against your inner walls, you were already close to orgasm, panting and pulling against his scalp helplessly.

He was moving back toward your clit and you knew if he made contact, you would spiral. Not a satisfaction you were ready to relinquish to him. “Stop!” You ordered breathlessly. He almost didn’t, the brat. His breath hit hard against the sensitive nub but he didn’t touch it. “I want your fingers inside me.” You kept your head back, staring at the ceiling. “Nowhere else.” Your climax had receded but it wouldn’t take much to call it back.

You never had a problem cumming from penetration only, but it took time and effort. It would give you a moment of reprieve to gather yourself and draw this out a little longer.

Or would it?

You were wet enough for his middle finger to easily slip inside, the feeling of your walls pulling him in further earning a drawn out moan from somewhere deep in your chest. You raised your head to look down the length of your body. Thank whatever deity that Daryl was watching his digit move in and out of you instead of meeting your eyes. He felt so fucking good.

Your legs pulled toward you, leaving your ankles balancing on his shoulders and your thighs opening further. You couldn’t fucking help it. “Another.” You demanded and he immediately obliged, drawing his finger nearly all the way out so that his index finger could join the onslaught. “Mmm, so good,” You praised. Your hips began to roll in time with the slow thrusts of his hand, the hot coil that was low in your belly getting tighter and tighter.

The sounds that filled the room were a testament to just how soaked you were, and they were only becoming more prominent. It was no longer about how long you could keep this up. Your body ached for release, your mind too clouded in a euphoric fog to care.

“Make me cum.” You looked down again and his eyes met yours as he lowered his head, drawing your clit into his mouth. He sucked the swollen bundle and flicked it with the tip of his tongue, his fingers curling each time they pushed inside of you and tapped that sweet, soft spot that had your toes beginning to curl.

“Yes, yes, right there. Don’t stop!” And he didn’t. He increased his efforts, humming around your clit. “I’m gonna cum!” You had no more than uttered the words when the coil inside you snapped and released wave after wave of intense pleasure; a wildfire of sensation burning through you while you cried out his name and pinned him against you with your thighs. Daryl didn’t let up, collecting all you offered as your cunt pulsed around his fingers.

“Shit,” you murmured, your body going limp. Fingers carded through the archer’s hair while he pulled free from within you. He directed the digits toward his lips. “Let me.” The command came out breathless and shaky, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Daryl appeared almost sad that he was losing that last taste of you, but he did as he was told and leaned forward to press his fingertips to your bottom lip. You sucked both digits into your mouth, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Goddamn.”

Your eyes peeled open to find the bowman watching you intently, those blue pools brimming with desire. You smirked and made a show out of opening your mouth and letting your tongue sweep across his skin, gathering every drop of your nectar. The man looked as if he was going to jump your bones. He was trembling from restraint, among other things, you were quite sure. With a hum, you pulled your mouth away.

“Stand up.” The authoritative tone was back now that you were focused on a new goal. Daryl blinked, arousal replaced with irritation. His scowl deepened but once again, he obeyed. Rising up onto your elbows, you watched him stand, flexing his fingers at his sides. Using the ball of your foot, you pressed into his groin, against his obvious desire. The archer hissed through his teeth but he dared not move.

“Take off your clothes, Daryl.”

A smile crept across your face at how quickly he began following that command. His shirt was shrugged off in seconds and you couldn’t even be sure when his boots and socks had been removed, but you pressed your foot into him again when he reached for his belt. He stopped with a grunt.

“Slower.”

If looks could kill, you’d soon be a walker. His hair blew away from his eyes with each hard exhale through his nose. Once again, you wondered if this was where your fun would end. And once again, he surprised you and began to follow your instructions. Your foot fell away once he had worked the belt loose and popped open the button. Your eyes tracked the downfall of the zipper, only barely concealing your excitement.

His pants fell first and the regret of not demanding he remove those and his boxer- briefs simultaneously was immediate. Though his underwear left very little to the imagination in his current state. You met his eyes for a moment and raised a brow to urge him onward.

“Don’t get shy on me now, Dixon.” You teased. Moving up onto your knees at the edge of the mattress, you barely waited until the last garment was kicked aside before your hands were on him. You wanted this experience to be positive for him, and while you had so, so much planned for him tonight, taking a moment to just appreciate how stunning he was wouldn’t hurt. Your lips found the skin just above his clavicle, sucking gently.

“You’re fucking gorgeous.” You whispered before dragging your tongue up the length of his neck to his jaw. “Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re real. And you’re mine.” Your hand wrapped around his cock just as your mouth pressed against his, allowing you to swallow the delicious whimper he offered at the new contact. You kept your grip loose, pumping him at a tortuously slow pace. His mouth fell open and gave you the opportunity to delve inside with your tongue, tangling it with his when he responded to the advance. His breath between the intricate dances of your mouths had begun to pick up, an excellent moment for you to pull away completely. Your cunt clenched in response to the whine he emitted. “Be a good boy and sit down for me.”

Daryl moved a little more slowly now, almost cautiously, watching you when you crawled up to the top of the bed to grab both of your pillows. Your feet met the floor just as he sat down. You circled around to stand in front of him, lifting your foot and wedging it between his knees. “Open up, pretty boy.” The archer snorted quietly as he complied. The pillows fell between his feet with a quiet sound, and then your knees dropped onto them. You wiggled a bit to get comfortable and looked up to find him watching with his head tilted and a dark brow arched. “What? I’m shorter than you.”

His mouth formed a silent “oh” and he nodded. The adorable moment almost had you forgetting your role, but you were able to rein in your adoration just before the giggle could bubble up. To bring things back into perspective for him, you raised your hand and whispered the tip of your finger along the vein winding up the underside of his cock. There was a choked off sound, his hands balling into fists on his thighs. You splayed open the fingers of the same hand across his chest and gave a gentle push.

“Lie back.”

There was a deep, steadying breath and then he did as you ordered. Your fingers laced through his on both hands and moved them to the mattress, out of your way but still within sight.

“These stay here.” You commanded without a single centimeter of room for argument. You felt him shifting and just knew he was nodding. “Words, baby boy.” You chose that exact moment to wrap your soft palm around the base of his dick.

“Yes.” He finally answered in a rush of breath. You weren’t certain if he was responding to your words or your touch but decided to forego clarification. He wasn’t going to last long, so you were ready to play with him through that first release. Then your needy cunt could finally get its fill of him.

“So good for me.” You purred. You pushed yourself away from sitting on your heels, bringing you just where you wanted to be. You released him quickly, rewarded instantly with him rising onto his elbows to see what was happening. The urge to reprimand was forced down. This was your first time with him and his first time allowing this. If he felt better watching, you’d let him.

For now.

Palm open, you dragged your tongue from wrist to fingertip, your lustful gaze never leaving his face. The way he watched you sent a surge of wetness dripping from your core. God, you couldn’t wait to fuck him. First thing was first, though. Your hand met his cock again, warm and wet and stroking from base to tip, a twist, and back down. He couldn’t watch you after all. You nearly laughed when he collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan.

Movement in your peripheral had you looking to find his hands returning to where you had placed them. He must have realized he had moved them when he sat up. As a reward, you pumped him a bit faster. When you saw his chest heaving but heard nothing more than the harsh breaths, you found yourself pouting before remembering the power you had.

“You’re so quiet, baby. Don’t you wanna let me know that it feels good?”

He didn’t respond at first, and you wondered briefly if pushing him would be the right thing when he was such a quiet person to begin with. He had taken a lot of shit from you already and this just might be the straw that broke the camel’s back. So, you just moved on with your delectable torture.

Your pace slowed significantly. There was no time for him to investigate, though. Your lips were immediately wrapping around his tip, sucking lightly and lapping at the opening to gather the sweet little drops of pre-cum. Oh, were you rewarded for that move.

His fists white-knuckled the sheets, a guttural moan working its way past his lips. It was the absolute sexiest sound you had ever heard in your life. You closed your own eyes in restraint, almost cumming on the spot. You had to keep moving. Sudden pauses might have him second guessing what he had just done and you most certainly did not want that. He needed to make that noise. Often.

Swirling your tongue around the tip, you pulled him back into the warm cavern of your mouth. This time, your hand slid down the length of him, followed by your lips. He pressed against the back of your throat and had you cursing your gag reflex when you couldn’t hold him there long. It didn’t matter to him, apparently. The simple move had his back arching and his cock twitching against your tongue as you dragged your way back up.

You bobbed your head several more times, delighted in the way he began to writhe and twist the sheets in his fists. You gave him no warning and pulled off with a wet ‘pop’. There was that whine again that had your nethers pulsing.

“Look at me.” You ordered with an authoritative edge to your tone. Daryl lifted his head, still panting through parted lips. “I want to try something. I hope it will make you feel good. But I need you to know that if it doesn’t, you can stop me. Remember what I said. I won’t be upset. Okay?”

He nodded but followed it with a breathless “okay.”

“Such a good boy.” You kissed the weeping tip of his cock, parting your lips to pull him back into your warm wetness. With your hand and mouth stroking him at a steady pace, you knew he was ready to fall apart within moments. His cock began to twitch every few heartbeats. His breathing was uneven and shallow. He was a complete mess and you couldn’t seem to get enough.

You used your other hand to cup his balls, not remaining there long. They were a marker so you could find just the right spot. Starting at the base of his scrotum, you applied gentle but firm pressure, dragging the pads of your middle and index finger back and forth to massage his perineum, stimulating his prostate from the outside. Every ‘ah, ah, ah’ he fed you in response to the new sensation was a sound straight to your pussy. He definitely liked what you were doing.

Once again, however, your greedy little cunt couldn’t be ignored, begging to be stretched and filled. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked hard, your mouth squeezing him all the way up and off. Your tongue slithered out to break the string of saliva that stretched from your lips to the head of his dick. “Mmm, I think that’s enough of that, pretty boy.”

“Y/N.” He whined, keeping his hands right where you had placed them.

“You’ve been so good for me, baby. Move to the middle of the bed.” He complied in eager yet jerky movements, lust blown eyes on your every move as you followed him up. You stopped with your hot center hovering over his groin. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of me and you.” You lowered, grinding against and soaking his cock with your slick. “I want you inside of me. Would you like that?”

“Yeah.” Daryl reached for you but thought better of it and put his hands back on the mattress.

“Look at you. Wanting your hands on me so badly.” You moaned as the tip of him slid over your clit, providing the friction you so desperately craved. “But waiting for permission. Would you beg for it? To be inside me?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. Had you found the limit to how far you could push him? You drove your hips down harder, shifting back and forth, and he pressed his head into the pillow with a hiss.

“Beg me for it. Beg me because I want it just as badly as you do, but you have to be a good boy.” His heart thudded wildly beneath your palm as you caressed the muscular plane of his chest, his muscles twitching and contracting when you scraped your nails over his abdomen. “Beg and I’ll let you touch me.” You dipped toward him, letting your hard nipples touch his heated skin while your lips sucked at the hollow of his throat. “I want to feel you moving inside me, filling me up, Daryl. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Y-yeah.”

You sat up, going completely still. “Then beg.”

You watched as the defiance left his eyes, replaced by pure, unadulterated need. His fingers flexed in the disheveled sheets, his jaw clenching and ticking with how hard he ground his teeth. You smiled as desire beat out pride.

“Fuck, please, Y/N. Wanna touch ya. Wanna—wanna fuck ya. Need ya bad!” His expression morphed into something akin to desperation. “Please!”

“You can touch me.”

He didn’t wait, large hands grabbing your hips; spreading his fingers as he dragged calloused palms up your sides to cup your breasts. You couldn’t help the hitch in your breath when he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers.

“Wanna be inside ya.” He breathed, one hand traveling upward from the swell of your chest. For a moment, you thought he might wrap it around your throat. The thought of him choking you was delicious, sending a warm gush of arousal from your cunt to coat his groin. He groaned and pushed his hips up into you.

“No.” You breathed. “Be good for me and I’ll give you what you want.”

“M’good—let me fuck ya. Please, Y/N.”

You hummed, more than satisfied, bending forward to drag your tongue from his chin to his lips. He opened eagerly, his own dipping into your mouth to taste you with abandon. You reached between your bodies, keeping your mouths connected, and positioned him at your entrance.

“Let me take care of you, baby.” Every syllable was spoken against his mouth, your cunt stretching around him inch by inch, drawing him into your fluttering, wet walls while you swallowed his desperate groans and panting breaths. “Fuck. You feel so good.” You made sure to move slowly, inch by agonizing inch, taking several heartbeats before you had taken all of him.

“God, Y/N.”

“I know, baby.” You were so full, stretched nearly to the point of painful but longing to feel him moving within you. He wouldn’t last long, but you wouldn’t either. You lifted your hips, feeling the drag along your insides in such a way that you needed to bite back a cry. “Oh, god, Daryl.”

His hands settled in a bruising grip on your waist but he didn’t try to move you. You had promised to take care of him and he was letting you. But you couldn’t take it anymore. You began to ride him in earnest, bouncing above him with your head thrown back.

“Goddamn!” He keened through gritted teeth, his eyes screwed shut.

“So—so good.” You felt the heat twisting low in your belly, pooling toward your clit while he throbbed within you. “Touch me, Daryl. I wanna cum with you.” His hands squeezed your hips before he brought one of them to where he was splitting you open, sucking in a sharp breath when his fingertips brushed his cock slipping inside you. He barely had the coherence to drag through your slick up to your clit, but the moment the rough pad of his finger pressed against you, you saw stars.

“M’gonna,” he panted, “gonna cum.”

“Me too.” You leaned forward, shifting into a brutal grind against his pelvis. “Fuck, Daryl!” The logical part of your brain screamed for you to move off of him, that you couldn’t risk him cumming inside you but you were both too far gone.

Your vision whited out just as you heard him shout your name, his finger pressing against your clit harder than you were sure he meant to, but it was just what you needed: that perfect amount of pain to send you toppling over the edge with him. You barely registered the warmth flooding into you with each pulse of his cock. Or the way his hips jerked up while his hand squeezed your hip so tightly that his fingertips turned white.

When you could see, could breathe again, his arms were around you and holding you against him while he struggled to catch his breath.

“Oh my god.” You whispered against his collarbone. You were both covered in sweat, trembling. He was still inside you, drained and softening, when his arms fell away to the mattress. You sat up with a great deal of difficulty, your thighs burning from exertion and your cunt deliciously sore. You’d be feeling this for at least a day or two, and the thought was exhilarating.

You lifted your leg to move away, feeling the mixture of you and him begin to drip out of you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Obviously, he didn’t either, his eyes tracking you until you curled into his side. Sated and tired, you smiled and reached up to brush the damp strands of hair off his forehead, watching his eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

“I’m gonna get something to clean us up, okay? And then we’re gonna drink some water. Then you can go to sleep.” When he didn’t answer, you turned his head to face you with a gentle touch against his jaw. “Are you okay?” Daryl took a deep breath, almost as if he had forgotten to breathe before it. “Use your words, baby.” You kept your tone soft, no longer playing a role. It was just you and Daryl now.

“Yeah, m’okay.” He gave you the smallest lopsided smile and you knew he was still floating in that space between reality and euphoria, absolutely fucked out. You couldn’t stifle your chuckle.

“Alright, just stay awake for just a few more minutes.” You patted his chest and then climbed out of bed to fetch a damp cloth. Daryl struggled but he managed to stay awake. He was silent as you worked, wiping away the mess on both your bodies. The sheets would need washed but that was not a problem you’d solve tonight. “Okay, baby, just drink some water for me and we can go to sleep.” If he had any objections to the pet name being used outside of sex, he didn’t voice them.

It took him a moment and a bit of struggling but he managed to rise up onto one arm, letting you tilt the water bottle to his lips for a few long swallows. Then he collapsed back onto the mattress. You drained the bottle and placed it on the bedside table, climbing out of bed one last time to fetch your pillows. The archer was out by the time you returned only a few short seconds later.

You grabbed the duvet and pulled it up over both your bodies before curling into his side, smiling when he unconsciously pulled you closer and pressed a sleepy kiss against your forehead. He was done for then, breathing deep and even, sound asleep.

You watched him until your own eyes could no longer stay open, a muttered “goodnight, pretty boy” before you fell asleep to the thoughts of next time, when he’d be in charge.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead #daryl dixon x female reader #sub daryl dixon #sub daryl #dom reader #dom fem reader #Spotify

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multific · 2 years ago

Text

Little You-s and I-s

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: You and Tommy deal with the changes that come with your pregnancy.

Your pregnancy changed you a lot.

You became more sensitive to smell for example.

One evening, Thomas arrived home from the bar, and as soon as you caught the smell of drinks and smoke on him, you rushed to the bathroom.

Then there was the incident when you craved fish but before you could cook it, the smell of it caught your nose and again, rushing for the toilet you went.

Thomas was incredibly happy when you told him the news, having his own family with you was always a goal of his.

What he didn't like however is just how sensitive you became and one thing that set it off easily was his cigarettes.

Thomas smoked a lot, so for him to not be able to do that in his own home was a bit challenging, but he still found ways to smoke one or two in the furthest part of the garden. Even then, sometimes the wind carried the smell right back to you.

"No smoking and no drinks!" yelled Tom at John as he pulled out a cigarette.

"What? Why?"

"My wife is pregnant, she is sensitive to the smell."

"Oooh, it got that bad huh?" asked John as you entered the room with a tray, on the tray there were some cookies and tea.

"I'll appreciate if you can hold yourself from smoking just this once John, the smell of it just..."

"No problem, thank you for the tea."

"I'll leave you to it." you smiled at your husband who nodded before he turned to John, talking about business.

When lunchtime was approaching, both John and Tom found themselves in the kitchen where you were currently chopping up some carrots and crying.

"Darling, I'm sure the carrots don't mind us eating them."

"Tell that to the headless chicken in the oven, Thomas!" you quickly said back making both men take a step back, Thomas should have known not to argue with you.

Both headed into the dining room instead.

"Is pregnancy supposed to affect a woman this much?" asked John in a hushed tone.

"I think so? I'm no expert John. Arthur has children, he might know more."

"She is glowing though. She was crying but she still looked like a Goddess."

"Can't argue with that, John. But keep your wandering eyes to yourself, she is my wife."

"Does she always cry during cooking?"

"As of late, yes. Yesterday, she made salmon, cried her heart about as she was talking about the poor little fishies the one she cooked left behind. But then this morning, she cried when she made salad. Saying the potatoes didn't deserve to die this way."

"So, she is sensitive to smell, cries when the cooks, can't get worse than that, I'd say."

"She talks back like I have never heard before."

"Okay, I was wrong it can get worse. You mean to tell me, that my lovely shy sister-in-law talks back? The one who didn't dare to tell you she didn't like the ring you gave her?" Thomas made a face at John's confession.

"She didn't like the ring?"

"No, she said she wished you would have given her something more simple. But she didn't want to tell you because she would hurt your feelings."

"Well now, with my child under her heart, she is not afraid to talk from her heart. The other day she told me I should dress better, apparently my suits make me look old. Then she wanted to dance and when I said I don't have the energy she complained that I never have when it comes to her. This is true sadly, however, the latest one... oh Johnny, my boy just before you arrived, she told me to ask you not to smoke and when I told her that you will be free to do as you please, the look. That look I know well, it's the look of someone who is about to murder. She said I either tell you to not smoke or-" Thomas stopped as he felt a shiver run down his spine, both men turned towards the door only to find you with the food in your hands on a tray.

You approached them and placed the food in front of them. The air was cold, John swore he could have cut the tension with a spoon.

"I told him he either asks you not to smoke or I will seriously question his position as the leader, as all leaders should be listened to and respected. And if he is not able to do so, then I shall take his place. So, you are not allowed to smoke John." John nodded, not even daring to look at you.

"Th-Thank you for the meal." John said.

"I know I can be a handful since I'm with child, I feel the change in myself, the doctor said it was hormones to blame, but I seriously hope you do not plan on talking our dear Johnny's ears off with my silliness, Dear Thomas. He doesn't have to know everything."

"Of course, Love. I apologize." Thomas grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on it.

John left soon after lunch and you were now washing the dishes as Tom was reading in the living room.

Once all dishes were done, you headed into the living room, a soft song playing as he was reading in his favourite armchair. He put the paper down when he saw you approach and you sat on his lap, your head on his chest as he continued to read with one hand as the other was now around you, comforting you.

"Am I really that annoying that you talk to John about it?"

"You are not annoying, Love. Odd, sometimes yes, but that isn't due to pregnancy." you giggled a little.

You were fine with 'odd'.

"I try to control it, you know?"

"Oh, God, is this the controlled version? I'm scared now for the uncontrolled one."

"It will get worse, I'm warning you because the doctor said last week that this will only grow as the baby does."

"It's alright, your body will change, I can take a few harsh words, I took bullets after all." he placed a kiss on your forehead.

"Do you want a girl or a boy?" you asked with a rather quiet voice.

"I don't really care, as long as both of you are safe and healthy."

"So you want a boy, got it." Tommy laughed you looked up at him, into his blue eyes. "I just want them to have your eyes."

"What if they don't?"

"Then we try until we have a child who does." you smiled at him as he looked at you.

"Just how many children my Missus want?"

"Oh, as many as my lovely husband would give me. We have a big house, it would be nice to have some life in it. Little you-s and I-s running around."

"I would like that. Honestly, I would like that very much. But let's see how you do after this one, then we will talk."

You hummed before you placed another kiss on his lips, letting him return to his paper as comfortable silence fell.

Taglist: imreadinggoaway @fleursirvart @v-2bucky ehsebastiancrunch-time-sports @pxstelrainbow ablogbypeteparker liamssmilersmexylemony @greenarrowhead feelingsareharddd @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @avengers-r-us @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster celebsimagine @capsiclesdoll snoopy3000 @firstangeldragonranch @puknow @crazzyter @alwayshave-faith @soleil-dor @alex12948 scream-kiwi79 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @liveforkarljacobs @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @paola-carter @stunkbiggu @violet-19999 @praline357

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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mothmanperson · 1 month ago

Text

your back hit the ground harshly, the air in your lungs escaping.

you gasped for air, probably looking like a fish out of water, and someone above you yelled your name.

groaning, you moved your hand onto your chest, in a comforting manner, soothing your aching rib cage.

there was a bright light, were you at the infirmary? were they operating on you again?

through the constant beep that rang painfully through your jumbled brain your barely heard a door open and close, several voices mudding together into a panicked mess.

„oh my god! are you alright“

one called out, followed by a shadow in your blinding vision.

„i saw them move…. they’re not dead at least..“

spoke another more calm voice.

„… not dead yet…“

one muttered.

„Till!“

suddenly many gasped or exclaimed some sound of shock.

„…they fell from the ground floor, onto grass, no way they already died!“

the voice defended, sounding embarrassed.

the voices all sounded so familiar.

„huh..?“

your throat unconsciously made a noise and with a last heavy sigh you forcefully peeled your eyes open, a blue sky greeting you.

„They opened their eyes!“

the blotch of pink yelled and move colors entered your blurry line of view.

and they all matched.

matched their description.

two black, one grey, one pink, a blonde and a brown one.

and you could cry on the spot.

what a cruel vision your keeper gave you. was this your punishment? if so, you‘d rather take electric shots any day.

one rather soft, masculine voice called out your name, once again.

„are you alright? can you hear me?“

they continued, kneeling by your head, prodding at your carotid artery then laying a cold hand to your forehead.

„mhm…“

you muttered out, your breath rattling.

„they’re alright no need to worry…“

the voice reassured and Ivan- another voice excused himself to get some help.

„hey, can you tell us your name and what day it is?“

what was with these questions?

„huh…? you know my name mizi, why would you ask me that?“

you hissed out a bit to harsh for your liking, but you were always more aggressive when you hurt somewhere, and another round of relieved sighs sounded out.

„are we back in-… uhh… an— anakt garden….?“

and everyone went quiet for just a second to long.

„what- no- huh…?“

one seemingly laughed at you.

„garden..? no- it’s still anakt college, how do you keep getting that wrong“

another laughed.

finally your vision cleared up some more and your breath almost hitched.

they all died, you saw them die, live TV, sitting right next to your keeper as he laughed and cheered.

voting voting voting.

it made you sick, you did not show it.

„you alright..? did you see a ghost or something?“

till asked judging silently. and mizi gasped, her hand and sua‘s intertwined, a gently grip.

cute. but not possible.

you felt nauseous, tilting over as you held your stomach as it contracted painfully. your breathing hitched and your other hand reached for the green grass beneath you.

your fist tightened and the grass leaf snapped pathetically.

„… you’re dead…. you died— you all died fucking- haah.. dead, died— shot—..“

uncharacteristically, your breathing didn’t level out after you tried to calm down, an unfamiliar stone dropped into your throat rough. you clawed at your throat and you didn’t even notice the others fussing over you, trying to get you to lay back down, to not choke yourself out. you dry heaved multiple times.

your nails already leaving aggressive red marks as multiple hands tried to pry them off.

more people seemed to run in, not that you’d notice, halfway down the spiral of eternal darkness while heaving with the pressure of seeing your friends be shot squeezing and ripping your lungs.

and finally they ripped your hand from your throat, restraining your arms, your eyes unfocused looking at the sky.

delirious, your lips formed a trained smile, and you started shakily singing a trained song, breathless and barely above a whisper.

„what a nice dream, thank you— keep-keeper for letting… me— see them, one last time…“

you whispered, chuckling or rather hackling, before coughing.

<<previous next>>

also on ao3

#someone help #gn reader #gender neutral reader #alien stage x gn reader #alnst luka #alnst till #alnst sua #alnst hyuna #alnst mizi #alnst ivan #alien stage #also on ao3 #tw panic attack

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peachsukii · 9 months ago

Text

Blast Off

『♡』 fem!reader x bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ aged to 21 | friends to lovers ꒱ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

summary: your favorite metal band is in town, the same one you used to listen to with bakugo back in high school, and you decide to go to the show together! after a long week, a night out in Shibuya is exactly what you need. tags & warnings: brief violence, cursing | friends to lovers, pining, protective bakugo, fluff, first kiss a/n: bakugo would be such a fun person to go to a show with when he’s the one interested! otherwise he’d rather stay home lol ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 1,714 ꒱

“Yo, you ready yet, dumbass?” Bakugo shouts from your living room, impatiently tapping his foot as he’s waiting for you to finish touching up your makeup in the bathroom.

“Just a sec, Kat!” you call back as you’re leaning over the sink, cleaning up the corner of your eyeliner with a wet cloth.

“Y’don’t even need makeup, dammit!” he retorts, a backhanded compliment to get your ass moving. “Ya probably won’t even -,”

His words die in his throat as you emerge from the hallway and enter the living room.

Woah. She looks fuckin' gorgeous.

You catch him staring as you’re clipping in a pair of earrings. “What? Too much?”

He scoffs as he sneakily checks you out a second time. “Nah, you look great.”

You smile and wink at him. “Thanks, Kat. Right back at ya.”

“If some slimy fucker creeps on you, I’ll punch his lights out.”

You can’t help but snort as his comment.

The outfit you chose to wear fit the scene of the band you were seeing, one of your favorite metal bands that you two would listen to back in high school. It wasn’t too over the top, at least you didn’t think so. An all black ensemble - a thin long sleeve mesh top under your band t-shirt, tucked lazily into a pleather mini-skirt and a pair of tinted sheer tights hugging your legs. Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, a few stray pieces of hair framing your face alongside your bangs.

Bakugo wasn’t as dressed up as you were, donning a simple grey t-shirt, a pair of black skinny jeans with rips in the thighs and black boots. A stack of his favorite bracelets hung on his wrist and a pair of black studs adorned his ears.

“Figure out where you wanna eat?” you ask as you’re looking for your boots in the hallway closet.

“The curry place by the station. We can hop on the train into the city afterwards.”

Boots in hand, you return to the living in room and plop next to him on the couch.

“Those things could squash a damn kid,” Bakugo jokes, pointing to the platforms of your boots as you’re lacing them on your feet.

“They’re literally the same kind you wear on patrol!”

“And you’re still shorter than me with those fuckers on.”

You punch him in the arm, maybe a little too hard, to be playful. “I don’t need to be your height to kick your ass!”

“Ow, shit! Watch it, those hands are fuckin’ deadly!” he scolds, rubbing the reddening mark on his bicep.

“My bad,” you chuckle, patting him on the shoulder as an apology. “Let’s get outta here.”

“Hand it over,” Bakugo orders as you pick up the check from the table, flexing his palm toward you.

“Huh? I told you -,” you start to remind him until he cuts you off mid-explanation.

“Just ‘cause I heard ya doesn’t mean shit. Give it.” He snatches the paper and booklet with one hand while fishing his wallet out of his pocket with the other. “Stop bein’ a brat and let me pay for your damn dinner.”

“I’m not being a brat! I was just trying to treat you to dinner for once,” you say defensively.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I let you buy the tickets.”

Bakugo consistently paid whenever the two of you would grab food. It didn’t matter what it was - coffee before work, snacks from the convenience store, lunch outings, dinners in the city - he’d shove you aside and take your card, or be the one to order so you don’t have the chance to hand your card over. The few times you did get to pay for him, he immediately sent you the money back. It’s been a consistent staple in your friendship since Junior year of high school.

While leaving the curry shop, you see the train approaching at the station.

“Shit, Kat. That’s the train we need to catch to make it on time!” you utter in a panic as you grab his wrist. “C’mon!”

You arrive at the venue an hour before the show starts, giving you both enough time to get inside, grab drinks and find a perfect spot as planned.

Once inside, the two of you make your way over to the bar while the crowd was light.

“Are you at least gonna let me buy you a drink?” You tease, elbowing Bakugo in the arm.

He sighs dramatically, the tell-tale sign that he’s no longer going to fight you on it. “You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous.”

Beers in hand, you both head to the general admission area of the venue and situate yourselves near the back - not too squished between loads of people but close enough to see the stage.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” you beam, leaning against him as a token of thanks.

He throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. “Of course. Woulda been mad if ya didn’t ask me to come see the band we had on repeat together through all those study sessions and sparring matches.”

The lights begin to dim and the crowd cheers as the band takes the stage. He lets you take a step back and shift next to him, but keeps his arm around your shoulder. The two of you cheer in unison and hold up your beers for the band as they set up for their first song.

The show has been a goddamn blast! The two of you have been singing and dancing together the whole time, screaming every single lyric. Bakugo loves watching you throw your hands up and yell along with the crowd, having the time of your life and not letting anyone get in your way. It’s infectious - his grin not wavering the entire show.

“We have one more song for the night!” The lead singer announces into the mic. “It’s a special one - thanks for coming out!”

The song they begin to play is one of their slower numbers, one that you know Bakugo adored. You watched as his eyes lit up under the spotlights, taking in the moment as the band progressed through the song. You loop your arm with his, rocking back and forth in unison with the rest of the crowd.

Bakugo removes his arm from your hold to spin you around to face him, pulling you close and holding you to his chest. He gently sways with you in his arms as you embrace him, mimicking a slow dance. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming in his chest alongside the subtle vibrations of him humming to the song. Your eyes flutter closed, absorbing every ounce of love in this moment between the two of you. His hold encased you in a sense of security that you didn’t find with anyone else.

Once the song ends, the band is saying their goodbyes to the crowd as he releases his hold on you.

“I didn’t think they were gonna play that tonight,” you say, smiling up at him. “Guess we gotta buy t-shirts now!”

Bakugo laughs, shaking his head. “Matching ones?”

“It’s either that or we buy one and I constantly steal it from you.”

We?

Bakugo smirked at the suggestion.

“You steal my shit all the time, ya brat,” he teases, pinching your cheek. “I’ll buy two. Which one do y’want?”

“You pick, you have better taste than I do. I’m gonna run to the bathroom before we head out,” you say as you pat him on the shoulder before skipping off to the bathroom. He heads over to the merch table to stand in line for your t-shirts.

It’s been a good 20 minutes since you wandered off. Bakugo meanders over to the bathrooms, the t-shirts he bought for you both draped over his shoulder. He’s poking around, searching for you in the crowd as he spots your ponytail in a sea of others.

You’re talking with some guy that he doesn’t recognize. The guy slithers into your personal bubble as Bakugo stalks up behind you.

“C’mon doll, you’re fine as hell. Don't you -"

"Beat it, jackass. She's obviously not interested," Bakugo interrupts, stepping to your side.

He scoffs and takes a step back from you. "And who the hell are you?"

"Her boyfriend. Now fuck off."

Your cheeks flare at his comment - did he mean that? Or was that just to get this guy off your back?

You turn to leave as the guy slaps your ass - hard. "Have fun with this loser."

Bakugo doesn't even have time to react before your fist crashes into this guy's jaw, clocking him so hard that he stumbles to the floor. The commotion causes one of the security guards to scurry in your direction, beckoning for you to come over to him.

"Shit, we gotta go!" you yell, interlocking your fingers with Bakugo's as you bolt through the crowd and away from the guard before getting caught.

The two of you manage to escape, rushing out of the venue's exit door and into the busy Shibuya streets. You don't stop running until you round a corner and duck into an alley way, hiding from any potential security that could have tailed you and letting go of his hand.

Out of breath, you lean on to the wall and wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"S-shit, sorry Kat, didn't mean to thrash you around like that."

He takes a second before deciding to box you up against the wall with his frame, catching you off guard. "I'm not complain'."

"Boyfriend, huh? Was that your way of asking me out?" you joke, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt.

Bakugo snickers as he's shutting his eyes, lowering his face to level with your own before your lips meet. The kiss is brief, but enough to get his point across.

"I bought matching band shirts with ya, who the fuck else would I do that shit with?"

You giggle, pulling him back in for another kiss - longer and sweeter than the previous one.

This isn't where you thought the night would end, but you're over the moon.

bakugo just couldn't resist confessing after watching you beat some dude's ass in one punch ;)

Divider by : @/saradika

#bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #katsuki bakugo #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x y/n #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #☆.rei writes

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the-whispers-of-death · 8 months ago

Note

Can you do Bear hybrid ghost x Bunny hybrid reader headcanons? I feel like that would be cute

Since it's headcanons, this is going to be bullet-point style. Let's do this!

You have scary dog privileges, 100%. Other hybrids thinks you're an easy target, seeing how your ears and puffy tail twitch to showcase every single emotion you are, but when they get near you... Ghost shows up behind you, staring them down, and no one wants to get between a bear hybrid and his mate.

He sometimes forgets you're vegetarian, due to your bunny hybrid nature, and he'll bring you some fish that he hunted especially for you. Only to then realize you don't eat fish. It's still cute though, so you sit with him while he eats two fish, one that he had caught for himself and the one he had caught for you.

Ghost loves playing with your bunny ears, he's so gentle with them. He cup them gently with one paw as he runs his other paw over your bunny ears gently.

When you're both in a silly mood, you two end up in a giggling fit over both of you wiggling your short, nubby tails as if trying to compete with who can wiggle their tail the fastest. It's a testament to how much he lets his guard down around you.

He marks the trees bordering your house, signaling to other bears or bear hybrids that he lives there.

While you are a bunny hybrid, you're not completely defenseless. You're said to be one of the more violent bunny hybrids, your fight instinct kicking in more than your flight instinct. Ghost stepped in before you would've rabbit-kicked a tiger hybrid once.

Winter is a bitch for you. Ghost hibernates and you, you have to continue to find your food in the snow because bunnies don't hibernate. Don't tell him this, because he would tease you if he knew, but you burrow yourself beneath him during the nights because he's just so much more warmer than you are.

Ghost hates the implication of him cheating on you just because male bear hybrids typically don't stay with a mate long. He'd die before leaving you. (Though if you are poly, he wouldn't mind. He understands that both bear and bunny hybrids aren't species that mate for life. He just wouldn't cheat, aka not tell you about a partner if that's your dynamic.)

Both of your hybrid species like to rub faces together as a way to show affection, so you two are often seen rubbing cheeks together. He reaches wherever he can on you and rubs his head against that body part and you do it too.

Ghost once went toe to toe with another bear hybrid because they looked at you. He charged right at them, not wasting a single second. He was fighting them like his place as your mate wasn't secure (it was and is). He won, by a long shot.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

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clairewritesjjkxreader · 1 year ago

Text

Sukuna’s Wife and Yuuji’s Onee-chan (Sukuna x Reincarnated!Y/N) scenario

Request/Inquiry from @aikothingdream:

“It would be funny to see Yuuji also not like his teacher hitting on Onee-chan”

Life as a cursed spirit’s “bride” was hilariously boring.

Gojo described your cursed energy as below average, you had zero martial arts training or talent, and Sukuna threatened Gojo and Yuuji not to put you in danger.

Yuuji was often busy training, studying, or hanging out with his new classmates. You were happy that he had people to look after him in your place, but without a job or a class to attend, you were a parasite.

To alleviate your guilt, you did everyone’s laundry (minus their unmentionables, even Yuuji's, who furiously insisted he was old enough to wash his own underwear–kids, they grow up so fast *sigh*), mopped the hallways, wiped the windows, and other chores.

You just finished rearranging the clothes in your cabinet for the second time today.

You sprawled yourself on the floor like a starfish.

Free food, no rent. Everything was paid for here. This should’ve been the ideal life, but you were so booooored.

Spurned by the desire to fill the void, you went to the kitchen. No one was around. Of course.

You searched the cupboard, but only found a half-eaten package of cookies. The fridge had a can of whipped cream on the verge of emptiness and some strawberries..

Shutting the fridge close with your hip, you chomped on a cookie and a medium-sized strawberry then sprayed a swirl of cream in your mouth.

“Guess who’s back with treats! I–ah.” Gojo Satoru stopped at the kitchen doorway, a plastic bag full of sweets hanging from his hand.

A silence fell over as you saw each other.

He stood there, quietly as you stared, frozen with a mouth stuffed with sugar.

You: (⊙ｏ⊙)

Gojo: ( ._. )

Gojo: …

Gojo: …pft.

You: …!

You forced yourself to chew faster, but expectedly, the thing that was supposed to be in charge of you and your brother burst into maniacal laughter.

“PWAHAHAHAHA!”

“Mm…mf!”

“Oh, man. I gotta take a picture.” He pulled out his phone.

You wanted to say something, but there was too much stuff in your mouth!

Gojo continued laughing between clicks and flashes until you started choking like a pelican who swallowed too big a fish.

In an instant, he was behind you, arms wound tightly around your abdomen. “Please don’t die. It would be too pathetic!”

“Aurgh..!!!??” Translation: You think I wanna go like this, you a&%****!?

With one, strong squeeze, Gojo forced the food out of you.

“That was close! Good thing I was here or who knows what would’ve happened.”

“...”

“Hm?”

“...”

“Not going to say anything? What’s wrong, nee-san?”

Feeling a vein near popping, you coughed out, “I believe I asked you not to call me that.”

“You’re so cold. Megumi and Kugisaki call you that. Even the second years!”

You had a couple of things to say, but considering that he technically saved your life, you opted to keep them to yourself. “Thank you for the help, now please let go. I’m going to clean this up.”

But as you said this, your knees buckled and his arms shifted to stop you from falling.

“Aw, don’t be like that.”

Whoosh

A giant knife flew towards Gojo, stopped only by his infinity.

You both turned to find Yuuji standing by the door, panic and shock on his face as he gripped hard on his right arm responsible for throwing the blade.

“I-I didn’t know how that happened, I swear!”

Sukuna spoke from his cheek. “You damn blue-eyed bastard. How dare you touch my wife so shamelessly?”

“Excuse me?! I just saved her from cho–”

“Yuuji!” Embarrassed, you pushed yourself out of Gojo’s embrace and walked towards your brother. “Welcome home. Do you have any requests for dinner?”

“I’ve been craving curry rice since this morning.”

“I think we just ran out. I’llgocheckthestorageroom!” Flustered, you rushed out of the kitchen, forgetting your own mess.

Yuuji quietly went to mop the food you choked out.

Gojo sighed. “Yuuji, what should I do, I don’t think your sister likes me.”

“Gojo-sensei.”

When Gojo met his student’s gaze, it held a surprising sharpness. “???”

“Thank you for taking care of us,” Yuuji’s normally cheery tone was flat as he spoke, “but please don’t bother my sister too much.”

“???????”

Later that evening, in Fushiguro’s room…

Gojo: Megumi, why is everybody so mean to me?

Gojo: (˃̣̣̥ᴖ˂̣̣̥)

Megumi: Please leave.

A/N: I tried to have more fun with this one so I was more liberal with my style. Anyway, I got a few more requests, the products are coming soon!

@shadowywizardarcade @hannya-exists @nineooooo @lilachaeyo @pumpkindudeishere @jessbeinme15 @fluffy-koalala @cringeycookies @frogzxch @isimpfordanielpark @marvelsgirl4ever @sanzusmom @sheccidoscar @marvelsgirl4ever @alastorhazbin @satosuguswife @lumaniii @leahlovesreading @blackstaw @nineooooo @boba--12

Other snippets of this au are found here.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna x y/n #sukuna #yandere #husband #sukuna x reader #reincarnation au #married #married au #request

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mydearlybeloathed · 6 months ago

Text

── 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 ³

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in the aftermath of zoro's fight with mihawk, you and he have some reflecting.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: opla!zoro x apothecary!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: at long last it is finished, tw blood mention, somewhat of an epilogue, no use of Y/N

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: november

series masterlist

Everything had happened so fast, and all you could do was stand and stare at your hands. You were shaky all over, but your hands especially; your fingertips and palms were stained by the blood you’d tried to stop flowing from Zoro’s chest.

And all you could do was stand and shake.

Only when Luffy’s hand closed around your wrist and he jerked you along with him did you come back to yourself, still gasping for air as tears filled your eyes. “Luffy—Zoro—He’s…”

“He’s fine,” Luffy barked back before softening at the sight of you. “He’ll be fine.”

For once, you doubted him.

You had wanted to beg Zoro to let it go. To plead with him the moment you laid eyes on that Hawkeye. To shout for him to get some sense and wait for a few more years of experience before taking on his last obstacle. But if you did, if you asked him to back down, you feared he would never trust you again.

Angry huffs of breath left Nami, her glare baring into the stubborn swordsman beside you. She was begging and pleading as your heart longed to do, and it took everything in you to stand strong beside your lover.

“Y/N,” she hissed, drawing your eyes up to hers. “You’re gonna let him do this?”

Your hand sought out Zoro’s beneath the table, finding solace in wrapping your fingers around his. “Yes.”

She gaped, hands gripping the table. “He’s going to die! Don’t you love him at all—”

Your whole body jerked as you made to round the table and smack her, when Zoro’s hand tightened around yours, holding you in place. Heart pounding in your ears, you swallowed thickly and sighed shakily.

“Zoro needs to do this,” you nearly spat. “You wouldn’t understand.”

She backed down when she got no help from anyone, storming out of the room with watery eyes. Luffy and Usopp followed soon after, leaving you and your swordsman. Wordlessly, you pulled him to sit beside you at the nearby couch, leaning your head on his shoulder whilst he worked don sharpening his blades.

“Thank you,” he whispered, prompting you to turn your head and kiss his shoulder, fretful tears welling in your eyes.

Close to sobbing, you followed the rest of them as they hauled Zoro’s body onto the ship and down to the galley. It all grew worse at the sight of Zoro’s bloodied body laid upon the table, his brow pinched in agony.

Nami heaved a breath, frantic eyes scanning over Zoro’s wound. Usopp was searching for a first aid kit, finding only your bag of herbs and bottles. It slipped from his shaky hands, the bottles rolling around the kitchen.

Nami narrowed her gaze at you. “Aren’t you a doctor? Do something!”

You shook your head. “I—I’m not—I don’t—I can’t—”

“Luffy,” Nami cut off your rambling. “Go to the restaurant and find a doctor. Go!”

He took off in an instant. You trembled, unable to look away from Zoro. It all moved so fast; the Baratie’s owner and sous chef rushed in after Luffy, the former immediately setting to work cutting up a fish.

“Fish?” you blurted, voice cracking. “How is a fish—”

“Can it,” Zeff snapped, cracking off the fish’s head. “If yer gonna yap, have some liquor.”

You stood gaping at him, eyes wide even as Usopp grabbed the bottle and slowly inched it toward you. Even as you glared you swiped it and took a swig, slamming it back down onto the table.

The liquor snapped you to attention. You stumbled to stand at the end of the table where Zoro’s head lay. A thick and tense silence washed over the galley as Zeff worked, yet it all felt so loud. Your red stained hands drifted to brush Zoro’s hair off his damp forehead.

Zoro winced as Zeff stitched up the largest gash first. One shaky hand moved to feel at your back, a dark part of you musing that you would match when the wound scarred. Like the front and back of a coin.

Shoving the thought down, your fingertips trailed over his cheek, drawing an invisible line down his forehead and nose. Over and over, you gently caressed his face in that circular motion, the crease of his brows softening, and you forced every sound to go dim.

Writhing in pain, your squirming made it difficult for Zoro’s to hold you without hurting you even more. The dingy he’d taken from the now slain pirates drifted back out to sea, abandoned as Zoro raced toward the light of the village.

No one walked the streets in the dead of night, so Zoro shouted, his voice bellowed into the stillness, demanding someone help him. Just as his eyes gazed over your contorted expression, his hopeless howling was answered by a light flooding out from the building on his right.

The woman barely blinked as she ushered him inside, ordering him to lay you on your chest atop her kitchen table. He was talking, muffled sounds barely words stuttering out of him. Vee calmed him best she could, but she couldn’t focus with him bumbling around like this.

“Listen, boy,” she said lowly. “You wanna help her?” She waited for him to nod before going on. “Stand here, right where her head is. Good. Now, you wanna help?”

You whimpered, your head turned to the side so Zoro could plainly see how your whole face reflected misery. He choked the word out, “Yeah.”

“Watch.” She reached out a hand toward your face, and despite his gut instinct to sever her hand, he stood back and watched as Vee pinched her fingertips together and placed them on your forehead, expanding her fingers like a firework and grazing them down the sides of your face.

She repeated the motion, and Zoro sighed out a gasp as the distressed pinch of your brows gave way to a more eased expression. Vee stepped back calmly, nodded at Zoro as she grabbed a set of scissors and cut open your shirt.

Zoro’s eyes immediately found the wound, a thick slash down your back, oozing with your blood, and his chest seized. Vee shot him a glare. “Pull yourself together, pirate hunter.”

He hadn’t introduced himself, and the fact that Vee already deduced who he was irked him, but he snapped to action instantly. He started the same motion as Vee, caressing your face and marveling at how you calmed under his touch.

“Hold her hand,” ordered Vee. She was pouring a bottle of clear liquid onto a rag. “This is gonna sting.”

Even when Vee was done and your wound was bandaged, he continued that firework motion on your face as if in a daze. You would stir in your sleep, a little grin gracing your face at his touch, but when you woke, he was nowhere in sight, the faint memory warming your face.

You cupped a hand over your cheek, inhaling deeply, hand stilling. Zeff glanced up from lining the stitches with fish skin, some old pirate trick he said, and noticed your ministrations to Zoro’s face.

“Who taught you tha’?” Zeff wondered, if only to distract you.

Blinking rapidly, you retracted your hands to your sides. “Uhm. A doctor from Gecko Island.”

Zeff nodded. “Well, don’t stop. Let's ‘im know you’re there.”

He’s between life and death, Zeff went on to say. Talk to him, sing to him for all I care. Let him know you’re here, and maybe he’ll stick to this side of life.

You tried to help move Zoro to your bed, but you felt glued to the ground. Even if you did manage to move, you couldn’t stop shaking no matter how you tried. Sanji, Usopp, and Luffy handled moving him, your eyes following their retreat down the hall.

“Hey,” Nami appeared at your side, her hand resting on your arm. “You there?”

“Mhmm. I’m good.” The quake in your voice said otherwise. “Where is he?”

Nami tugged on your arm, leading you to the bedroom you’d been given. Usopp and Luffy stood over the near lifeless Zoro. You shook Nami’s hand off, your feet carrying you swiftly to his side as you practically shoved Usopp aside.

Your hand ghosted his cheek, breath catching. “It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Nami scoffed. “I doubt you could have changed his mind even if you tried.”

She was right, but still. What if you had tried? Would he hate you? Would he have listened? Your legs started to shake, and a moment later Usopp was there with a chair, setting a hand on your shoulder to ease you onto it. You choked on a sob, the act alone nearly casting you over the edge.

Nami watched it all with a set jaw, frustration boiling under her skin. She held back all her venomous words if only for your sake, currently seeing you as more glass than person.

“Come on,” she muttered to the others. “Y/N’ll talk to him first.”

They’d left before you could bring yourself to ask one to stay, and you were left staring at Zoro’s contorted face. What do I even say?

At a loss, you reached for his hand, tentatively taking it in both of yours. For a time, you only stared at him, void expression conveying nothing to Usopp when he entered the room an hour later.

“You doing okay?” he asked, wary as he leaned against one of the beams holding your bed to the ceiling.

You shot him a sharp look, biting back what you really wanted to reply with. “I… have no clue what to say to him.”

He seemed to actually contemplate his answer, lips pursed before he offered, “Whatever’s on your mind is fine. I think it's more about hearing you than what you’re saying.”

You hissed out a sigh as you returned your gaze to Zoro, taking in his condition for the umpteenth time, and forced out some words, gently running your thumb over the back of his hand. “Listen… you better fucken wake up. I didn’t wait three years for you to die on me, idiot. So…” Please. Be okay.

Usopp blinked widely, his shoulders tense as he nodded slowly. “Ok–ay, not exactly what I meant.”

“That’s what's on my mind,” you bit back.

“Maybe it should have stayed in mind.” You stood with a grunt, releasing Zoro’s hand and turning away from his battered form.

“You talk to him, if you’re the expert,” you snapped as you went for the door. Usopp tried to reach for your arm, an apology on his tongue, but you jerked away from him and bolted around the corner.

Only when you were out of sight and sound did you let a strangled cry slip past your lips, before swallowing it back down and holding your shaking hands to your chest. You wanted to go back, to hold him and never let go… later, when you could get a grip again.

A long story short, you had no time to get a grip.

જ⁀➴

Everything… was very wrong. In the span of a few hours, Nami turned out to be working with the fishman Arlong the Saw, Luffy nearly died a watery death, and the crew gained a chef. That last bit wasn’t so wrong, but all you could focus on was the negative.

Your hands stayed folded in your lap lest they quiver and reveal your distress. Zoro lay just down the hall, on your own bed, under your own sheets. If only he would wake up. You needed to see his eyes and hold his hand and have it not go limp in yours.

Sanji chopped vegetables at the countertop, occasionally shooting you a glance. Pushing all the carrots into a pile, he cleared his throat. “Uh, that trick you did was pretty cool.”

His accent was nice and smooth, almost serving to relax the tension wrought though your body. You eyes lazily moved to find his figure across the galley. “Thanks.”

“So you’re a chemist?” he kept on. “It’s either that or a witch, and you don’t look the witchy type.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “Uhm, yeah. I’m an apothecary. The bombs were just something I threw together.”

The fight with Arlong the Saw had gone… expectedly. He tossed you all around like a bunch of ragdolls. You’d gotten one hit in using the element of surprise, hurling a vial of chemical at his head that exploded on impact. He dodged or caught all the rest, nearly crushing you into the ground before Luffy stepped in and wrangled the fishman around the neck.

You shivered at the memory as Sanji sent you a smile. “Well, I thought it was badass.”

You managed a short laugh. “Thanks, waiter.”

Just as the chef started to protest the use of the name, a loud, cheerful voice rang throughout the ship.

“Zoro!”

Your heart panged in your chest, and all at once you pushed to your feet and sprinted to your room, running into the wall and teetering on your feet. You practically rammed yourself into the doorframe, chest heaving, eyes blown wide… and there he was.

Zoro’s eyes were all squinty from smiling at Luffy, who loomed ove rhim excitedly. His gaze shifted to where you loomed in the doorway, your heavy breathing drawing his attention. He murmured your name and wincingly pushed himself up, drawing you to his side as you helped him. Luffy slipped off the bed and fluffed a pillow absently, absolutely beaming.

All you could do was stare at Zoro, face screwed together from a mistire of emotions. Zoro was much to same, his expression unsure. Luffy just kept on grining till Usopp slid into the doorway, took one look at the situation, and dragged the captain out, slamming the door behind him.

You winced at the sound, eyes averted briefly before Zoro’s hand found yours, and you snapped back around to look at him. Your eyes flickered to the bandages covering his torso, your fingers dellicately grazing the gauze.

Zoro followed your every move carefully, features softening. He drew you near so you were sat before him. “You think our scars will match?”

Your lips twitched into a grin. “I hope so.”

The silence was welcomed, soft touches passed between you, content with breathing in the other’s presence. Only when you started blinking rapidly did you notice your eyes growing watery. “I thought I’d lost you. His sword—I don’t know how you survived.”

“He let me live,” Zoro murmured, like he wished otherwise, and your stomach churned uncformtably.

You ducked forward to catch his dropped gaze, tone firm. “And I’m glad he did.”

Zoro shook his head and reclined on the headboard. “I thought I was ready.”

“You will be.” You inched your way up the bed to sit beside him, shoving away the blanket and angling your head to look at his profile. His jaw set as he looked out the window.

His heart now ached as much as yours had, his defeat a weight he wasn’t prepared to carry. Your hand slipped into his with the hope of taking some that burden in stride, praying he knew you would be there to take it every time. “You will be ready, and when you are, you’ll defeat him and you’ll be the greatest swordsman to ever live.”

Zoro started to fiddle with your fingers. “You’ll be there?”

“Stupid question,” you huffed, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “Of course I will.”

Pulling back, you found his eyes, offering a smile. All at once, everything fell into place. You knew close to nothing about the world and your place in it. Would people remember you in a hundred? Will your steps be memorialized? You could only hope and wonder.

Yet, there was one thing you knew beyond certainty, and that was whatever you turned out to be, you wanted Zoro to be there to witness it.

So the words came easily, no hindrance in a single syllable. “Marry me.”

Zoro balked, whole body freezing up as he blinked down at you. “What?”

“You heard me,” you smiled. “I want to marry you.”

His hands squeezed yours. “It’s… not safe.”

“Compared to what? Whether we’re married or not, I’m with you.” Zoro tilted his head.

“So why…?”

You hooked your pinky through his. “It’s a promise. I want to be there when you defeat him. I want to dress your wounds and keep you humble. I want to grow old and throw rocks at neighbor kids with you.”

He laughed softly, staring down at your interlocked hands, and raised his gaze slowly. “You really want that?”

“Don’t you?”

Instantly, “Yes.”

If possible your smile bloomed wider and you whipped around to shout, “Luffy!”

Zoro grabbed your shoulders and jerked you back around, his grin shifting to wince at his sudden movement. “Now?”

“Why not now?” you implored.

“I thought—” he settled back gently, brow drawn “—I thought you’d want, like, a party.”

You ensured he was fine, hand hovering his bandaged middle, eyes rising to catch his own. “I have you, and more friends than I ever imagined having. What more do I need?”

Zoro couldn’t argue with that. His grin returned hesitantly, hand searching out for yours and closing around it tightly. “Guess that makes Great Captain Usopp the best man, with Luffy officiating. And maid of honor Nami.”

Your face fell in an instant, your palm hitting your temple, heart dropping all over again. “We can’t get married now.”

Zoro tried to sit up before coughing and leaning back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nami’s gone.” Your steely eyes only added to his sudden distress. “She’s with Arlong the Saw.”

Talk of marriage and futures could wait until everyone was together. Until then, you wrangled Zoro into laying back down, not allowing him to move and open up his stitches, barking out orders to stay put before you made him.

જ⁀➴

Well, you didn’t get married when Nami returned. It just… slipped your minds. Once, Zoro drunkenly remembered, and you soberly denied his inebriated proposal. So you didn’t get married some months after either. The time was never right, but the heart was always there.

“Wife,” he once snapped offhandedly. “Get off my weights.”

He didn’t understand your teasing, gleaming smile till you skipped away, planting a kiss on his cheek and whispering, “Fine, Husband.”

The crew tilted their heads at the sudden use of the term, not recalling a recent ceremony, but when they saw the lively grins upon your faces they never bothered to ask. You and Zoro had your own kind of marriage they supposed was extra special—the kind only within one’s mind, soul, and heart. The bond was not by rings but by devotion alone, and the pair found a lifetime of contentment in that alone.

The topic of officiality arose when you parted for two years, him off training with a warlord in a castle, and you learning from healing witches in a forest.

“What if you find another wife in the meantime?” you jokingly (half-geuinely) asked him.

“We lasted three years. What’s two more?”

You nodded, drawing him close to your lips. “Don’t get too comfy, Roronoa. I’ll make an honest man out of you yet.”

Two years and each and every correspondence was signed Dear Wife, Dear Husband, Yours in Health, Yours in Death. A ghostly girl Zoro called Perona once wrote back for him, wondering why he’d never mentioned a wife and where his ring was. You gave it a chuckle and paid it no mind, not willing to divulge the intricacies of your marriage.

No one ever questioned it when you reunited. To everyone, you and Zoro were one unit in everything but a legal document. The crew never batted an eye at your little domestic bits, to the point where they nearly forgot what was so funny about calling the other your spouse.

One year turned to two, and two to three, and three to twenty all in the blink of an eye. Wife and husband, you grew into yourselves in body and mind, watching the other with a pride and love neither of you could quite articulate how you wanted.

“My husband is the greatest swordsman in the world,” you told some boy prince you were treating for smallpox.

“My wife is a world-renowned apothecary,” Zoro exclaimed midfight to some no-name brute.

At some point, you’d both forgotten this wasn’t an official thing. You were married… but not really.

It occurred to you whilst you lay swinging in a hammock in front of your little home, head rested on Zoro’s chest, his easy breathing nearly lulling you to sleep. “Zoro?”

“Hmm?”

You propped your chin on his stomach and grinned at him bleary-eyed. “Will you marry me?”

“I—” Zoro paused, blinked a moment, and looked down widely. “I forgot we weren’t.”

“Me too.” Your head cocked to the side. “So?”

His hand moved to trace your jaw before curling into your hair, and dropping back to his side. “We’re well into our forties.”

“And?”

“If we both forgot…” he chuckled. “What does it matter if we never got a huge party?”

You settled back into his side. “That’s what I was thinking… Don’t you want a ring?”

He shook a hand. “Eh.”

“Same here.”

Really, what was the use? He was your husband and you were his wife. That’s how it had been for well over a decade. Though, it would make for a good celebration. “A wedding’s a good excuse to see everyone, though…”

A week later Usopp called Nami on a snail transponder, holding up an invite as she did the same. “Completely forgot they’re not in matrimony.”

“You’re going, right?”

“Obviously.”

The whole of the ceremony, an air of hilarity rested upon each of the crewmates turned wedding guests. In sickness, in health, in life, and in death—you and Zoro had committed these vows wordlessly so very long ago.

The wedding was odd and out of place and it was yours. You never knew how much it would mean till you stood before your silly swordsman, aboard the beloved Thousand Sunny, and slipped a ring on his finger as a burn got caught in your throat. He wasn’t much better, pushing a ring over your knuckles, blinking so fast he might’ve flown away.

Vivi, Robin, and Nami stood lined up on your left, holding bouquets of lilies picked from your yard that morning. On Zoro’s right, Usopp and Brook held back watery smiles while Jimbei and Sanji watched with subtle, fond grins. Franky stood with Chopper on his shoulder, the pair absolutely beaming.

What brought it all together was Luffy’s struggle to get it just right, reciting off a sheet of paper Nami and Vivi had asked him to memorize beforehand. Your captain’s smile could’ve blinded you, his excitement palpable as he worked his way through the list until it was time to officially seal it with a kiss.

You’re not sure what you expected, but when your lips met with Zoro’s and the hollers of your friends echoed all around… there was nothing extra special about the moment. You drew back smiling, nose brushing his, and breathed in the moment. It felt like every other kiss on every other evening, but now you were with the people you held most dear. That’s what made your heart warm enough to rival the sun.

As far as you’re concerned, you and Zoro have been married since the day he left you in Syrup Village. You sighed your vows into every moment spent apart and breathed them into each other every second side by side. No wedding was ever needed. No officiant needed to say the words. Husband and wife in your hearts alone, and that would have enough for the rest of your days.

But now, as you looked around at the friends you called family, Zoro’s presence at your shoulder, you had to admit; you would have a hundred weddings just to bring everyone here, sharing in joy and dancing around one another through the night, for just one more night.

Tomorrow, everyone might part once more. There were lives to be lived and tasks to complete elsewhere on the globe… but tonight, your family was together. As you broke away from a twirling Nami, shooing her off to go dance with her dear Vivi and spare your aching feet, you found yourself back at Zoro’s side. His heavy eyes and lithe smile met you readily.

“Wife,” he greeted.

“Husband,” you answered giddily.

Neither of you cared much for rings, that was true, but you both took the time to admire the placements on your fourth fingers, curling into each other as the party drew on, tenderly falling asleep against the mainmast.

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