#When will this man release me from the death grip he has me in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moongothic · 6 months

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No appearently I'm still not fucking done

Like. No matter how I think about it, Crocodad with the timeline Oda has suggested makes no sense to me, so I genuinely can't bring myself to believe in the theory anymore (mainly because I don't want to get my hopes up tbh)

(Like if the timeline was Revolutionary -> Baby Happens -> Leaves and becomes a pirate -> Whitebeard beats his ass -> Dude becomes jaded and wants to destroy the government -> Alabasta This would make sense. I would 100% buy this timeline But the timeline is supposed to be Pirate -> Shichibukai -> Whitebeard beats his ass -> Somehow gets involved with the Revolutionaries -> Baby Happens -> Transitions while a Shichibukai -> Alabasta I just. This timeline does not make sense to me. But it's the only one we'd have??)

But at the same time I can not come up with a single other explanation to why the absolute fuck Crocodile is still a character with a presence in the story if it's not Crocodad

By which I mean, on an emotional level he has no connections or ties to any other characters that would explain why he's still in the story (compared to like, Enel, who also has no connections to anyone and thus is pretty much just gone). And like, to be fair, sure, he could be just there for fanservice and because he can be used to drive the plot forward in some ways.

But when you compare Crocodile to say Mihawk or Buggy or even ol' CP9 members, they all either have close emotional ties to other important characters (Zoro and Shanks to be specific), or they represent something (the manifestation of the Government and its corruption), meaning these characters reuniting/encountering others has emotional weight in the story

But Crocodile was just some asshole who Luffy beat up, he's not much different from like Moria in that sense and god knows we haven't seen Moria in ages (to the point I wouldn't be shocked if he died offscreen) (Oda please don't kill my beloved goth onion I need him back so bad)

So why the fuck is Crocodile still here, why is he still plot-relevant, who is he supposed to tie to on an emotional basis

Like the theory Crocodile could maybe be Xebec's son would make sense and explain a lot about Crocodile as a character, and it could tie him back into the story if Xebec is alive and is the one hiding the final Poneglyph (this theory is on thin ice mind you), but no matter how I think about it I can't imagine how that would push either his own character arc forward or anyone else's. The plot, sure, but it just feels like it stops there

Especially because althought Crocodile Clearly Has Some Issues, his issues don't seem to be from a bad father-son relationship, it's trust issues and the hatred of the Government, so meeting his maybe-father-Xebec-if-he-is-alive would probably do fuck all to move his character anywhere (and if it did, where??????? World Domination??????? We all know that won't work out tho????????)

(Also if Xebec was his father, then Crocodile's decision to ASSIST Whitebeard in saving Ace, the dickwad who would have betrayed his father, makes EVEN LESS SENSE)

(Sidenote, you could maybe imagine Crocodile somehow tieing into Pluton again but considdering how the Walls of Wano need to come down for Pluton to be released and that can only be done by Zunesha at the command of Momo, I can not imagine Crocodile making a beeline for Pluton right now 'cause he should not be able to get it even if he found out how to access it) (Also while on Pluton, you could argue Crocodile reuniting with Robin could have emotional weight but I'm not sure what that would achieve for either character (also Robin would never in a million years just hand over Pluton to Crocodile), same for Vivi (also IDK how those two would even meet again))

Not to mention I have no fucking idea how Crocodile's past with Iva-chan would even tie into any of that??? I mean sure he could just be trans for the sake of being trans and without it being like an important plotpoint beyond Iva-chan being able to blackmail him at Impel Down, but also??? Is that not a little unnececary considdering there would've been many other ways to convince Crocoboy to behave in Impel Down???

But you know what really would explain Crocodile's lingering presence in the story and would tie his character to someone else on an emotional level in a way that could push either his or someone else's character arc forward???

Fucking??? Crocodad???????

Like boom, you'd immidiately be able to tie his character to our beloved protagonist and the two seeing each other would have like more meaning than just "Luffy encountering the asshole who tried to kill him and now needs to fight again probably". And while I don't think Crocodad would do anything to move Luffy's character ahead (since he probably would not give a shit if he found out Crocodile was his dad, since Crocodile was a dickbag and Luffy doesn't care about blood connections), I think it would do a lot to Crocodile's character

Because like. I go back and I think about Marineford and Crocodile's outburst at Whitebeard. His emotional arc. If Crocodad was real, then right before the outburst Crocodile would've have realized that Luffy was his son and would be currently dealing with the implications of that. Then he'd have to watch The Son of a Binch Who Beat His Ass get stabbed, which would piss one off anyways. But then he needs to remember that Whitebeard's been stabbed by one of his own, while trying to save another one of his sons, and Crocodile might realize how that sight of Whitebeard might be like a cruel premonition for himself, as he goes off to try to protect his own son

And sure, Crocodile made it out of Marineford alive, but god knows, if we get like a Marineford 2 and shit starts going down, if this man is Luffy's actual father and is anywhere near the kid, this binch is dying. He is going to die protecting his son (and arguably, one-up Whitebeard), because as we all know, if you want to protect something ya gotta do it right and if you're not willing to make sacrifices you will never gain anything, even if it means losing your own life

That would absolutely give Crocodile's character an amazing character arc, going from an uncaring asshole who was only interested in whatever benefitted him to giving up his own life for the kid he never was there for (which would also arguably be more than what Garp or Dragon ever did, since one never did as much as lift a finger while the other was going to allow his grandchild to be murdered)

Also Crocodile being Luffy's dad would tie his past with Ivankov to his character really well and it'd be a much bigger point than just him being trans for the sake of being trans

Also him having ties to the Revolutionary Army would then also emotionally tie him to Dragon for some Dragon Lore etc and that could then also tie him into the Revolutionary Army-sideplot if we're lucky

Also. Remember how One Piece goes off often about "inherited will". You know what would be cute. Luffy inheriting his father's dream, his will (of becoming Pirate King).

Also other people have pointed this out but in Chapter 824 Luffy gets to see Dragon's face on the newspaper for the first time and comments how Dragon "doesn't look like him". And like. It could be just a funny little comment of no concequence. Some might even look at the comment to fuel their bizarre "Dragon is Xebec" theories (even though Garp is very explicit about Dragon being his son and the two do look alike actually, like Garp and Dragon have the same nose), but like I think about that comment, and then I think about Luffy making that "I don't know 'cause I'm not a Zoan" comment in fucking Punk Hazard when talking to Momo about using his fruit power. And like. LIKE. MAN. I DUNNO Y'ALL BUT LUFFY'S COMMENT ABOUT DRAGON NOT LOOKING LIKE HIM FEELS A LIL SUS (Also notice how Garp, Dragon and Luffy all have shit on the right side of their faces. Like Dragon has his massive tattoo but Luffy and Garp both have those scars under their eyes. And Crocodile just happens to have a matching scar.)

Also this is absolutely inconsequencial but. Like. Crocodile's favorite food is fucking. Crocodile meat and tomatoes. Fucking. MEAT. Just like Luffy. GOD.

I just. Crocodad would make so much sense on an emotional level for the story. It would make so much sense.

But I just. The timeline doesn't make sense at alllllll

#Moon posting #OP Spoilers #Crocodad #Sir Crocodile #I WANT TO BELIEEEEEVE #Trying to give up on Crocodad because there's no way in a million years it'll ever happen #But #I just #It'd be so good #It would make so much sense #I want it to be real so bad #But there's no way. There's no fucking way.#When will this man release me from the death grip he has me in #Only vaguely related but you know how everyone's been speculating Since Forever that Dragon's Devil Fruit would be like Wind or something #You know isn't it funny how one of Crocodile's iconic attacks is creating a sandstorm. Sand. And wind.#Cute #If anybody has any suggestions as to why Crocodile is still an active character in the story then please go ahead and sound off #He really just could've died off-screen at Marineford or during the timeskip if he wasn't somehow important but here he still is #Why the fuck #Why are you still here #Like I love you but why #There's a part of me wondering if there could be like a twist that Dragon isn't Luffy's father at all and it is actually cis male Crocodile #Who just left Luffy in Dragon's hands for some reason #But I don't enjoy theories that require you to invent new characters (and we'd have to invent a mother in this scenario)#And Luffy does look like Baby Garp a lot #(Sidenote: Luffy Dragon and Garp all have F bloodtypes (our A) while Croco is S (our O))#OP Meta

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selfmessages · 11 months

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Miguel O’Hara x reader | reader is referred to as ‘you’

synopsis: he masterbates to you

warnings: gn!reader, masterbation, nsfw[mdmi], sex(not actually), slightly rushed

Miguel can't remember the last time he got laid. It’s pathetic, really. With his looks and build, he could easily get sex from anyone, man or woman. Since he can remember, he’s been using his hand to get any sort of release, stroking his cock to naked bodies with no particular person in mind, but those times are few and far between.

So why? Why is he huddled in his bathroom, fisting his cock, while he has a guest in the other room?

You, of course.

You were the guest in his house, and you were the one he was masterbating to. Miguel isn’t sure when it started; it might’ve been when you first started working for him, all bright-eyed and naive, so painfully eager to work with him, so painfully eager to please him and gain his approval. You weaseled your way into his life and his mind, completely taking over his every thought. If Miguel wasn’t a man of logic and science, he would’ve thought you put a spell on him.

Seriously, what was so goddamn special about you to make him pitch a tent from being in close proximity to you? You had only moved closer to him to show him some research you thought was important, pressing your thigh and shoulder against his.

That. That was all it took for Miguel to abruptly stand up and excuse himself to the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he ran his hands down his face, which would’ve been comical if not for the situation he was in. He looked down at his crotch, seeing his embarrassing bulge present.

Miguel let out a heavy sigh. There was no way he could wait for it to go down; it would take too long, and that would make you suspicious. Miguel shook his head in shame and quickly undid his belt buckle, pulling down his pants just enough for his semi-hard cock to spring out.

He stroked it a couple of times, letting it become fully hard. He closed his eyes and sped up his strokes, biting his lip to keep himself quiet. He tried so hard to keep his thoughts ‘clean,’ trying to revert back to his old ways of picturing faceless nude bodies, but to no avail. Every time he tried, the ‘faces’ would morph into yours. He groans, stroking his cock even faster, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

Unfortunately for him, his mind wanders. Images of you flash through his mind, and he can’t stop himself from thinking about how you would moan. What position would be best to take you in? Would his dick even fit in your tiny hole? How fast could he make you cum? Would you ride him? Miguel grips his cock tighter as pre-cum starts to stain his hands.

He’s over you and fucking you hard. You wrap your arms around his neck as he plows into you. Your back arches and your eyes roll to the back of your head. The sound of your skin slapping together and your moans fill the room. Miguel grips your thighs, pushing them forward too, so he can see his thick cock slipping in and out of your pretty hole.

You can’t help but cry out. "M-Miguel please-!!"

"Shh, don’t cry, you’re taking me so well."

All you can do is moan and mumble incoherent words. He has you completely dumb on his cock. Miguel can’t help but stare at the sight in front of him. Your fucked-out face is truly a sight to behold. Miguel pushes your thighs forward even further, completely folding you in half. He thrusts harder into you as you cry out and clench against him. His thrusts start to get sloppy. He thrusts into you a few more times and-

…

Miguel looked down at his hand. It was completely covered in his cum. He swears that was the most he’d ever cum. He looks around the bathroom and sees tiny stars dance around the room. A sharp knock on the door causes him jump. Your voice rings through the silence.

"Mr. O’Hara, are you alright in there?"

God, you were going to be the death of him.

#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #spider man 2099 #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman #into the spider verse #miguel o’hara x male reader #miguel o’hara x gn reader

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sprout-fics · 10 months

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Breaking and Entering

(John Price x F! Reader)

(Call of Duty Masterlist)

Rating: M Wordcount: 4.2k Tags: Girl Dad Price, Wife Reader, Angst, Fluff, Feral John Price, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, TF141, (Unrealistic interpretations of UK gun laws) Warnings: Home invasions, Deadly use of firearms A/N: AKA the home invasion fic nobody asked for

When your number lights up his phone, Price knows it by heart.

There’s just one problem.

You aren’t supposed to call this one.

He’s in the middle of a briefing when it happens, discussing relevant intel ahead of a mission happening in the imminent future. Arms folded, beside the projector screen, voice taking on his gruff, clipped tone used only to convey orders, information, commands. It’s a late workday, but the intelligence that has just come in is valuable, extremely relevant to the team’s next hunt. As much as Price would like to be home, he can’t be. Duty comes first, and you’ve learned to accept that in him.

His phone rings in his pocket, and he catches Gaz’s face just in time to see the expression of ‘Really, Cap?’ Before he excuses himself, looks at the screen.

It’s you.

Normally he’d have his phone on silent for briefings, but now he’s glad he’s forgotten. He’s told you explicitly that this number is for emergencies, and emergencies only. Short of life or death scenarios, this number is exclusively off limits.

Which means when he sees the number, his heart sinks below his stomach.

He’s answering and moving before your voice even comes through, wordlessly striding from the briefing room and ignoring the questioning calls from his team after him. There’s no preamble to your conversation, and he tries to remove the anger, the fear from his voice when he speaks.

“Where are you?”

“In the bedroom.” You whisper back urgently, and he can hear the tremble in your voice, can practically feel you shaking through the phone. There’s a pause on the other end of the line as he shoves open the doors to the command center towards the direction of the parking lot.

“John.” You whisper again, voice very small, hushed and quiet. “John, there’s someone in the house.”

Price doesn’t freeze despite the cold wash of dread in his veins. There’s only motion under his feet, heart pumping full of adrenaline in his chest, where something fearful, furious, brutal coils in a low growl.

Before he can respond, however, there’s the sudden crash of something on the other line and you whimper.

“Where are the girls?” He demands as he waves off an officer who salutes him as he walks by, swinging his hand so hard the other man flinches.

“In the bathroom. I locked them in, they’re being quiet like their mummy told them.” You reply, and he can hear the growing sob in your throat. You’re terrified, beside yourself, but you don’t say it, don’t tell him how worried you are, how you want him to come home. You know he’s already on his way, you know to be brave, and for a moment Price’s heart swells with the tender affection of pride before it quells when there’s another clatter in the background.

“Hang up and call the police.” He tells you on no uncertain terms, pulling his keys from his jacket and all but racing towards his car.

“I already did. Told them where we are but-”

You pause then, release a low, shuddering exhale that crackles through the phone.

“John, I just wanted to say I love you.”

“Don’t.” He snaps before he can stop himself, gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. “You are going to be fine, you understand me? You and the girls. I’m on my way, the police will get there before I do.”

And if they don’t, there will be hell to pay. He adds silently.

He can hear you suck in a breath to say something next, only to pause.

The stairs creak in the background.

Price floors the gas.

“Get the gun.” Price tells you gravely, flashing his credentials at the gate operator without looking at him. “Can you get to the safe?”

It had become necessary due to the nature of his work to ensure you had a certain level of self-defense for your safety when he wasn’t home. Price had more enemies than he could count, and while he had made every precaution to ensure nobody, not even his team, knew of your existence, he had placed a certain level of insurance with you just in case. The paperwork had been a nightmare to get through, but with the mention of his specific job description, the powers that be had allowed an exception to the laws on weapons, leaving you with a short revolver hidden in a safe in the bedroom.

You don’t answer his query, but Price can hear a rustle, the sound of you moving across the room to the top of the dresser.

Moments tick by, and Price doesn’t speak in the silence, not wanting to offer a single sound that may alert the intruder to where you are. You remain just as quiet, but Price can hear the low, slow click of the safe’s lock as you twist the code into place.

April 22nd. Your eldest’s birthday.

“I’ve got it.” You whisper, barely audible through the phone.

Price sighs in relief, the smoky breath of him curling across the dashboard as he weaves through traffic, speeding tickets be damned.

“Good girl.” He rumbles, trying to keep his voice low, even, reassuring. “Is the door locked?”

“...Yes. Yes.” You reply back, and he swears he can hear the sound of the gun shaking in your hand as you hold it.

“Loaded?” He asks again. There’s a click that is too loud when you open the chamber to check.

“Six bullets.” You murmur, voice a little more even, more level now in a way that makes his heart ease, makes the commanding, logical instinct of his military training activate.

“I want you by the door.” He orders you as if you’re one of his own. “Both hands on the gun, just as I showed you. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” You answer, and that alone, the wry humor you give him nearly has him smile, chuff with affectionate laughter. Yet whatever humor he possesses is terrifyingly absent in this scenario, the one that could very well end with both you and his daughters dead by the time he gets home.

Bloody fucking hell. Where are the bloody cops?

“John…” You whisper then, just a touch louder so he hears you better over the thrum of the engine. “I can’t hear him. I think he’s gone.”

Price allows his eyes to flutter shut for all of a moment, clamping down on the premature relief that rises in his chest.

“Are you sure?” He asks, softer, trying to ease your frayed, tender nerves.

He can hear you swallow over the line, trying to wet your dry throat. “I…I think so.” You tell him at last. “I don’t-”

BANG-!

The sound of the bedroom door being kicked in.

He can hear you scream from the other end of the line, voice rising sharply in panic and terror as another, deeper voice echoes in the background, rising even louder with words he can’t hear. The sound is garbled, unintelligible as your phone drops to the floor. Price can barely hear the sound of his own voice when he shouts for you, words cracking in his throat. The road around him blurs, and he looks to the display on the dashboard to gauge the time until his arrival.

Two minutes.

Two minutes for you to die, for his two beautiful daughters to be killed as they scream for you, two minutes for the undeserved happiness of his life to be stolen from him.

Price yells again, voice desperate, calling your name. There’s the sound of struggle in the background, and you curse at your attacker- feral, untamed, terrified. Like a wild, injured mother animal defending her young from a predator.

Yet before Price can call out for you again, there’s a crunch, another, and the line goes dead.

The world drops out from under him.

The tires of Price’s car screech as he takes the turn into the neighborhood far too quickly, leaning with the inertia of the vehicle as he races down the street towards the house where his whole life is falling apart.

The car lurches to a stop in the middle of the street, Price not bothering to park properly as he tumbles out of the driver’s side door and towards the front step of the townhouse.

BANG-!!

A gunshot.

Price sees the image of your smiling face in a beautiful white dress flash behind his eyes.

The house goes silent.

Price used to be a religious man. His father would drag him to church on Sundays, would insist on his boys dressing proper and maintaining the appearance of good, devout, obedient children. He tried very hard to make himself believe through his adulthood, but in the years spent toiling in the dusty, blood-soaked underbelly of the world, Price has long since convinced himself there is no God left for ruined men like him.

Even so, in this moment, he prays.

The front door is locked, latched tight. The burglar must have come through the back door into the garden. Price calls for you, and it’s a stupid move on his part, alerting the enemy to his position, perhaps startling them enough to give them an opportunity to escape. Yet the silence that greets him has his blood thrumming, deafening in his ears and he kicks, once, twice at the center of the door before the latch buckles and the thing swings open on its hinges.

There’s crying from the bedroom.

There’s no gun on him, too frantic to grab a side-arm before he sped off base. So instead Price reaches for a knife hidden in his pocket, holding it ready in front of him as he slowly ascends the stairs. The crying is louder now, and he can tell it’s younger voices. Whimpers, tearful whispers from his two beautiful girls still locked in the bathroom. Yet the bedroom where you are remains silent, and as Price reaches the top of the stairs he tries to remember whatever saint offers the blessing of protection, safety.

He rounds the corner, and instantly his toes bump against a limp, dead body sprawled on the floor of the bedroom. Price doesn’t look down immediately, trying to steady himself, preparing himself for the sight of his beautiful wife dead at his feet.

A dark hoodie. A surgical mask. A pool of red soaking into the carpet.

It isn’t you.

“John.”

Price looks up, and in the darkness of the bedroom he finds you with your back against the dresser, several drawers half open and spilling their contents onto the floor. You sit, holding the revolver, legs askew on the floor, hands trembling fiercely, shoulders shaking-

Alive.

Price collapses to his knees in front of you, and you whimper into him as he hauls you into his arms. You nearly push at him, still caught the shock of being ambushed, attacked, touched by a man that wasn’t him. When you squirm, Price merely holds you fast against his chest, murmuring low, raspy reassurances until you still.

“Shh, it’s me. It’s me, love. You’re safe. It’s over.”

With one hand, he tucks his blade into his jacket, with the other he slowly removes the weapon from your grip, clicks the safety on, and tucks it to the side, well out of the way. No doubt the presence of the weapon will be a nightmare to deal with when the police arrive, but that’s not his concern right now.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, turning you face up to him in his palms, and he can feel the wetness on your cheeks, can see the liquid stare of you in the darkness of the bedroom. You shake your head, lip trembling but trying not to cry, and it aches at him like nothing else. The hurt is only soothed by the taste of your lips, a desperate kiss, wet with the taste of your tears as you instinctively part for him, allowing a shuddering little gasp to break through. You whimper again, something that sounds like ‘John’, grasp at him a little harder until he tucks you back into his chest.

“T-the girls-” You try, voice cracking, and Price hushes you, rocking just a touch as you try to calm down.

“They’re in the bathroom.” He tells you quietly. “They’re safe.”

You hiccup at that, finally allowing a sob to break free as you cling to him, bury your face into his chest so his shirt stains with tears.

“I-I was so afraid.” You confess, and Price merely tucks you closer to him, hauls you into his arms with the promise of safety.

“I know, love. I know.” He tells you. “You’re safe. You’re alright. You did well, my brave girl.”

You cry a little harder at that, and at last Price hears the sound of sirens at the edge of the neighborhood, racing far too late to where the two of you sit in the darkened bedroom.

He hauls you up into his arms when they arrive, helps you down the stairs and presses you into the arms of a kindly police woman before returning into the house. An officer in a yellow jacket urges him to stay put, but Price snarls in his face, startles him so badly the man takes a step back and pales.

It’s easy to climb the stairs now, to come to the locked bathroom door that shelters his children from the horror they did not witness. As soon as he opens the door they spill into his arms, his two beautiful daughters, weeping against him in wordless blubbers of terror and relief. Yet the first question they ask isn’t about where he was, what has happened, why the police are there. Instead his eldest, at the age of six, her gorgeous eyes the same color as her mother's, stares tearfully up at him and asks: “Where’s mummy?”

“Outside.” He tells her with a gentleness he had forgotten he possessed, hauling her younger sister up into his embrace as she sniffles into his shoulder. “Let’s go see her.”

Yet before he steps back into the bedroom, he kneels down and stares at his brave, eldest girl and tells her: “We’re going downstairs. Don’t open your eyes until you’re outside, understand?”

She does, of course she does. He’s never given her a reason to doubt him, so the both of them squeeze their eyes shut, don’t open them even as Price lifts them over the dead man still laying oozing on the floor.

When they get outside they rush towards you, fresh bouts of tears in their eyes, asking about the blood splattered on your nightgown, staining it crimson. He can see you panic, nearly explaining the truth, before you shakily smile, hold them both in your arms and tell them: “It’s strawberry jam, my loves. Mummy is very silly and spilled jam all over herself.”

It takes the better part of an hour to explain to the police what has happened, to have you checked over by a paramedic, one who offers peppermints to your two girls as they balance at the back of the ambulance. Price entrusts you to them, discussing the situation in low, grave tones with the officers over why they were not as quick to respond as he had hoped. The officer from earlier is defensive at first, tries to puff his chest and explain to Price the logistics of the response, and Price levels him with a mere look of stony, violent anger that instead has the man fumbling for an apology.

It’s that alone that has the man dismiss any possible charges for you, takes one glance at the weapons permit and tips his hat at the captain with a small ‘Sir.’

At long last, after the crime scene tape has been rolled out and the house cordoned off, does Price return to you and the girls, who have calmed down considerably and now doze drowsily on either side of you, still dressed in their pajamas. You lean up into the tender kiss he bestows upon your forehead, murmurs another reassurance there before tilting you into his palms.

“We can’t stay here tonight.” He tells you gently, and you sag in relief.

“A hotel?” You ask, and Price only shakes his head at you, watching your brow wrinkle in confusion.

“I’m taking you to base.” He replies softly, firmly. “No place safer in the world than with me.”

You know it’s true, he can see it in your smile as you gaze up at him, adoring, with a trust he still struggles to tell himself he’s earned.

So you’re bundled into his car alongside your two young girls, the three of you in the backseat as he retraces his path back in the direction of the base. It’s only once you also begin to doze off in the back seat that he hazards a glance at his phone.

Five missed calls, three from Gaz alone, one from Soap, and one from Laswell that’s followed with a text saying “Call me. ASAP.”

He has a lot of explaining to do.

Somehow he manages to talk his way past the gate guard, who looks puzzled at the woman and two girls sleeping in his backseat. Yet he waves Price through, and eventually the four of you arrive at the officer’s quarters. Price manages to hold both of his daughters, one in each arm, with you clinging to his side, hiding your face in his sleeve as you pass the soldiers who pause with long, drawn out stares at the sight before them. It’s an unusual circumstance to say at best, and Price knows he’ll have to corner more than one man tomorrow to ensure their silence on the whole affair. All that matters right now is getting you and the girls to safety, to somewhere the three of you can bunk down and sleep this dreaded evening off.

What Price doesn’t expect to find, however, is three younger SAS agents awaiting him in front of his bunk, leaning against the wall and talking quietly amongst themselves. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost startle at the sight of their captain holding two young girls in their nighties, and a woman at his side with blood not entirely scrubbed from her nightgown.

“...Sir?” Gaz manages tightly after Price silently brushes him aside with little regard, unlocking his door. Yet when Gaz tries to assist the captain shoots him a look. The expression that flits across his sergeant’s face has him regretting it almost instantly, but apologies will have to wait as he ushers you inside. It takes a moment for Price to carefully deposit his sleeping daughters into the neatly made military cot, and when he does he catches your eyes just as you nod to the three men still hovering in the doorway.

It’s with a sigh that Price rubs the back of his neck and turns towards his concerned and puzzled team, clicking the door shut behind him so the conversation does not disturb his family.

“Introductions will have to wait until the morning.” He announces quietly, hearing the fatigue in his own voice. “They’ve had quite the night.”

“You never said you were married.” Soaps blurts out before he can stop himself, and at the look Price gives him in regards to his volume he mildly tacks on a little “...Sir.”

Price allows himself a moment to knead the bridge of his nose, huffing a suffering sigh as he decides what to say next.

“There’s a reason I haven’t told you boys.” He explains at last, looking up. “You know our work. You know the enemies we’ve made, myself more than the rest of you. You know they will exploit every opportunity of ours that they can.”

He levels his team with a severe, grim stare. “I will never allow my family to become one of those opportunities. Understood?”

The silent, unspoken words there ring loudly in the silence that follows.

This is a secret. For the four of us. Do not ever speak of it to anyone else.

He can see them trade glances, still confused, apprehensive, but at least agreeable to Price’s explanation.

“Copy.” Gaz offers quietly at last, and both Ghost and Soap nod as well. Price manages to catch his lieutenant’s stare for a moment, and Simon darts his gaze to the door behind his captain, and then to Price meaningfully, nodding.

Of course Simon would understand the gravity of secrecy that comes with this, Price thinks, and for a moment he regrets not telling his second in command sooner.

“Good.” Price announces summarily after a beat, and the clipped tone of him has the team straighten on instinct. “We can talk more in the morning. Dismissed.”

Ghost nods, about to stride away when he catches Soap about to make further comments, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and tugging him away. Price can hear the Scot grumble in irritation, but obediently follows behind his LT. Gaz stays a little longer, shifting uneasily on his feet.

“Sargeant?” Price asks, and the tone isn’t unkind, still regretting the venom he shot the man earlier.

“Sir.” Gaz begins, eyes cast down to his feet. “...Are they alright?”

It’s that question, the soft, uncertain concern of his sergeant that makes Price’s shoulder go lax, has his breath exit him in a soft, steady sigh. His broad, calloused palm settles on Gaz’s shoulder, making the man look up with a worried, grimaced expression.

“They’ll be fine.” Price tells him, voice dipping low as it does for his own daughters. “They’ve had a bit of a shock, lad. They need to sleep it off, know that they’re safe now. You can help me with that come morning. Understand?”

Gaz brightens at that, always wanting to be useful, to prove himself to the man who has taken him under his wing.

“Of course, Sir.” He offers, reassured, and Price nods.

“Good. Get some sleep. The girls will be a handful tomorrow, I have a feeling I’ll be needing assistance.”

Gaz nods, makes finally to leave, when Price calls him once more.

“Gaz?” He asks, making the man pause. “Call Laswell. Tell her I’ve got three VIPs I’m dealing with. She’ll understand.”

Gaz’s gaze brightens, and Price inwardly cringes, recognizing the error he’s committed. No doubt Gaz and Laswell will be having an extended conversation in his absence about the things he’s failed to mention. Yet Gaz chirps an affirmative and vanishes down the hall before Price can stop him.

When Price returns to his room, the door clicking behind him softly, he admires the sight before him. His two daughters splay across the bed, clinging to your form tucked between them as you hush a lullaby to ease their dreams. Thankfully, they both have managed to fall asleep quickly, likely exhausted by earlier events. The sight of his girls soft, sleepy, blessedly safe in his quarters is nearly enough to bring him to his knees.

You look up at him as he leans on the door, beckoning him into bed. It takes a moment to divest himself of all but his shirt and pants, but eventually Price manages to scoot his way into the narrow cot, hauling his youngest atop his chest to make room. She curls there with a whining, sleepy murmur before falling still once more. A hand settles in her hair, idly stroking as Price coaxes her further into dreams.

Against his side, you scoot so your head lays against his bicep, your eldest daughter now tucked safely between you. It’s a bit awkward, the four of you trying to scrunch together on such a narrow cot, and Price doesn’t doubt that by morning he’ll be sleeping in his desk chair. Yet now, in the soft lull of evening, in the absence of gunshots and dead phone lines, he allows himself to be at peace.

“I nearly lost you.” He finds himself rasping quietly, as if he can still barely understand the thought. You make a sound of dissatisfaction at that, nudging him in disapproval.

“None of that.” You scold quietly, and Price holds his tongue about the fears he wants to say, the pleas for forgiveness he wants to ask of you for not being there when you needed him the most.

“I love you.” He says instead, and despite not being an emotional man, he finds the hollow of his heart aching, empty with regret.

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a part of him that wonders if you’ll return it, if you’ll suddenly realize how selfish he’s been in allowing himself to love you despite his duty.

Instead you turn, grasp at his hand, bring it to your lips in a firm, tender kiss.

“I love you too, Captain Johnathan Price.” You whisper, and Price’s eyes close, chest aching, the world quiet around him, and yet full. When he breathes, it releases as a sighed prayer to the heavens, a plea for mercy for your safety, for his own forgiveness, for the promise of another day, another hour with his family in his arms.

Taglist:

@guyfieriii @zwiiicnziiix @writeforfandoms

#John price x reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader #price x reader #x reader #reader insert #female reader #oneshots #call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #mw2

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 months

Text

SKZ DRABBLE-Minho

Part III of Mafia!Minho, bitches. Saddle up. A/N: I know this isn't SKZ!Pack, but it's been in the works for a looooong time and I wanted you to have it. <3

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Mafia!Minho, Lee Minho, Lee Know, Minho, Y/N, FemReader, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Minho x you, Minho x reader, Mafia AU, Part III, Skz imagines, Skz reactions, SKZ scenarios, Fluff, Angst

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Light Smut

Warnings: Mafia Shit-guns, death, illegal dealings, daddy issues and misogyny, allusions to sexual assault and rape, loss of viriginity, blood. Mentions of previous pregnancy loss, miscarriage, current pregnancy. Breeding Kink, kinda? You'll see. Minho's just REALLY in to pregnant reader. 😂

"He's dead."

His blunt, cold words ricochet around the inside of your head, like a round fired too hastily from a gun, sloppy and dangerous, wounding everything they touch.

There's no way. There's no fucking way.

You say as much.

"That can't be true-"

His face contorts in anger, and he leans down to pinch your chin in a vicious grip that makes you wince, yanking your head back to meet his gaze, hot and pinning.

"It is true. Would you like to see the pictures, girl? The reports from Lim? His blood splattered across the wall?"

You sink to the floor.

Not JinYoung. Not your brother. Fuck, it can't be-

He straightens, releasing his iron grip on you and straightening his suit, glaring down at you with little more than cold disdain in his dark, narrowed eyes.

"He's dead, and you're worthless." He growls out, stuffing his hands into his pockets and considering you with something akin to disgust twisting his features.

Hot tears fill your eyes, and your fists clench in your lap, twisting the fabric of your dress.

You bite your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood, and will yourself not to let a tear fall for him to see.

He scoffs, reaching down once more to take your chin in pinching fingers, making you whimper.

His eyes darken at the sound, as if he's a predator that has sensed weakness in his prey.

"You're worthless to me until you're wed." He hisses out, teeth clenched, muscle in his cheek bulging. "Remember that. You are nothing without a man in this world, girl, nothing."

He releases you without another word or look in your direction, whirling on his heel and stalking down the hallway, slamming the door to his office, probably already on the phone yelling at some poor inferior for killing his son.

You let your chin drop to your chest, and squeeze your eyes shut as you take several harsh, shuddering breaths, clenching and unclenching your fists.

It was his fault JinYoung was dead. His fault you were now all alone.

There was nothing you could do about it, not realistically, but you hated him for it all the same.

********************************************************************************

"You're thinking too much again."

You jump slightly at the sound of Minho's voice, still husky with sleep, his fingers finding the warmth of your bare skin beneath the blankets.

You sigh, wanting to be irritated at his perception when it comes to you, but can't quite manage, not when his fingers are tickling your sides.

"How did you know?"

"Mm." Minho hums beneath his breath, pushing himself up behind where you lie propped on your elbow in the big bed, staring out the window at the slowly rising sun.

His fingers trace up the curling lines of the snake that wraps your spine.

"I know everything about you, princess." He replies in a murmur, fingers still slowly ticking their way up your spine. You hear a slight smile enter his voice. "Well, that, and your thoughts are so loud currently that I feel like you're speaking audibly."

You give another sigh, this one conceding, and feel Minho brush a light kiss across the family crest that marks your shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, princess. I promise you."

You feel panic well into your throat at the surety behind his words.

"It wasn't okay before." You blurt out without really considering, hand tracing down beneath the blankets without thought to rest on the small swell of your belly.

It's normal not to feel any movement yet, you know that, and yet-

Minho's soothing, firm voice sounds in your ear, his warm breath brushing across your cheek, grounding you.

"That was before. This is now."

The surety is still there beneath his words-strong and constant-and yet, the acidic taste of panic is still slowly filling your mouth, making it hard to breathe.

"Princess." Minho says in a low tone, taking not of the rapid rise and fall of your chest. "Look at me."

His hand snakes around the front of your throat, and he gently squeezes with his fingers, angling your head back until you're staring up at him, his gaze serious and dark.

You drink him in like you're parched and he's the only water source-the soft curve of his lips, the upper fuller than the lower, the tan sheen of his skin, the sharp angles of his face, the dark wave to his tousled hair, the black ink trailing across his upper chest and arms, teasing at his throat, the pink, fading scars littered across his otherwise flawless flesh.

Minho is the only thing in this moment that's keeping you sane, and you hold onto that thread with a desperate fervency that frightens even yourself.

The corner of his mouth curves slightly as he stares at you, one hand around your throat to keep you in place, the other slipping beneath the blankets to cover your own where it rests on your bare belly.

You glance down, and the sight of his inked fingers covering your own calm the hammering of your heart.

"It's going to be okay." Minho repeats softly, firmly. "Whatever happens, princess, we're going to be okay."

You stare up at him and force a shuddering breath from your lungs, your fingers intertwining with his own.

"Okay." You whisper back with finality, because whatever happens, with Minho here, you're going to be okay.

********************************************************************************

You pause, hand splayed on the cool, carved wood of the door, and glance behind you to where Minho stands, several feet back, lingering in the mouth of the darkened hallway.

"You're not coming in?" You question softly, hesitantly, sudden butterflies swarming in your stomach.

Minho arches a brow, leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable.

"Do you want me to go with you?" He queries back, voice low and neutral.

You hear the quiet chatter of men's voices from beyond the door, the clink of glasses, and a shudder of fear goes down your spine at the thought of facing them alone.

"I don't know-" You stutter out, staring at him, trying to get a read through your suddenly mounting panic. "I just thought I need-"

You.

You don't finish the sentence, the words dying in your throat, and Minho's expression shifts slightly, his eyes darkening, his lips pulling into a serious line.

"Princess." He steps toward you, reaching out, and his fingers creep beneath your chin, tilting your head back to meet his gaze.

His features soften slightly, and he takes in a slow breath.

"I will always stand beside you, I will always be here whenever you want me, but let me make one thing very clear-you do not need me."

You stare up at him, words thick on your tongue, and the corner of his mouth quirks into the hint of an amused curve.

He lets a finger stroke along your chin, his voice dropping slightly even as his eyes grow fiery.

"You do not need me-or any other man-to make you powerful. You are powerful entirely on your own, and it is a beautiful sight to behold."

You take in a shuddering, sharp inhale, his fervent words settling into your bones, and let your fingers slide beneath the cuffs of the expensive suit he wears, tracing the ink you know is hidden there.

Minho smiles. "Who do you think runs the criminal world, darling? It's not the men. We're the face, yes, but behind every great man is an even greater woman."

He tilts your chin once more, and you let your head fall against the door behind you, staring up at him openly now.

He reaches out, and brushes a stray hair from your forehead with gentle fingers.

His skin is warm, and you lean into his touch, as he presses his lips to the flesh just below your ear, brushing a kiss there as he utters beneath his breath, for only you to hear, "Women mask lethality behind femininity, and it is their greatest weapon. You are not powerless, princess, no, far from it. You do not need anyone, because you are the queen."

He presses another kiss against your throat, right above your fluttering pulse, and pulls back.

You stare at him for another moment, and then straighten the gown you wear.

"You're right. I have the power here."

A smirk flickers across Minho's lips, his eyes heating with admiration as he watches you.

He jerks his chin toward the door and the voices beyond.

"Yeah, you fucking do. Remind them who's the queen. Give them hell, princess."

********************************************************************************

"Yeong-ah." Changbin whines, stamping his foot impatiently where he stands beside the island, a dramatic pout on his face. "You're taking too long!"

Yeong-Ja giggles at his antics, glancing up from pulling on her second shoe. "I'm almost done, Uncle Binnie!"

You hide your smile behind a sip of coffee, as Chan appears, tossing the car keys to Changbin-who catches them easily- before crouching down to finish helping Yeong-Ja with her shoe.

"Thanks, Uncle Channie!" Yeong-Ja beams, bouncing to her feet beside him, as Chan grins and straightens, patting her head.

"You're welcome, Yeong-ah." He straightens the bow in her hair, before he glances to Changbin, already standing in the door way, keys in his hand. "Now, let's get going huh? Your mom and dad have a very important appointment today, and we have puppies to see."

"Okay, Uncle Channie!" Your daughter's face lights up at Chan's words, as she slips her hand into his, her tiny fingers curling around his own, dark with black ink, reminiscent to Minho's.

It never ceases to amaze you how gentle and loving all these big mafia men are with your daughter.

"Oh, fuck me." Minho grumbles beneath his breath at Chan's statement, brow furrowed in a sour expression, as he leans against the counter beside you and takes a long gulp of his own coffee.

You hide another grin behind the rim of your cup.

Chan glances up at Minho's muttered curse, ever sharp, ever alert, and gives your husband a crooked grin, brow arched.

"What do you say, boss? What color of puppy do you want? Brown or Black?"

Minho levels the other man with a glare, as Yeong-Ja bounces excitedly beside him.

"I could not care less, Christopher."

Changbin grins broadly from the doorway, enjoying the little goading match from afar.

"Ah, c'mon. Don't you want a matching set?" He motions with a jerk of his head toward Suwon, currently sleeping under the large kitchen table. The black Doberman barely raises his head at the commotion.

Minho takes another drink from his coffee.

"The only matching set I want is you and Chan's heads on sticks."

"Sorry, boss!" Changbin calls, ignoring Minho's dark threat entirely, a grin slipping across his lips as he twirls the jangling keys around his finger, turning toward the door. "Can't hear you. Gotta go."

"Okay, on that note-" Chan clears his throat, coughing over a chuckle, as he herds your daughter toward the door. "-let's get going."

"Bye mommy, bye daddy!" Yeong-Ja calls over her shoulder with a little wave, before she disappears, dwarfed between the two large men.

Changbin throws one last amused, knowing look over his shoulder in Minho's direction, giving a cheeky little wave, before they all leave from sight.

"Fuck." Minho swears vehemently beneath his breath and promptly moves around the counter to dump the rest of his coffee down the sink.

********************************************************************************

"He's going to ask to see her again, you know."

Minho glances up from his phone to meet your gaze from across the backseat of the car, his expression darkening slightly at your words, and the open worry etched across your face.

He tucks his phone back into the pocket of his suit coat, and slides across the seat to sit beside you, hand coming down to rest on your own.

"And my answer will be the same as it always is." He replies back in a hushed, but dangerously serious, tone, his fingers squeezing your own. "When he comes to see her as his granddaughter, and not just as an heir to a massive criminal empire, then he can meet her."

You take in a shaky breath and glance out the window.

The roads are becoming familiar, you're close to your father's estate.

"Princess."

Minho's cool fingers tilt your chin back to him, making you meet his gaze. The corner of his lip curls into the hint of a smile.

"You do not reside on your knees for him any longer. He has no power left to lord over you."

You take in another breath, and will the butterflies to soothe in your belly.

You give Minho a small, shaky smile, and squeeze his hand. The metal of his rings are cold, grounding, against your palm.

"I know."

"If anything-" Minho glances past you as you pull into the long drive, your father's opulent mansion rising quickly in the distance.

He gives you a smirk and an arch of his brow as you turn into the gate.

"-now that you have myself and all my resources at your disposal, he should be absolutely terrified of you."

The car comes to a stop, and Minho slides out, straightening his jacket and offering you his hand.

You take in another steadying breath, holding onto his arm as you walk toward the entrance of your childhood home.

The door swings open as you approach, and your father appears, stepping onto the top step of the staircase, watching the two of you with a penetrating gaze.

You resist the urge to shudder under that look you know so well.

Minho pulls you up the stairs with him, his steps confident, and you try to borrow some of his courage, stiffening your back and shoulders as your father steps to meet you both, a fake, overly large smile sliding into place across his pale, thin lips.

Of course he would greet you personally, no butler was good enough for Lee Minho, not when you were trying to keep up appearances.

"Ah, there he is, my son-in-law, man of the hour." Your father extends a hand, and Minho shakes it, though you can see by the slight tic of the muscle in his jaw that he doesn't enjoy the contact.

To his credit, your husband does a hell of a good job putting on a front, his slight smile in your father's direction much more believable than the man's who raised you.

"Boss Park. A pleasure, as always."

Your father doesn't even glance in your direction, motioning for Minho to follow him into the cooled, dimly lit air of the front entrance hall.

You can hear a record playing from somewhere farther within the mansion, probably your father's office.

"Now." Your father waves away an approaching maid, and she scurries to grab an empty tray, headed for the kitchen. He turns, that same sickly smile on his face, and rubs his hands together gleefully. "Shall we get straight to business then?"

"You know I don't enjoy small talk." Minho inclines his head to your father, who takes that as a yes to his previous question.

"Of course." He motions for Minho to move down the hallway, his arm extended. "I'll have Maria bring us refreshments in the parlor. Shall we?"

Minho's hand moves to the small of your back, warm through the thin material of the dress you wear, coaxing you forward with him as he moves to step past your father.

You're thankful for the support, you worry the trembling of your legs will give you away.

"Ah, ah, ah." Your father holds out his arm, stopping your forward motion, and for the first time since you arrived, his eyes flit to you, the corners of his lips curling up into something akin to a disgusted sneer. "You know the rules of my household, daughter. Women are not allowed in business meetings. You can wait here. Catch up with that little maid and the old household cook you were so fond of growing up."

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, and something triumphant flashes across your father's dark gaze.

He knows that the cook you were 'so fond of growing up' was executed-shot in the garden while you were made to watch-on his order.

Can't have your daughter getting too close to the help now, can you? Not when secrets could be spilled, reputations dirtied.

Minho is talking, his voice fuzzy through your panicked memories, and you blink, focusing in on what he's saying, staring your father down with a serious, almost deadly, expression.

"I'm sorry, Boss Park, but when your daughter married me, she became my wife, and where I go, my wife goes. Those are my household rules. You understand."

Your father's lips part as his gaze flicks to you once more, as if he's thinking about disagreeing with Minho, but the flash of threat in Minho's dark eyes must convince him otherwise, because he plasters a strained smile onto his face and laughs, throwing his hands out.

"Of course. My apologies. Right this way then."

Minho glances at you, giving you a small reassuring smile, before he squeezes your hand, and you fall into step behind your father.

********************************************************************************

"Try to relax, (Y/N)."

Your doctor gives you a kind smile, the ultrasound wand posed and ready above your bare belly, the screen tilted toward the bed.

You swallow hard and nod, trying to focus on relaxing the tense muscles of your entire body one by one.

Minho squeezes your fingers where he crouches beside the bed, keeping up the pressure until you glance at him, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth as you worry it incessantly.

He reaches out to free the raw skin from your hold.

"Breathe, baby." He admonishes quietly, inked fingers stroking your knuckles in a reassuring pattern.

"Ready?" Your doctor asks, glancing between the two of you, lowering the wand slowly as she waits for your go ahead.

You stare at the blank, dark screen behind her, and try not to vomit.

"I'm scared." You admit to Minho in a whisper, hand tightening around his own, your breath coming slightly erratically now.

Minho pushes himself to his feet without a word, releasing his hold on your hand, and you almost reach out to grab for him again, before you realize he's sliding behind you on the bed, tugging you back against the warmth of his chest, his arms going around your shoulders protectively as he tucks your head beneath his chin.

"What did I tell you before, princess?"

You swallow again, gaze darting to your waiting doctor, and the screen beyond her shoulder.

"That it's going to be okay."

"Mm. Good girl." Minho hums a sound of approval in his throat, and you feel his lips brush across your forehead. "And it's going to be."

You take in a shuddering breath, and then give a little, jerky nod.

Minho's fingers find your own once more, and you feel him lift his chin from your head, glancing at the doctor.

She must see what she needs to in his gaze, because with a nod of her own, she finally touches the ultrasound wand to your belly.

Your body tenses at the contact as she begins to move the wand around slowly, her gaze laser focused on the screen.

Minho reaches his hand around to the front of your throat, his fingers finding purchase beneath your chin, and you don't resist him as he tips your head back, guiding you to meet his gaze.

"Just look at me, baby. Deep breath."

You force your chest in and out-once, twice-and Minho gives a nod of approval, leaning down to kiss your forehead once more.

"Good girl."

There is quiet, you don't know how long it's been since the doctor started her exam, and you feel your stomach twist, bile burning your throat, the longer the oppressive silence drags on.

Fuck, shouldn't you have heard something by now?

What if-

"Ah, there we go." The doctor murmurs, almost to herself, and suddenly, the sound of a heartbeat-fast and fluttering, like a hummingbirds wings, echoing the frantic pace of your own-fills the room.

Minho grins down at you, and you see the relief flash across his eyes as the heartbeat continues, strong and steady. "See? Nothing to worry about."

Your body sags with relief, and you glance at the screen beyond the doctor's shoulder-no longer dark-a shimmering, spiking line flickering constantly across the monitor in perfect time with the rapid heartbeat.

"Baby sounds perfect." Your doctor continues, smiling up at the two of you, as she moves the wand around and the heartbeat heightens a little. "Right on track."

"Oh my god." You breathe out, putting a trembling hand up to your mouth, sudden hot tears filling your eyes. "Fuck."

Minho laughs a little, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his arms squeezing you protectively.

His next exhale comes out more than a little shaky.

"Fuck indeed, baby. Fuck indeed."

************************************************************************

There is blood.

Blood smearing the inside of your legs, blood pounding hard in your ears, blooding staining the disgusting cock of the man looming over you, leering.

You glance to the door where your father had disappeared, giving his men free reign over you, some sort of lesson, and you know, deep down, that there is blood on his hands too.

But unlike the crimson marking you and the man creeping in, it's not the visible kind.

There is blood.

Dripping down between your fingers, coating your palms in slick red, so thick and so ingrained that even the running water is not enough to wash it away, not completely.

You scrub frantically at your hands, but the crimson only seems to multiply, filling the cracks and seeping into the edges of your vision.

You are hyperventilating, your chest heaving, tears streaming down your cheeks, and without your bidding, your gaze slides back to the man on the floor.

Dead.

Lying in a quickly congealing pool of blood and slaughter, your bucket and rag left hastily beside his blown out head.

The rag is already wet and sopping with blood, even after only one quick stroke across the cement.

You lean over the sink and vomit.

There is blood.

You can feel it, pooling beneath your hips, but you're too scared to look beneath the covers, too sure of what you'll find, your heart already shattering in your chest.

You feel sick to your stomach, and the cramping is worsening.

Rolling to your side, you curl your body into the safety of the fetal position, and try to drown out the low murmur of the doctor's voice from the other side of the room.

Screwing your eyes shut, you keep it all inside, and scream with rage where no one will hear.

There is blood.

Flecked across the tawny skin of his cheekbones, spattering the front of his white dress shirt, his prized shoes, congealing and blending with the dark ink that flows across his knuckles until they are almost one.

He steps toward you, and you run to him without a second thought, terrified enough that the breath in your lungs refuses to leave, not until you've got your hands on him and made sure he's all right.

Your bodies collide, and Minho holds you up as a sob tears from between your lips.

You reach up and put your palms on either side of his face, the crimson splatters, sprinkled across his nose like morbid freckles, accentuating the gold flecks that flash in the dark recesses of his eyes.

Minho's lips twist into the hint of a smile.

"It's not mine, princess. Don't worry."

You feel your lungs collapse, your chest caving, and you throw your arms around him violently, never willing to let him leave your grasp again, at least for tonight.

************************************************************************

There is blood.

You step around the puddle on the floor with nothing more than a disinterested glance, your sneakers squeaking on the concrete.

Behind you, Felix makes a muffled sound of disgust in the back of his throat.

"God, they really need to clean up down here."

You glance over your shoulder at him, as he steps around the bloody puddle on the floor with an open look of horror on his face, a grin breaking free from your lips.

You wait for him to catch up to you, and link your arm in his as you continue down the long hallway.

"C'mon, Lixie. I think it's charming."

He gives you an arch of his brow, and you laugh a little.

The interoggation rooms built beneath the mansion serve a purprose-regardless of how dark-and honestly, you're grateful Minho had thought of them.

It's a way to keep the men you hold dear close enough that you know they're not in danger while they do their jobs.

Plus, hearing the screams when you come down here can be therapeutic in a way.

"Besides-" You reach the end of the hall and stop in front of the door there, glancing over at the man beside you as you reach for the knob. "I guarantee, when they come down here, cleaning is the last thing on Changbin and Chan's minds."

Felix rolls his eyes. "Savages."

You grin once more, and roll the door knob in your hand, pushing the door inward easily.

"It's why we love them."

You step into the room, Felix close on your heels, and as the door shuts behind you, your eyes flicker around the small chamber, taking everything in.

Chan is standing against the far wall beside Changbin, muttering something to him rapidly in a low voice.

There's a wall of instruments on the north side, anything from clamps to syringes, all used to get enemies talking.

And in the center of the room, a hunched form of a struggling man, bound to a chair, face covered with a sack.

You can just make out the muffled swears coming from beneath the rough fabric.

You take a step into the light that beams down on the man, encircling him in the gloom, and Chan and Changbin push up from the wall as one, their chatter ceasing immediately.

Changbin grins at you dangerously, as Chan rolls his head from side to side, waiting for your instructions.

Felix, silent as a ghost, leans against the door behind you, watching.

You tilt your head toward the man.

"Show me his face."

"Gladly." Changbin's teeth gleam sharply, as he leans forward and rips the cover roughly off the man's head.

The man looks around, disoriented, his long, gray hair wild, eyes wide and white with fear, the gag held between his teeth stained with spittle.

You feel a spark of fear light in your stomach at the sight of his face-older now, lined, but still recognizable-but force it back down with a long breath, stepping closer calmly, until the man's frantically roving eyes land on you.

"Take off his gag."

Chan steps up silently now, untying the gag at the back of the man's head, and as soon as it's loose enough, the man spits it out, licking his dry, chapped lips, as he glances between you and the men surrounding him with fury in his eyes.

"What the fuck is this? Who do you think you are? I could have you thrown to the bottom of a lake so no one would find your bodies, you know-"

You tsk your tongue in disapproval, and the man halts his tirade, his eyes narrowing, his weaselly features sharp.

"Empty threats." You sigh, stepping toward him, cocking your head as you study him.

He's shrunk after all these years, his skin almost paper thin, his hair greasy.

The eyes are the same though.

Hungry, predatory, evil.

His lips lift into the start of a snarl, revealing yellowing teeth.

"I don't know who you think you are, you bitch, but I assure you-"

Changbin's hand tangles into the man's stringy hair, yanking his head back roughly, shutting him up.

"Shut the fuck up, old man. Watch your tongue." He growls, glaring down at the man, his eyes blurring with tears as Changbin tugs once more on his hair painfully hard. "Or else I'll make sure that what she does to you will feel like mercy when I'm done with you."

He shoves the man's head forward, and he sputters, trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving, spittle flying from his lips.

Chan steps around the chair and holds out a knife toward you, his brow arched.

You take it without hesitation, and play with the razor sharp tip for a moment, ticking it off your fingertips as you study the man, lost in thought.

He glares up at you, his eyes full of hatred.

You almost laugh.

Oh trust me, not as much hatred as I hold toward you, Wu Chen.

You sigh, a long suffering sound, and address the man sitting, still now, before you.

"Do you recognize me, Mr. Wu?"

His dark eyes flash with something full of anger, but no recognition crosses his murderous gaze.

"Why should I?"

You cluck your tongue in annoyance, glancing up from the gleaming knife held in your hands.

"You took something from me once."

A brief flash of confusion swirls with the fury, and then his jaw clenches, his features going hard.

He gives a humorless laugh.

"I've taken things from a lot of people." His eyes glint with the predator, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he lets his gaze fall down the length of your body. "Quite a few of them delicious, mouthy little cunts such as yourself."

He's trying to unnerve you.

It's not working.

You've given him enough fear for one lifetime already.

No more.

You step forward, and lean over him, your hand going on the back of the chair, the knife held alert between the two of you, dangerously close to his jugular.

His eyes flick down to the steel, and you don't miss the way his throat bobs with a swallow.

"You took something. Long ago. Took something from someone who couldn't fight back. Something that was never yours to begin with. Do you remember what that was, Mr. Wu?"

Your voice is quiet, steady, but venomous and deadly as a viper waiting to strike.

His eyes meet yours, and when it's clear he's not going to respond, you sigh, sliding the knife up the column of his throat slowly, watching as the crimson appears in the shallow cut you leave behind.

He flinches, but remains quiet.

"A girl." You continue, voice dropping to nothing more than a deadly murmur.

Something like recognition flashes in the dark of his eyes, and suddenly, the man sitting bound before you looks a hell of a lot more nervous than he did before.

You let a small smirk flick the corner of your lips, as you lean back, taking the knife away from his throat.

"She wasn't strong enough to fight you back then. But she is now."

You lift your chin at Chan, and he steps around in front of your prisoner, leaning over to rip open the closure of his suit pants.

"What, what are you doing?" He splutters, immediately writhing in the chair once more, as Chan proceeds to easily tear his pants open, baring thin, scarred legs to the cold air of the room.

Changbin steps up as Chan finishes and goes around the chair, back to his side, holding the man still with firm hands on his shoulders as you approach once more.

You lean over, and easily shred the boxers he wears with one quick flick of your wrist that holds the knife.

The man before you screams and struggles, as his shrunken, shriveled cock springs free for all to see.

"Mm." You hum in your throat thoughtfully, staring at the man and his member with consideration. "It's a lot smaller than I remembered."

Changbin leans over the man's shoulder to get a look and grins, his eyes glinting.

You glance back to your prisoner, and a smirk curves your lips as he cries out in terror, fighting against his bonds and the hold of Changbin's hands.

You step closer and hold up the knife for him to see, the metal glinting in the overhead light.

"No, no, please-" He flails, begging pathetically, but you ignore him, angling the knife expertly as you close in.

The smirk doesn't leave your lips, as you arch a brow and stare down at the writhing, pathetic excuse of a man before you.

Your voice is steady when you speak, rising above the sound of his pleas.

"You took something precious from me, Mr. Wu. Now it's time for me to take something from you."

************************************************************************

You hear Minho before you see him.

The door to the bedroom sounds, and the room is immediately filled with curses and general angry lamentations as he struggles to get through the crack he's made in the door without letting the dogs on the other side in with him.

You can hear him yelling all the way from the ensuite bathroom.

"Get back, you hairy fuckers!-Jesus-Suwon, don't do that, you damned beast!-fuck-and you! Fucking bane of my existence!-ow-Give me back my fucking shoe and go find a ball, you damned fucking demon hound!"

The door finally slams, and you hear rapid paws head down the hall on the other side, Suwon and the new puppy, probably in search of Yeong-Ja.

Minho appears then in the doorway of the bathroom, looking frazzled, a lone dress shoe held in his hand, his lips smashed into a thin line of rage.

You try to hide your smile, glancing at him over your shoulder, as you continue to ready to get in the already running shower.

"Have a bit of a struggle, Boss Lee?" You query innocently, eyes wide as you regard him, like you haven't just heard everything that occurred.

He swears under his breath and tosses the chewed shoe into the trash, reaching up to swipe a hand through his disheveled hair with an agitated rake of his fingers.

"Fucking dogs. That fucking puppy is even worse than Suwon was."

You grin now, turning toward him, and his eyes trail down your naked body, catching on the prevalent bump that now takes up your midsection.

"Baby, Bohoja will learn, just like Suwon did. You won't be stuck with ruined shoes forever."

"Mmm." Minho hums something like distracted agreement under his breath, his eyes still on you, as if he's lost his train of thought and is no longer thinking about the hellhounds that roam the halls. "He had better. Or I'll have Chan's head on a stick." He takes a step toward you. "But that's not what I came to talk about."

You arch a brow, playing innocent for awhile longer.

"Oh? What did you come to talk about then, husband?"

His eyes darken predatorially at the lilting tease to your voice, a challenge, and he growls, closing the space between you, his hand going up to grip your chin.

Your bare chest brushes his through the material of the dress shirt he wears, and you can already feel his arousal, long and rock hard against your leg.

It makes you want to shiver, even though the steamy bathroom is more than a little warm.

His eyes trace up your body once more, and then flick to your face, catching on your cheekbone, before he reaches up with his free hand to brush something on your skin.

You lean into his touch, brushing your lips over the inked skin of his knuckles.

"You have blood on your face, princess."

You arch a brow. "Does that turn you on?"

Minho's eyes flash dark, dangerous, and his lip curls up to reveal a flash of his teeth, his voice a husky growl in the back of his throat.

"Incredibly."

You smirk, and he stares at you for another moment, hunger clear in his eyes, and you think maybe he'll give in and take you right here, against the bathroom counter, but instead, he sighs, and lets his free hand tangle into your hair, tilting your head back so your gaze meets his.

"You found him then."

It's a statement, not a question.

You nod. "Yes."

Minho's brow arches, and the corner of his mouth lifts into the start of a smirk.

"And?"

You sigh, pulling from his grasp as you step away, turning back when you reach the waiting shower.

Minho hasn't moved, watching your every move.

Eyes locked on his, you step backward into the flowing water, and it immediately coats your skin in hot rivulets, making everything slick.

You arch a brow, watching the predatory look come back into Minho's eyes as the water wets your skin, pooling in streams down between your breasts, your thighs.

You cock your head, as if considering, and then say without preamble, "And I cut off his pathetic excuse for a dick. I gave it to cook. She's going to make a fancy pate out of it and feed it to the dogs."

Minho breathes out, you see it in the way his chest rises and falls and then he's striding to the open air shower, ripping his tie off as he comes, stepping into the stream of water in the rest of his clothing without a second thought.

He takes your chin in a bruising grip with one hand, and snakes his other hand down between your thighs.

Your breath hitches as he touches the wetness there, just for him.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful, princess." He grits out, tilting your head back so that he can look into your eyes while he finger fucks you.

"So you tell me." You try to give him a teasing smile, but the expression is lost as your mouth parts and a gasp escapes your lips when he curls his fingers.

"No, I mean-" He backs you against the wall with his body, the water drenching the shirt he wears, you can see his tan skin and the ink across his chest through the wet material, and lets his gaze travel appreciatively down your length once more. "-you're always fucking beautiful, but god-"

He groans gutturally , leaning into you, mouth open against your own, as he hits a spot that has you gripping onto him, keening audibly.

"-there's something so incredibly fucking sexy about you when you're pregnant."

His words send a thrill of heat straight to your core.

"Take this off." You practically beg, pawing uselessly at his shirt, and he pulls his hand away from you to undo the buttons, tugging it open impatiently, as you reach down to free him of his pants.

You're eager for him to take you, to claim you, but instead of immediately finding purchase inside you, Minho drops to his knees in front of you, and runs his hands reverently over your swollen belly, glancing up at you through the streams of water.

His hair is dark, dripping, and you bury your fingers into it.

"I put this here. You, carrying my kid, princess-" He takes in a deep breath, his fingers still caressing your skin. "Fuck, now everyone knows who you belong to. Everyone knows you're mine."

You stare down at him, this man on his knees for you, this man who has given you everything-and you smile.

"I don't think there was ever any doubt about who I belonged to, Lee Minho. It's always been you."

Minho surges to his feet and covers your mouth with his own, your tongues tangling instantly, your body melting into his, his fingers finding you once again right where he left off, making you jolt against him and gasp in pleasure.

"What do you want?" He asks, voice husky, gravely, against your lips.

"You." You breathe back, hand already trailing down between your two bodies to find him. Your fingers close around him, and Minho shudders. "All of you. Always."

"You have all of me, princess. Always." He repeats in a hoarse voice, before he sheathes himself fully inside of you without warning, making you both cry out.

And you know he means it.

************************************************************************

"Ow." You huff beneath your breath, shifting on the chaise, as Yeong-Ja looks up from playing with the puppy on the floor in front of the fire.

"What's wrong, mommy?"

You give her a smile that's more like a grimace as the baby kicks you strongly again, foot sinking up under your ribs.

"Baby brother is just kicking me, that's all, baby. I'm okay."

Yeong-Ja immediately turns back to Bohoja, teasing him with a rope toy.

"'Baby brother'?" Minho queries, leaving his desk and sliding in beside you on the sofa, his arm going around you as he pulls you close.

You smile, glancing up at him. "Just a feeling."

Another kick, another curse under your breath.

"Fuck. Minho. Tell your son to behave please."

Minho chuckles, burying his nose in your hair and breathing you in, his hand sliding down to rest on the apex of your stomach.

"Sorry, princess. You know how we Lee men are."

The baby kicks again against his palm, and Minho curves his fingers along the curvature of your belly, as if holding the unborn baby close from the outside.

You sigh, and snuggle back into him.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Well-" You acquiesce, stifling a yawn as you lean your head on his shoulder, and watch Yeong-Ja playing happily with the puppy, Suwon dozing near by. "-I'd better get used to it then, because I wouldn't have them any other way."

You feel the warmth of Minho's breath as he buries his face once more in your hair, holding you close.

"I love you, princess. And the murderous little creature currently growing in your womb."

You grin and kiss his chest through the thin material of his dress shirt.

"I love you too, Boss Lee."

Love.

There is so much love.

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biteofcherry · 1 month

Text

Am I curled in bed, suffering the curse of period, daydreaming about Snowpiercer AU?

Restoring balance

Curtis Everett x female reader

Curtis Everett Masterlist

Main Masterlist

warnings: dystopian world; harsh conditions; mostly consensual (sliiightly dub-con due to apocalyptic circumstances forcing you to accept certain deals); size kink; breeding kink (obviously, since it's me);

You're one of the people who survived out in the world, not on the train and you've been living in a cottage that's now mostly rickety, but you have a cellar where you store many preserves and you have a small garden with a greenhouse where you grow plants which you then barter with other survivors;

Then one day a small group of train survivors come raiding your place and the idiots attempt to steal from you, ripping even the unripe tomatoes from the bushes, so you attack one of them with a fork and end up being dragged away to their compound, where they drop you onto your knees in front of the biggest, most dangerous looking man you've ever seen;

Curtis frowns and asks what's that all about. His men complain that you attacked them, to which you sneer that you are always open to barter your produce, but you won't let anyone steal from you, or ruin your plants.

Curtis takes the crate they've stolen and walks you back to your cottage, where he surveys the place and closely surveys you, too;

he asks what you'd like to barter that crate for and you point at your old stove and ask if he has parts that could fix it. He agrees and offers a bonus-

closes the distance between you two, trapping you against the old kitchen table

Curtis asks how long has its been since you felt pleasure and you boldly tilt your chin up and blurt out that you give yourself plenty of orgasms and are satisfied with that.

He takes your small hand in his large palm, comparing your sizes, and makes a comment how better it could feel, if your tight pussy got to stretch around something bigger than your nimble fingers

then cups your face and asks when was the last time you've been kissed

a fleeting thought about the first kind of making out with your then boyfriend enters your mind, but it instantly dissolves when Curtis claims your mouth.

You don't remember any kiss to ever feel like this, or any boy to hold you in place with such stoic confidence. It gets you weak in the knees, your breath quickening as Curtis growls into the kiss, turning it more insistent

he lifts you onto the table and tugs down your pants; fingers dipping between your thighs as his mouth descends down your neck

Curtis was right about the size of his fingers feeling so much better than yours, but it's also been so long that the pleasure rides the edge of discomfort and pain;

he's relentless, pumping into you as he forces you flat on your back and rips your shirt. He drives you to the edge, curling his fingers and circling your clit with his thumb, his mouth sucking on your pebbled nipples, teeth grazing sensitive peaks

then he's yanking his own pants open, releasing his painfully hard cock with a groan

When he thrusts into you, your scream echoes through the small cottage. Not even his fingers could've prepared you for that monster of a cock.

He fucks you roughly, mouthing on your breasts, covering them in saliva. His fingers grip all over, mapping out your body through the layers of fabric

when you come - back arched, fingers clenching on the lapels of Curtis' thick wool coat - it feels like true little death as the blinding pleasure ripples with a sting of pain in your unused pussy

Curtis stays buried inside you, groaning in delight as your walls flutter around his cock. But when your aftershocks subside, he's pulling you off the table and pushing you down to your knees

he finishes in your mouth, grabbing the back of your head and keeping you still as he empties down your throat.

He helps you up a moment later, steadying you as you lightly sway. He announces that from now on you will barter only with him.

The next day he comes with parts for the stove, which he fixes himself. You deem it worthy of the whole crate of produce, but warn Curtis that you need time for new vegetables and fruit to grow.

He comes back as agreed, bringing you a full roll of thick, warm fabric and a sewing kit. Since he ruined some of your clothes and the rest of your wardrobe needs care, too, you agree to exchange another portion of your produce, including two jars of preserves

it's also your sneaky way to assure yourself business for the period when fresh vegetables aren't available.

You give Curtis your hand to shake on your new transaction. He smirks, but takes it. Then swiftly turns you around and bends you over the sink.

This time he goes down on his knees, spreading your asscheeks and licking your pussy in reverence. He's damn skilled at making you drip, but the wetter you get, the hungrier for you he becomes

when you squeak "Enough" after the second time he makes you cum, Curtis slaps your ass and sucks on your clit so hard you break into tears;

he finishes all over your back and ass, rutting his cock between your sticky thighs first.

The next time he brings a new sheet of glass for the cracked one in your greenhouse, as well a package of fresh venison. It's been at least two years since you ate meat, so you don't argue much with Curtis when he asks for three jars of your preserves along with a basket of potatoes

it also seems fair to let him fuck your face, until you're a sobbing mess and he spills all over your face.

Each time Curtis visits, you try to compose yourself as blood rushes south to ignite fire in your core. You tell yourself that seeing him is exciting, because it means survival - ensuring you have provisions

But also each time he leaves, you spend the next weeks replaying in your head the things he's done to you as you drive yourself to orgasms.

When Curtis comes to you three months into your agreement, there's a certain smugness to his tone and his haunted, blue eyes shine a happy kind of spark

there's a reason for his satisfaction and it leaves you gasping in awe as he presents you with two living chickens. No, a chicken and a rooster.

"For this-" Curtis starts, diverting your attention back to him

"Ten jars!" You blurt instantly, ready to agree to a full crate of vegetables, as well. Because the chickens would be greatly profitable for you.

Curtis chuckles, shaking his head. He slips off his coat and lays it over the small cage in which he brought the birds in. He moves around the table, standing between you and the cage.

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up

"For this," his tone drops to a low, dark caress, "you'll let me finish in your pussy."

Your intake of breath is sharp, your pupils widen.

There are many arguments for rejecting Curtis' demand, but they chaotically bump somewhere in the back of your head, while your tongue lies speechless.

"With a chick and a rooster, you'll be able to have eggs to barter, but also eggs to hatch." He points out. "In time you'll get more eggs and more meat. Why shouldn't I demand more from you for that?"

"Because I could-" you lick your lips nervously as the images of Curtis filling you with his seed take over your conflicted mind.

"Oh, I know." Curtis confirms, his undertone betraying a strong desire for that exact outcome.

There were more unfinished counter arguments on your tongue, but somehow they are discarded as you end up in your small bedroom, pinned down to the bed by Curtis' massive form.

You always seemed exceptionally big, which you assumed was also the effect of many layers of clothing, but fully naked he still looks intimidatingly broad. It's a rarity when the remnants of human population were mostly malnourished.

He crowds you, overpowers you, but there's a newfound thrill to be under him.

Curtis takes you in deep, slow strokes, stretching this pleasure into a maddening experience that has you gushing around him.

He growls into your ear how good you feel, how well you take him and how you will take his seed.

As he speeds up, his own voice tattering as his breath quickens too, Curtis groans a mysterious to you confession that he took lives, but now he will give life.

Cumming inside you once doesn't sate him. He flips you onto your stomach and takes you prone bone, hard and primal. Keeps filling you full until the dawn, when he falls asleep with you tucked to his side.

From now on he's always taking you bare. Frequently, not only when he comes for food.

By the time your belly rounds, the forest between the compound and your cottage is cut down. New settlement buildings rise and your little place becomes a part of Curtis' growing kingdom.

You are branded his, as well.

#oops it may have gotten out of hand 🫣#but I don't regret it!#curtis everett imagine #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x female reader #curtis everett x you #restoring balance #curtis everett smut

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n0tamused · 14 days

Text

A/N: This is based off of this post I saw on tiktok theorizing that BootHill must've died a brutal death for only his head to remain.

Content: angst, scramble drabble, she/her, female reader, BootHill needs comfort and he gets it, BootHill written prior to his release

“-Hey, hey, BootHill, breathe, my love-” Warm and cautious hands cup the cheeks of her loved one who sat shaking on the very corner of her bed. Hair messy and some fallen in small clumps from the struggle with his artificial body. “Shh, you’re with me.. there’s no one around, just me” she tries to soothe him again, worry rising like a bubble in her throat at her partner’s distress.

BootHill’s eyes flickered between red and gray, jumping around the room but once they were on her, they looked at something past her, through her. Even with half of his human body gone he wasn’t spared of the terrible memories and dreams. Every once in a while they’d come back to haunt him and drag him through all the suffering once again. Like once wasn’t enough. And in his scared stupor he didn’t rise from the bed before tugging his own hair and trashing the bed, even managing to hit her in the pure state of his delirium in attempts to pull off the ropes he felt in his nightmare.

Ragged breaths fan across her hands and she has to call out to him a few more times until she finally gets a response that he’s finally lucid. “Huh-? Huh..what?” He stumbles, hoping to summon strength to feel again, with his hands, Metal wraps itself around her wrist, squeezing then lessening its grip before squeezing again. “It’s okay.. it was just a dream.. See? Just breathe, come on.. do it with me”

Worry is etched deep between her brows and her frown in the dim light of the bedroom, but she manages to calm him down. But with each twitch of his body she regrets the lack of things she could do. She would’ve intertwined their fingers together, would’ve hugged him until he realized he was being held - but what use of it was it when he physically couldn’t feel touch? It was like explaining colors to a blind man. She might as well cry with BootHill.

But she has to stay strong, and patient above all else. She needs to be his rock at this moment. “Come.. let’s rest some more. We can just lay down for now” she leads him to lay down after her, moving his head despite his confused and pained grunt, setting his ear to her chest. Her hands go to his hair and she holds him there, just like that. And she feels his weight fall onto her, no longer resisting. The thump of her heart draws him in until it becomes the center of his world. He sees darkness before his eyes, but hears the light of the heart kept away from him, safe behind her ribs.

It was an anxious thump, fastened with fear and lack of air, before easing into a smoother rhythm. BootHill didn’t realize he was shedding tears until her gentle fingers brushed over the edge of his eyes, prompting them to close. “ ‘m sorry..” he muttered, swallowing a breath before he nuzzles his head against her chest, shuffling so his artificial body followed the long lost habit of his past self in the form of hugging. Mechanical arms practically trap her under him, and she only hugs his head closer. This is the least she could do..

Hearing him cry into her chest broke her heart, feeling how her shirt became damp, and hearing him murmuring apologies for every tear that fell tested her strength too. He felt broken and lost, in hatred of the fate he was forced into and the suffering he had to endure, and he couldn’t give up, for that would mean betraying you. He just had to keep moving.

BootHill can’t betray the only person left that he loves, and that loves him in return.

#-better an arrow than you #angst #BootHill #Boothill honkai star rail #Boothill x reader #Boothill x you #boothill x female reader #boothill x y/n #boothill x afab reader #female reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x female reader #boothill angst #boothill imagine #hsr boothill

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forgetminot · 1 year

Note

hi hi! I really loved your other fic, it made me all giddy <3

may i request reader who suddenly starts to distance themselves away from/avoiding (wandering off, offering to split up, less talkative - which is unlike them) Leon because of their growing feelings and they hope it fades away soon since they're on a mission. And then they get chained together like that one scene and Leon confronts reader about it since they can't escape him and reader plays dumb at first but Leon pulls them in (like he did Luis) and made them talk

FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THISS DHRDSER THIS HAS JUST BEEN ON MY MIND RECENTLY

Have a nice day!

Talk To Me

~ Leon Kennedy x gn reader ~

[ Warnings ; Guns, knives, blood, death (of an infected villager) violence, profanities, angst, angst and more angst, lil bit of fluff at the end. ]

A/N ; Thank you for the kind message! And to everyone else for the support on my first fic it actually made me sooo happy!! I hope you enjoy this request sorry if the violence is a bit too much i just wanted to add more to the story. ♡♡

----

Lil' overview: You have been trying your best to avoid Leon; Ignoring his questions and running off into danger. What happens when he confronts you about it and you have nowhere to go?

----

Gif belongs to @eurodynamic

You were acting differently; giving short blunt answers to all of Leon's questions, walking away as soon as he turned his back for a split second and putting yourself in unnecessary danger. Leon knew something was wrong, he just wasn't quite sure what yet. "Y/n" You ignore Leon, continuing to make your way to the small house in front of you that looked like it would collapse the second you turned the door handle. You hear Leon sigh deeply from behind you "Y/n" he repeats, this time you turn and just as you open your mouth about to reply with some short, smartass answer you hear a thud.

"Did you hear that?" You ask, your hand reaching for your gun holster. Leon nods doing the same. Thud. He steps in front of you opening the door slowly, aiming his gun forwards.

"Stay behind me." You enter the house behind Leon closing the door quietly, listening for the same sound again. Thud . Making your way through the house you follow the sound as you go, picking up any supplies that look like they could be useful. "Shh!" Leon points to the man hammering the ground in front of you and he approaches carefully, his knife tightly gripped in his hand as he sinks it into the man's neck and he falls to the ground suddenly - blood from the stab wound oozing onto the floor planks . Leon loots the dead man's corpse, taking the pesetas from the man's pockets, before removing the planks from the trap door that's in the floor to the left. "C'mon". He makes his way down the ladder, you following closely behind. Flicking on your flashlight you shine it around the dark and misty tunnel, there's nothing special down there apart from a few crates and barrels and a small green herb hidden behind a dusty old sheet, but as you move your flashlight to the end of the tunnel you see a bag, In the shape of a body and... its moving.

"You're not going to open that are you?" You whisper. Leon doesn't answer you, instead he takes his knife cutting the bag open; there's a man inside tied up with his mouth taped closed. Leon leans closer to the man and removes the tape from his mouth, quite harshly.

"That hurts you know" The stranger says, he sounds pretty relaxed, considering that he's tied up in a body bag at the end of a random basement tunnel.

"Seemed like you really wanted to talk" Leon replies bluntly.

"How observant, señor. Now. Say- you got a smoke?" You can't help but crack a small smile at the man.

"You know, those things can kill." You pipe up.

"Oh, well, maybe just untie me then." The stranger rolls forward, giving Leon room to release him. You watch carefully seeing the man's eyes widen and his face drop. "¡Joder! Not this guy." You and Leon both turn around swiftly, drawing your guns and pointing them at the huge individual that stands in front of you; it walks towards you, slapping your gun from your hand and throwing you across the room with force.

Darkness.

You wake to the rattling and clashing of chains above you, opening your eyes and squinting from the change of light. You pull down on the chains, hoping to loosen your restrained hands - You feel someone behind you and turn your head. "Leon?" You pull on the chains again. "Leon is that you?"

"Yes. It's me - Fuck, stop yanking on the chains." He groans. You both step back and turn around to face each other. Great, this is exactly what you wanted right now; to be chained to the one person you were trying to avoid. His eyes are scanning the room, looking for some way to break out of whatever contraption you were in.

"What happened to the other guy?" You look around the room and well, he's nowhere to be seen.

"No idea." Leon responds, glancing up at where the chain is connected to the roof.

"Do you think he's okay?"

"I don't know Y/n. Right now I'm more worried about getting us out of here." You roll your eyes, pulling your hands down causing Leon to trip forward; you bite back a laugh smiling at Leon.

"Every time I move, you move?" You ask. Leon raises his eyebrow and yanks hard on the chain forcing you to stumble towards him.

"What the fuck?" You glare up at him, holding your hands against his chest to steady yourself.

"Talk to me."

"What? About what?" You're trying to act oblivious and Leon knows it, he's not dumb.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." You try to step back, away from Leon but he's holding you in place. "Talk." He repeats.

"This really isn't the time to be having a one to one Leon!" He stays quiet, looking down at you, waiting for a response.

"I can't." You respond softly. Leon loosens the chain, letting you step back and you do. "I- I thought maybe if i tried to ignore it, it would go away."

"Ignore what?"

You laugh gently, refusing to make eye contact with the man ahead of you. "That I like you - as more than friends, more than co-workers."

"You thought ignoring me and putting yourself in danger would - what, be a distraction? " You tilt your head up to look at Leon nodding softly. "You're such an idiot." He mumbles.

"Wow, thanks!" You retort. "What a great way to respond to my confession." Leon grins, yanking hard on the chain again but this time he steadies you. "What are you doing?" You question shyly. He stares at you, his eyes looking at every small, minor detail on your face.

"Just go with it." He whispers, placing his lips softly against yours. "Such an idiot." He repeats smiling into the kiss.

----

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sinnful-darling · 6 months

Text

yandere! god hcs

tws: confining, implied stalking and keeping tabs, gore, religious themes, cult themes, blood drinking, death, loss of loved ones, reader tried to kill themself but they dont actually hurt themself, intimidation, forced immortality

— yan! god whose true name has been lost through the millennia he's been alive. he now goes by silthos, god of fantasies, fertility, and love. or at least that’s what the humans said.

— yan! God who is actually the god of infatuation, devotion, and obsession. silthos can’t believe that the humans has twisted it so badly throughout the centuries he’s been alive. it doesn’t matter to him though, so long as he has devoted followers and continues to receive worship, he will remain a powerful god

— yan! god who everyone worshipped, but longed for a connection of his own. he wanted a lover of his own; being by himself for centuries on end was damaging to his mental state, you know?

— yan! god who has never had a lover despite all the goddesses and demigods that throw themselves at him. none of them were worthy of his time or effort, nor were they worthy of bedding him. the lot of them were shallow and conceited anyway, not to mention the fact that he found none of them attractive.

— yan! god who actually inherited his title, or rather took his rightful place. though none of the humans knew, he killed his predecessor and inherited his powers through drinking the old man’s ichor.

— yan! god who decides to take a stroll down in the human realm to cure his boredom, and boy is he glad he did. standing in the midst of a crowded street was little ol’ you. lovely, innocent, jaded you. the only human in his territory that didn’t worship him is right in front of him. how amusing.

— yan! god who approaches you as a tourist, asking you questions about the local customs, feeling pride swell in his chest when he hears that starting tomorrow, the annual week-long festival in his name begins.

— yan! god who asks your opinion on the town’s god, eye twitching as your nose scrunches in distaste.

“i don’t like the old fuck. did some digging because something wasnt sitting right with me, and ended up finding some old scripts stating that silthos was not the god my town thinks he is, and is actually a god of obsession and infatuation. pretty fucked up guy if you ask me.”

— yan! god whose heart nearly beats out of his chest while he eagerly listens to your long winded rant about why no one sane would worship him. something clicks and snaps in his chest, an undeniable attraction to you beginning to form.

— yan! god who gets your number (he stole some poor victim’s phone smh) and asks you if you’d like to get coffee with him under the guise of wanting to hear more about how you found out the true nature of what he rules over. the two of you become rather close within a few days.

— yan! god who you stand up a few weeks later. he immediately goes to your home and finds that you’ve already left. it seems the cat and mouse game has started..

— yan! god who in a blind rage slaughters all of your friends and loved ones. tearing their viscera from their body and making crude shapes with them. on the walls of each home is a lovely note for you.

you can’t run. i know where you are.

— yan! god who finds you cursing his name in an empty parking lot, eyes red and puffy as you curl into yourself and your nails dig into the meat of your arms.

— yan! god who is quick to whisk you away to his domain, your home. he takes your screaming and pleading in stride, and he even puts up with each wound you inflict on him. but the moment you turn the blade on yourself is the moment he loses it.

— eyes glowing a bright pink, yan! god releases a fraction of his aura, causing your movements to come to an abrupt halt, the blade inches from your throat. he’s quick to snatch the blade from your hands and grip your chin.

“if you ever try to harm yourself again, you will not like the outcome. am i understood?”

— yan! god who descends with you to hold a ceremony amongst his people and announce you as both his spouse and mate. the people rejoice and congratulate the two of you, ignoring the pleading looks you send their way. they shower you in gifts and make plans to rebuild the statues and temples to fit the image of your newly announced marriage.

— yan! god who forces you to drink his ichor, reconstructing your genetic composition into a deity befitting your standing. now the two of you can be together forever.

#queued post #tw yandere #yancore #yandere x darling #male yandere #yandere #tw: yandere #yandere oc #yandere god #yandere! god #yan! god #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc hcs #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere hcs #yandere headcanons #yandere male

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thought--bubble · 3 months

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In Need of an Heir Pt 8

Aemond X (Baratheon! Reader)

Warnings after the cut

In Need of an Heir Masterlist

Canon Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Dividers and Banners by @arcielee

Warnings:: minor attempted Non-con Reader discretion advised.

Aemond watches your form retreat down the hallway. His heart tells him to chase after you to fix the situation, but his mind tells him there is no use. You hate him. As you should. As everyone should.

Aemond turns around to head back to his own chambers. He has no desire to walk to gardens without you and chooses to wallow in self-pity. He berates himself the entire walk back. Why would I ask her if she's trying to escape? She was simply telling me what kind of books she likes! I couldn't possibly be this bad at general conversation?

As he arrives at his chambers, his mother and Criston Cole are stationed outside the door. His entire body instantly tenses. He is in no mood for this.

"NO" is the only thing he says as he gets nearer. "Not today, no." He moves to open the door to his chamber when Alicent places her hand on the door solemn expression on her face.

"It's Aegon, the maesters...... they don't think there is much time left...... he wishes to see you." Her voice trembles, wirh the ache of a mother who has watched her children fall one by one. The slow, painful death of her eldest son has aged her beyond repair.

"He's in his rooms?" Aemond asks without turning his head. He can not bear to look into the eyes of his mother as her heart breaks again. The guilt of the role he played in the injuries his brother sustained plague him every time he looks into her eyes.

"Yes, please go see him. Even if just for a moment, " she pleads while tightly gripping his forearm.

Aemond gently removes her hand from his arm and gives it a gentle squeeze as he keeps his sight on her chapped and torn fingers.

"I will see it done"

Aemond takes off towards Aegon's rooms, nausea curling its way up his spine growing to a tightening in his chest. This may be one of the last moments he gets to spend with his brother. With his sister, Heleana, and his brother Daeron long dead, the ache in his chest burns hot.

As he approaches the door to Aegon's chambers, the maester is exiting his face says it all.

"How is he then?" Aemond makes sure that his voice comes out strong and sure, although the little brother inside him is weeping.

"The wounds he suffered in battle. The infections we've fought them as best we can for as long as we could, but I'm afraid..... I'm afraid there isn't much else we can do. I've offered to make him comfortable, but he refuses milk of the poppy"

Aemond nods his head and swallows back the pained expression that is attempting to claw its way onto his face.

He releases a deep sigh as he pushes open the door. It smells like death. The smell was reminiscent of Viserys as he withered away and died. His son was somehow doomed to the same fate.

Yet Aegon was a stronger man. One would never have estimated the man Aegon grew to be. Even as he was slowly engulfed by the stranger, he made plans and put things in place to ensure his family would be ok upon his death. Something his father could never do.

"Aegon?" Aemond walked closer to the bed chamber tentatively. He wanted to see his brother while simultaneously not wanting to see his brother. Not like this.

In a garbled, broken voice, Aegon called out to him. "Aemond? Brother?"

Aemond pushes through the curtains that had been hung before the bedchamber to give Aegon some privacy and the comfort of darkness and sat in the chair by his bedside.

Aemond looked ahead. Looking at Aegon in this state was too much to bare. His screams at rooks rest echo through the recesses of Aemond's mind. The night Aemond had spent running through the dragon battle in his mind, what could he have done differently? To save his brother and keep him whole? Unfortunately, he would never know the answer.

"The stranger will be coming for me soon," Aegon manages to say between labored gasps. "I wanted so badly to make it long enough to see your son. To see our future, but the gods have different plans, it seems." Aemond sits silently unsure of what he should say, his eldest brother, his last sibling is dying before his eyes, and there is not a thing he can do to stop it. The grief and helplessness taking their toll.

"I need you to promise, brother. You will not stop until you have a son, and you will marry that son to Jaheara." Aegon lays with his eyes closed his hand grasping tightly to Aemonds.

"This was already decided, brother." Aemond replies, unsure of why Aegon would ask this.

"By me. The king. As we both very well know the word of a king holds no weight once he is dead." Aegon coughs and gasps for air while Aemond watches his insides twisting and turning. This is his brother. His last sibling slowly slipping through his fingers. He grips Aegons hand tighter, silently begging him not to let go.

"I wish for Jaheara to be queen. She is all that is left of me, all that is left of Heleana, but I will not foolishly send her to the slaughter by naming her heir. I'm a smarter man than my father. I love my daughter enough to know that I do not wish the realm to turn upon her."

Aemond watches as Aegon again struggles for air. Through garbled breath, he is able to get out one final sentence. "Please don't swear to your king, promise your brother, Jaheara will be queen, married to your son and protected for always." Aegon grasps Aemonds hands his fingernails biting at his skin.

"I promise, I will see it done." Aemond then sits by Aegon's side for a few hours, watching him struggle to breathe until he drifts off to sleep. Aemond gets up and walks to the end of the bedchamber before looking back at Aegon, and he feels it.

"Goodbye, brother."

Aemond leaves him in the care of the maesters and stalks of toward his rooms thats where he had planned to go anyway yet his feet pull him in a different direction and by the time he is able to pull himself out of his own thoughts he is standing before the door of your chambers.

He bangs on the door more than knocks. His brother is dying, his sister is dead, and their daughter, the only one he didn't get killed, needs him, and he is failing her spectacularly.

A maid opens the door, looking up at Aemond with trepidation. "My prince".

"Is my wife in?" The disdain behind his tone at the pronunciation of the word "wife" was not lost on the maid who nodded her head quickly while slightly shrinking back.

"Y-yes, my prince, she is in the bath"

Without another word to the maid, Aemond pushes through into the room where you are currently getting your hair washed.

"Leave us." Aemond enunciated the venom laced words quickly, and both maids scatter from the room.

You sit in the tub facing away from him, your heart pounding like a hammer in your chest. This tone of voice you had never heard from him. This isn't his usual cool stoism. No, it is clear what this is. This is anger.

You try to speak, but words escape you as you internally curse the gods for sending him here now while you are naked wet and vulnerable. Your first thought is that you need to make yourself less vulnerable immediately.

You move to get out of the tub but are quickly pulled back down by your hair, causing water to splash up and over the sides. You grip the sides of the tub in panic.

"Sit wife. You must finish your hair. " He again pronounces the word" wife "with vitriol as goosebumps travel up your spine and onto your neck. You are no coward, but you are also not and idiot. This is a dragon. A pissed off dragon, and you are at a grave disadvantage.

"Is there something the matter, Lord husband?" You attempt to keep your voice strong. You can't afford to show him weakness, not in this moment.

"Of course not. Can a husband not assist his wife?" He starts to wash out the soap and oils from your hair, his grip is firm, and he tugs along your hair. There is no gentleness or sensuality to be seen.

"This can not go on," he states plainly. Before you can respond, he continues to speak, "You are my wife. I need you to start acting like it"

He pulls your head back by your hair, your neck cranes over the back of the tub, and he looks down into your eyes. "We will perform our duty tonight. You will come to my chambers after dinner. Do you understand?"

You nod, just wanting to end this moment your vulnerable neck splayed out and naked body just under the surface of the water.

"Good, that's good." He releases your hair and continues to rinse it, massaging at your scalp tenderly. The mixture of violence and gentleness, the telltale sign of a dragon.

You sit in the tub, your shoulders tense, not making a sound.

"Relax, dear wife. I am not going to harm you. I am your protector, after all. " He finishes rinsing your hair and moves to get you a towel.

"After dinner tonight, you will come to my rooms, and we will consummate this marriage"

He holds the towel open for you as you rise out of the tub, not saying a word. You wrap the towel around yourself averting your eyes from him.

You would not show him weakness, yet you would not stand in direct opposition. A true strategy is smart, not brash. It is thought out in the mind not played out through the heart.

Aemond nods towards you one more time before abruptly leaving your chambers. As soon as he is gone, you squeak out a cry. The tension you had been holding comes flooding out. You sit down on your bed, your face in your hands.

Your entire body trembles as you try and piece together exactly what just happened. What happened to make him change his behavior towards you so drastically?

You move quickly to get into your clothes for dinner, your mind racing. Why is he being like this so suddenly?

You knew a time would come when he would demand the marriage be consummated, the fact he hadn't already made that demand had surprised you but the way he addressed it today, the anger he contained yet also expressed towards you was off putting. You wanted more than anything to feign illness and skip dinner so you could hide away in your chambers or somehow escape the castle altogether.

Knowing that was impossible you dredged on, getting ready on your own being in no mood to have your maids around. You choose a basic dress, nothing fancy.

You begrudgingly make your way to the dining area and are shocked to see only Jaheara and her maid there since you had put off going to the last possible moment you should be last not first.

You sit down and the dining staff move about quietly keeping their heads down. The ominous silence in the room setting alarm bells off in your head. They should be here. Aemond not showing up isn't surprising. Aegon as well since he's so sick, but Alicent would not leave Jaheara to have dinner alone without a damn good reason.

After you and Jaheara finish eating, you go to Aemond's chambers as he had ordered but find them empty. Maybe he was just in a foul mood and did not intend to hold you to his earlier demand? One could only hope.

That couldn't be it. There is something much more serious amiss. The hallways are quiet. the rooms are empty, and you haven't seen one member of the royal family, save for the only living child.

You arrive back to your chambers and wait. You know eventually someone will let you know what is happening and with your current relationship with your husband being in the sorry state that it was waiting to be alerted to the comings and goings is really all you could do.

Minutes turned to hours as you sat before the hearth waiting for a knock on the door, screams down the hall. something. Anything would be better than waiting like this.

Yet as the night got later, the answer never came. Until you finally acquiesed to your need for rest. You blow out the last candle by the side of your bed, and that is the last thing you remember until you are awoken into a nightmare.

"Wake up, wife." The raspy words of your husband wake you in a daze as he tears the blankets off of your sleeping form. The sudden chill and the energy radiating off of your husband made it easier to alert to full attention.

"Aemond what has happened?" You attempt to sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes.

"What has happened?" He scoffs. His voice is higher pitched. manic.

"What has happened is tomorrow i will be crowned king of the seven kingdoms and I have no heir. I have not even consummated my marriage" He nearly barks at you.

Your face contorts in confusion. "Tomorrow? What-"

Before you can get the words out Aemond has climbed in your bed and drags you toward him by your thigh.

You immediatly react by kicking your free leg. "Stop it!"

Aemond moves up the length of your body and snatches you by the chin. "Listen here, wife, you will be quiet and do your duty in giving me the heir that the kingdom requires. Are you capable of that? Or must I dispatch of you and get me a wife, that is?"

His pupil is blown and staring back at you wildly, and you know. Fighting him now will only get you hurt or killed.

You lay your head back and turn it to the side. "Do what you must, husband." You say the final word with all the distaste he had been showing you as of late.

You feel him moving your legs and positioning himself above you as you blankly stare at the wall trying to count the cracks between the stones in order to disconnect your mind from your body as you await the intrusion. The intrusion that doesn't come.

Aemond hovers above you for what feels like hours but could realistically only be a few minutes before he brings his forehead down to your chest.

"I can't do it this way. " The words are muffled into your chest hardly audible as you feel tears hit your skin. His tears. Aemond brings his hands down to your waist and holds on tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry".

You don't move or speak, you just listen. The sounds of his quiet sobs and your barely audible breathing the only noise in the room.

"Forgive me" He whispers quietly before placing one delicate kiss on your chest and removing himself from your bed. Quickly collecting the clothing items he had left at your bedside and disappearing back out into the castle leaving you visibly shaken.

"Tomorrow he will be crowned king?" You feel panic rise and bubble in your chest, as it starts to actually settle in what just happened to you. What the pressure almost made him do.

Tomorrow he would be King, which means you would be Queen and both your family and the realm are in need of an heir.

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callsign-rogueone · 3 months

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you're somebody else - b.s.

Brennan Sorrengail x Reader words: 1.7k 🏷: IRON FLAME SPOILERS. reader uses she/her pronouns. angst, angst, angst (but a happy ending!) blood, discussion of injury, scars and stitches. inspired by / titled after the song by flora cash

Your fiancé has been dead for six years. You’d read his name on the death roll, and burned his belongings in an offering to Malek.

Now he’s standing thirty feet away from you with both of his sisters, breathing and moving, reacting to something they’d said.

He’s alive.

Your grip on your bag falters, and it falls to the floor with a soft thud.

Everyone’s eyes turn to you. The younger of the two Sorrengail girls recognizes you instantly, her lips parting in shock as she takes you in for the first time since Brennan’s graduation from Basgiath.

Her gaze shifts to her brother, whose eyes are now locked with yours. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, unable to pull your eyes away from the man in front of you.

You make no move toward him; don’t leap into his arms like he’d imagined for years, don’t hug him as tightly as you can, don’t cry tears of happiness. Your boots are still glued to the polished floor of the hall.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, “I…”

You flinch at his voice, the sound you’ve only heard in dreams for the last six years.

The tall man standing beside him, who you distantly recognize to be Fen Riorson’s son, motions for the two girls to leave.

“It’s good to see you again,” Violet says softly. You’ve always had a soft spot for her, had written her letters after you’d gotten the news, sharing in her grief.

Mira only gives you a lingering glance as she follows her sister, leaving you alone with Brennan.

“You’re hurt,” he says gently, seeing the tear in the right thigh of your pants and the bloody gash beneath it. “Can I mend you?”

You remain silent, but you nod once in affirmation.

You pretend the hands on your leg belong to anyone else, keeping your eyes forward while he kneels in front of you, working to close the wound.

He finally speaks. “My love, I’m so-”

“Please don’t call me that,” you interrupt, and he feels a pain rival to that of the arrow he’d taken to the chest, the one that should have killed him.

He’s silent, letting you continue. You’ll likely have as much pent up emotion to release as his sisters did when they found out. Thankfully, you choose Violet’s path over Mira’s, eviscerating him with words rather than fists. His nose still doesn’t feel right; mending himself has always been difficult.

“I still mourn you,” you tell him. “I've lit a candle for Malek every night in your honor since I got the news. To have my life crumble around me, to find out we’re at war, that I’ve been on the wrong side the whole time, and then to find that for six years, you’ve been alive, but you never once thought about writing to me to tell me any of it…” you shake your head, pressing your lips together to hold in a sob.

You steady your breathing after a moment. “I’m glad you’re alive, Brennan, I really am. But my Brennan, the man I was supposed to marry, the one who wrote me love letters in ancient languages, is still dead. He has been for years.”

You reach into the chest pocket of your flight jacket, placing something cold in his hand and closing his fingers around it. He doesn’t need to look down to know that it's your engagement ring.

“Thank you for the mending,” you say, picking up your bag.

He waits until your footsteps have retreated back into the hallway, letting loose a shuddering sob.

Marbh sends him a wave of warmth and empathy. If there is any being who knows how much it had hurt Brennan to be away from you so long, it is him.

“Your brother needs you, silver one,” Tairn relays to Violet, a resigned quiet in his tone that has the cadet slipping away from the group to run back to the assembly room.

When she arrives, she finds Brennan sitting on the floor, knees tucked to his chest, sobbing. It’s a sight she never wants to see again; it just feels so wrong.

Brennan had always been the strongest of the siblings, the tree that could weather any storm, a perfect balance of their mother’s intense strength and their father’s calm intelligence. It was always her crying after an injury, Mira or Brennan taking her to the infirmary for Nolon to mend it, soothing her all the while.

It’s her turn now to hold him as he cries, murmuring reassurances.

“She’ll come around,” Violet promises, though there’s a nagging feeling in her chest that says you might not. “Prove to her that you are the same man she fell in love with, that you are still worthy of her, and she’ll come around.”

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

You don’t speak with him for two days, only seeing him stand on the dais at Battle Brief.

It had stung to hear Devera refer to him as Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh. He’d changed his name. He really isn’t your Brennan anymore.

He catches you at breakfast — none of your squadmates had come with you from Montserrat, so you’re sitting alone at one of the long tables.

You look up at him silently, letting him speak first.

He lays a thick bundle of papers on the table in front of you. “The first year of letters,” he answers before you can ask, “that I was too much of a coward to send.”

You look down at the stack of aged parchment. There have to be at least twenty letters there — one a week since July, when he’d been sent to Aretia.

By the time you look back up, he’s gone.

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

A week passes, then another.

He’s nearly too busy to worry about you, between the arguments among the assembly, the arrival of the gryphon fliers and the subsequent issues integrating them, and his duties mending the injuries resulting from the animosity there.

Someone steps through the door of the infirmary, panting as they limp an injured rider forward. “She just collapsed. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Brennan realizes it’s you they’re holding up, his heart pounding. He wraps an arm around your waist to take you from your friend, and his hand slips against your side, warm and wet with blood.

He guides you onto one of the empty beds, pulling up the sticky fabric of your shirt.

The messily-wrapped bandage around your torso has absorbed all the blood it can, the row of stitches underneath torn open. You must have done this yourself in an effort to avoid him, and it didn’t hold.

At least the wound doesn’t seem infected.

He presses a clean palm into the skin, apologizing when you whimper and flinch away. “S’okay, pretty girl,” he soothes, brushing the hair from your forehead gently.

You don’t seem to hear him, your eyes still closed. Fuck, how much blood have you lost?

It’s easy enough to mend the wound, but it’s going to scar — it’s not fresh enough for him to make it disappear without a trace.

He washes the blood from his hands, pulling up a chair beside the bed and watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you sleep.

He has no idea if you’ve read the letters he gave you had changed your mind, or if you’d read them at all. You may very well have burned them. You’d be right to, after the way he’d lied to you.

You might never take him back. This may be his last chance to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin against his.

He takes your hand gently, intertwining your fingers and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, squeezing your palm three times — three times means I love you, you’d told him years ago.

His heart nearly stops as you squeeze back weakly; once, twice, three times.

—————————————————————

You blink the sleep from your eyes, your gaze settling on Brennan sitting beside you, an ancient looking book in his hand, pen between his teeth and a notebook covered with nearly incoherent scribbles in his lap.

Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you’d thought.

The book and notes are quickly abandoned when he realizes you’re awake. “What the hell happened?”

“Godsdamned gryphon bit me because it didn’t like the order I gave it’s flier,” you explain, stretching your aching muscles. How long had you been asleep?

“And rather than seeking professional help, you stitched it up yourself?” He asks in that same stern tone he’d always used with you after you put yourself in danger.

This time you don’t find it endearing.

“Yes, I did, like I have for the last six years every time I’ve been injured,” you snap. “The way people do when they don’t have a mender with them.”

He holds his tongue, realizing how many scars you’d acquired over the years. Since he developed his signet, he’d always mended even the smallest of scrapes for you, but now stripes of scar tissue run across your skin like rivers on a map, ghosts of past wounds, some healed better than others.

He imagines you sitting alone in your barracks room with a needle and thread, a folded shirt clenched between your teeth as you sewed the wounds shut.

“Please come see me next time?” He asks softly, genuine concern in his voice. “It could have gotten infected, or worse. And if your friend hadn’t been there…”

You sigh, guilt tugging at you. “Okay.”

“Thank you. Get some rest,” he encourages, turning to gather his things.

“I read some of the letters,” you say, and he turns back to face you. “I’m still hurt, but I’m not angry. I don’t think I could ever be angry with you. You’re a good man, Bren. You’ve done great things for these people.”

The weight on his chest lightens, but he stays quiet, waiting for another heartbreaking line.

“Can we start over?” You ask in a whisper, looking up at him. “Can we try to be us again?”

He smiles. “I’d love nothing more, sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters at the word, as if you’re hearing it from him for the first time. In a way, you are.

#brennan sorrengail #brennan sorrengail x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #liz brennanposting at midnight? more likely than you think #mine

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year

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Public Relations [Avenger!Loki x Fem. Reader]

Part of the Hostile F*cks Collection A link to my Masterlist is here Summary: A carefully planned PR appearance goes awry. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Asshole Loki! returns. Language. Smuttish. (w/c 2.1k) A/N: This is the Hostile F*cks Collection epilogue. I just really really wanted this. 🤣

The heat from the set lights was making you sweat. A live studio audience sat forward in their seats, hanging onto your every word. Onto Loki’s every word. So far he had been very well behaved, following Rogers detailed instructions to the letter. Polite. Friendly. Charming. Restrained. He had stuck to the script religiously. And that was what you were worried about.

“I gotta say when the press release came out it wasn’t a huge surprise – we all saw the infamous red carpet moment at Cannes huh?!” The man across his desk smarmed relentlessly with teeth an unnatural shade of white against his deep tan. He hadn't wasted time before referencing the time Loki had squeezed your ass in full view of a wall of paparazzi a few months prior. Your eyes darted to the god lounging beside you, totally at ease. He ran a hand though his hair, a soft smile and a chuckle playing feigned embarrassment to perfection. “You guys have such great chemistry - such a connection.” the sanctimonious asshat crooned, swivelling towards the audience who cheered in approval. News of your relationship had been officially announced earlier in the week – and it was time for the PR tour. The man swung back to face you both. “So tell me, has it always been that way?” The aching smile stretched on your face widened as you began to nod. “-Hardly.” Loki cut in. “She despised me. Couldn’t stand me. Always had a certain look in her eye like she wanted to hit me with a blunt object. It was quite hilarious.” You snapped towards the god, practised smile faltering as you threw him a death glare. “Oh, look! There it is now.” he quipped, relaxing back against the red armchair with fingertips crested together. Your hand flew to Loki’s knee amid a sea of giggles at your expense, digging in as you chuckled through gritted teeth. “He’s exaggerating.” you smiled. “Ohhh...I don’t think so.” the host drawled through a shit-eating grin, as a montage began to play on the screen to his side. Your stomach churned, watching a selection of newsreels and phone recordings from the early days of your dalliances. Endless clips of you rolling your eyes in Loki’s direction, your stare narrowed behind him as he charmed the press– and one particular damning shot of you staring shamelessly at his ass. The host cocked an eyebrow as you squirmed. Loki’s fingers intertwined with yours, lifting your death grip from his knee. He raised the back of your hand to his lips with a calculated kiss, shooting you a wink before lowering it back to his thigh. The crowd clapped and cooed. “It’s alright, darling Agent. We’re among friends. Isn’t that right?” The crowd clapped again, the cheers louder. God, he was insufferable when he was like this.

You cleared your throat, lowering your lashes and looking back at the host with devilish intent. Two could play at this game. “He made it his mission to be the biggest arsehole on the face of the planet.” you purred.

“-on most planets, actually. It’s a point of pride.” Loki interjected. The audience laughed. You shook your head with a puff. “No it was targeted” you snipped, not letting your gaze break from the host’s wide eyes as Loki huffed theatrically behind you. “He had all these...outfits. And the things he would say and the games, god it drove me mad.” “-yes, mad.” Loki smarmed playfully, placing his hands behind his head as he widened his legs against the arms of the chair. “Mad with lust, perhaps.” Your eyes flickered briefly to the audience, an elevated sea of faces turned in covert whispers and giggles to their companions. Desire was thick in the room, sexual energy pulsating in electric waves. A shared erotic experience that hung on Loki’s every movement. On his every syllable. “Tell us more about these outfits.” You looked back to the host with a coy smile. It was clear Loki was feigning some level of shyness by the coquettish squeaks rising from the crowd. Crossing your legs, you turned your body towards the desk. “Oh, well, it all started with a wetsuit…” A mass of voices ooo’ed. The collective mental imagery may as well have been projected on the wall. “A particularly slutty caftan, catholic priest vestments I’m sorry to say...and some extremely tight fencing pants among others.” you said, leaning your chin against your palm. “What in the world are fencing pants?” the interviewer gasped, before flashing the nearest camera a knowing grin. Christ, he was really laying it on thick. His eyebrows wriggled suggestively to the lens, as Loki straightened. The screaming was sudden and entirely predictable. You didn’t even have to look to know that your lover’s body was sizzling with seidr, green sparks rolling down his perfect form to reveal the aforementioned fencing pants. “Well heckers, as our mutual friend Captain Rogers would say.” The host fanned his face as he spoke while the audience lost their minds. And honestly, you couldn't blame them. With reluctance, you turned to face your lover, his thighs still sprawled wide in the chair. A long finger grazed his bottom lip, the rest curled covering a smile as he shot you a sultry wink. A pair of black fencing pants clung to his bulging muscles beneath the set lights, every dent and ripple highlighted in obscene definition. Loki’s thighs squeezed. God, they were so thick and delicious and perfect...it was all you could not to drool alongside the audience. He had forgone a shirt beneath the ensemble on this occasion, because of course he had. Thick straps were set tight like liquorice against luminously fair skin. He was wearing the socks though, you noticed. He loved those slutty socks. Chiselled abs tightened as he straightened again, rolling his shoulders back while the crowd continued to bay. This might not have been quite the PR event Rogers had in mind but you had to give it to Loki, he knew his fans. “For posterity, they are a type of training attire for the sword arts which I have grown rather fond of in your realm.” Loki drawled, sweeping his hair to expose that devastating profile to the onlookers. “Simultaneously form fitting and with enough elasticity to accommodate lunges and...other things.” He looked to you with an unmistakeable hunger which made your stomach flip. The host cleared his throat, a disappointed hum from the audience vibrating as Loki’s magic shimmered, transforming him back into his Saville Row suit. “Well frankly I can see why she never stood a chance.” the man behind the desk muttered slyly. You could feel your cheeks heating again.

“I will admit it was rather difficult to have her confess her inevitable feelings for me-” “Excuse me, I was difficult?” you gasped. “Well...yes.” Loki laughed, bringing a foot to rest on his knee. “You’re the one that won’t use my actual name in public.” you scoffed. The host leant forward, relishing the brewing tiff. “Ah, I was going to ask about that – it’s always ‘Agent’ this and ‘Agent’ that, what gives Mr Laufeyson?” You rolled your eyes, as Loki cast a coy glance in your direction. “Well to be frank...I do it to annoy her.” he admitted, a smile making his dimples flash. You nodded in confirmation towards the grinning audience. “But if she’s honest with herself, she loves it.” Loki inspected his nails before impaling you with another stare that made your breath hitch. “She finds it arousing. Don’t you...Agent?” he smirked. You brought your hands up in surrender as the crowd cheered, loving every toe-curling second of this ridiculous late-night shitstorm. “I think what Loki is trying to say, is that we’re like any other couple, really-” “-we’re not.” Loki interjected with an incredulous snort. “-and we have our...disagreements and quirks and suchlike, but you know...we love each other so -it works.” you continued un-phased, smiling sweetly to the host. His smug, botoxed grin made you want to punch him in the face. Landing this interview might even get him an Emmy. He tilted his head, a set of troubling sincerity descending on his features. “I have to ask though, what’s it like knowing that your relationship has a shelf life. Not to be indelicate but there’s an elephant in the room here with the god-normie lifespan situation.” You sucked your lips between your teeth, biting back the words that Steve would most definitely have an issue with – even past the watershed. The gentle sound of Loki’s mischievous laughter cut through the red haze swirling behind your eyes. You could tell he was shaking his head in the way that only he did when he knew he had the upper hand. You weren't sure which was worse. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, it is rather a hard concept to get your naïve mind around – but there is a simple solution.” he said. You suddenly felt Loki’s fingers slide around your waist, the firm pressure of the tips digging into your side centring you while you took a breath. “Oh?” the host goaded. “Care to share this simple solution?” There was silence from the audience as they hung on Loki’s imminent explanation. You looked away from the fool holding the cards to your infuriating lover, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gazed into your eyes. As though you were the only people in existence. “She could marry me.” The crowd screamed. You blinked several times as the room turned to a ball of white noise. Loki's longing stare broke, snapping towards the audience with a dazzling smile. He patted down the enthusiasm with one ceremonial hand.

“In the event of such a union on Asgard and by tradition, my beloved Agent here would become a demi-goddess in her own right, with the life-span to match.” he grinned towards the host, while you continued to stare at him open-mouthed. “I take it from the look on her face that this is new information for her?” the host laughed. Loki hummed mysteriously, reclining back against the seat. “Yes, well – whenever I try to convince her of such a thing– we never quite make it as far as the details. If you catch my drift.”

“You’ve asked before? And she’s turned you down?” The interviewer gasped at the implication of the world’s most eligible figure being knocked back. Your heart thundered. “Now hold on-” you spluttered, switching between the men trying to outdo each other in being the most insufferable. “First off...he’s the god of mischief and it’s very difficult to take anything he says seriously and second-” “-My darling here would doubtless become the goddess of overthinking and inciting exasperation.” Loki chuckled, patting your leg. You grimaced, a wordless warning passing from your eyes to his. Loki cleared his throat, sensing danger. “But that is a conversation for another time.”

The next five minutes passed in an inane blur of scripted pleasantries. By the time you reached the green room, your fury had reached boiling point. “What the fuck was that, Loki?” you hissed, trying to keep your voice down. The crowd was still clapping while they tried to clear the set for the next guests. Even Rogers couldn’t argue with the buzz this would generate. Loki meandered over to the drinks trolley, inspecting a bottle of scotch. “You know very well what I want, my love. It seemed like the perfect time to let me finish the sentence without one of your well-timed sexual ambushes.” he purred, raising an eyebrow. Without another word, you strode over; pulling him into a hungry kiss. It was a messy clash of teeth and tongue, simmering anger and desire over-spilling in breathy moans as you pushed him back against the rattling drinks trolley. Loki grunted, hoisting your legs possessively around his hips one after another. He manoeuvring you easily against the opposing wall, colliding against the forest green plaster with a soft thump. The root of his solid cock pressed furiously against your stomach, stretching achingly against the trousers. “Marry me.” he growled, dark embers of his voice seeping into the crevices of your soul like smoke. His chin was tilted down, only a sliver of iris visible at the edge of his pupils beneath a fan of dark lashes. Loki’s jawline was set, bladed cheekbones taut as the muscle in his cheek twitched. The tell of all-consuming desire that he held only for you. “Why? So you can irritate me for all eternity?” you panted, feeling Loki’s fingers pull at the band of your flimsy underwear. He scoffed before you heard a rip. “Hardly eternity darling. Only several millennia or so.” You pulled his tie towards you in a fist, the aching pressure of his kiss filling you with everything you ever needed. Would any amount of time be enough? You weren't sure. His fingertips ran over your temples, carding through your hair with fervent urgency as you melted into him. The two of you broke apart with a gasp. Loki’s forehead pressed to yours, the dark curls hanging by your cheeks buffeted by shallow breaths. One of his palms spread against the wall behind you, fingers curling down the plaster. “Marry me.” he repeated solemnly. The words trembled with a rare sincerity.

“I hate you, Loki Laufeyson.” you murmured, grazing the loaded words lovingly against his chin. You sucked his bottom lip between your teeth, a hiss of desire from his throat making you buck against his hips. “I love you too...Agent.” he purred darkly, sealing your unspoken answer with a kiss.

A/N: And that's it! It it! Thank you SO MUCH for chumming me on this lil journey, you're amazing 💖 Tags @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @coldnique @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @infinitystoner @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @psychospore @littlespaceyelf

#loki x reader #hostile f*cks collection #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader smut #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x female reader #loki smut #loki x yn #loki x you #loki au #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki marvel

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peachywritesstuff · 1 year

Text

Smile for the camera.

Ghostface!Xavier Thorpe x fem!reader

Summary: The murder of Tyler was the first of many in Jericho.

Warning: established relationship,dead bodies,attemped sexual assault, stalking,descriptions of how someone was murdered,reader witnesses a murder, ooc Rowan? Rowan didn't get killed by the Hyde for plot reasons. Not fully proof-read.

Notes: Haven't watched Wednesday but I have read enough Xavier Thorpe fanfics to know the plotline and I'm saying to hell with it and writing for Xavier cuz this man has me in a chokehold. Excuse any typos and grammar errors

Word Count:1.8k

Tyler Galpin was found dead this morning.

The news was spreading around like wildfire at Nevermore for 2 reasons. One, he was the sheriff’s son, and two this was the first real crime that Jericho has had in years. The way Tyler was murdered somehow got released to the public and….it was horrifying. His eyes were cut out, a part of his tongue was too, small deep cuts were found all over his body, his throat was slit so deep that the bone from his spine was starting to show, and a smile was craved onto his face. It was so awful.

You couldnt believe it. You had just seen him the day before when you and Enid went out to Jericho for coffee. You didn’t know the guy and only spoke a total of 10 words to him but it just felt so unreal since you had seen him the day before and he was perfectly fine. It reminded you that anything can happen.

“The killer wanted him to suffer,” Wenesday said nonchalantly. Overhearing Enid and you talking about Tyler’s murder as she was typing. “They wanted him to die and slow agonizing, and painful death.” She turned around in her chair to face you. “I’m almost impressed with how well the killer pulled it off. Almost.” She turned back around and continued typing.

Tyler’s funeral was a week later, with a closed casket of course. You went to it out of respect and your boyfriend Xavier went too. Which surprised you, since knowing the past between the two. As the casket was lowered to the ground, the sound of the sheriff’s cries and wails rang loud across the cemetery. You leaned your head on Xavier’s arm and he wrapped his arm around you putting a loving kiss on your forehead and rubbing your arm in a calming manner.

You just so happened to miss the smirk that appeared on his face.

————

You thought that after the murder of Tyler it would stop. But it’s has been weeks since then, and more murders were happening and there was not one single clue who could’ve done it. It was almost like the killer disappeared right after committing the murder. Students at Nevermore gave the killer a name.

They called him Ghostface.

You began to worry for your boyfriend, him going out into his art shed and coming back when the sun was long gone scared you. You didn’t want the man you love to see become the next victim. It didn’t help that you felt like you were being watched everywhere you go. Notes starting appearing at your dorm and Enid-even Wednesday became concerned when the notes came with pictures. Pictures of you. One could be of you just chilling in the quad or you and Xavier kissing. The one that freaked you out the most was one of you getting out the shower. This continued for days and you had made Enid and Wednesday swear not to tell anybody. Even Xavier.

You became scared and terrified. You clinged onto Xavier more then you used too, you refused to go anywhere by yourself, hell you were even scared to even sleep by yourself. Xavier was very observant, he knew something was wrong. He noticed how your eyes kept scanning the crowd, how you refused to go anywhere by yourself, how you would grip on his hand a little tighter and cling to him more than usual.

It wasn’t until Xavier finally confronted you about it that you just broke down and started telling him everything. The creepy,notes,the pictures,everything. You sobbed into your boyfriends chest as he rocked you side to side whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

“I will kill the son of a bitch when I find out who he is.” He muttered into your hair. You could of swore that he sounded so eerily serious. His tone changed from the sweet loving one you always known, into something dark and chilling. Something that was so unlike of Xavier to sound like.

But you thought nothing of his comment. Too busy sobbing into your boyfriends chest worrying that maybe your stalker was the killer murdering all these people.

Maybe

————

Thankfully, the creepy notes and pictures stopped appearing at your dorm door after your breakdown with Xavier. Since then, Xavier started walking you to your dorm every night, he never left your side unless you wanted him to, and he would scan the crowd like a hawk, itching to find anything weird. With Xavier around you felt safer and less paranoid. Well, as less paranoid and scared as you can get with the killer still roaming around.

You even felt comfortable walking by yourself to your classes after a couple of days. So here you were, walking to Xavier’s art shed in broad daylight. School bag clutched to your back as you made haste to Xavier’s art shed.

Crutch.

The sound of a stick breaking caused you to turn around in a hurry. You looked around and no one was in sight. Great, of course, it is your luck that something happens to you when you were alone. You weren't far from Nevermore, it was still in sight so nothing can happen right? Nobody is that stupid to do something in broad daylight. You slowly reached for your taser while your eyes surveyed the area. You slowly continued walking with your hand clutched inside your jacket pocket and holding your taser with a tight grip.

Footsteps behind you continued. Getting faster as you walk faster. You turned your taser on and turned around, ready to tase the everloving shit out of whoever was following you.

A yelp and a thud came as you tazed the air threateningly. The person’s stuff was scattered all over the ground

Your mouth was a gap as you got a clear face of the person under the hood.

“Rowan?” You exhaled “You scared the shit out of me.” You let out a relieved sigh at the sight of Xavier’s roommate. You offered him an arm and helped him to his feet. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just needed to talk to you about something.” You sighed. Bending down to help gather his stuff.

“Well, you could have shouted my name like a normal person.?I mean, Jesus Christ Rowan I could’ve tased your dick or something” He frantically bent down and started gathering his belongings. In his panic more stuff began to fall out. He cursed under his breath

A camera and a few polaroid pictures fell out. Pictures of you. All kinds of pictures of you, Some of the wear you were half naked.

Your heart dropped as you held one in your hand. You slowly stood up and made eye contact with Rowan. He started shaking his head

“Y/n I can explain-”

“Explain what? that you were the one that’s been fucking stalking me?!” You looked down at the remaining pictures that were on the forest ground. Rowan tried to walk closer to you but you took a big step back. “You stay the fuck away from me!” You shouted. He didn’t listen, he walked closer to you while he was frantically trying to explain his infatuation with you.

“I said stay the fuck away from me!” You sprayed the pepper spray in his eyes. He fell down to the ground and cried out in pain. You wasted no time in running back to Nevermore not stopping once to look behind you. A sharp tug caused you to trip and you screamed when you were dragged back to Rowan. Who abandoned his glasses and had a dark look in red bloodshot eyes. You couldn't move, held down by Rowan's gift and you could only watch in horror as he stood over you.

“You fucking bitch.” Rowan’s eyes filled with anger. You continued to struggle against the invisible hold. Screaming out for someone, anybody hoping that they can hear you. Rowan backhanded you sending your head to the side and your right cheek was left stinging and your lip bleeding. You continued to scream out for help and he slapped you again.

“Shut up!” He shouted at you. And in response, you spit in his face. “Fuck you.” He wiped the spit off his face and let out a dark chuckle. “This why I like you” He started. He bent down and unzipped your jacket and ripped open your shirt revealing your bra. Rowan grabbed his camera and started taking pictures.

“You’re so feisty,” Another flash from his camera. “I can handle you better than Xavier can. I can treat you better.” You started sobbing. Feeling so helpless and defeated.

Rowan’s blood splashed onto your face and stomach and you let out a blood-curdling scream. The invisible hold on you was gone and you scrambled away from Rowan who was now choking on his blood. You sat against a tree looking to the source of Rowan’s current predicament.

And you saw the killer.

He wore all black and his face was covered with a mask that looked like a ghost. They towered over Rowan who was still choking on his blood. The knife was deep into Rowan’s stomach and they twisted the knife deep into his gut before pulling it out. Rowan collapsed to the ground and weakly dragged himself away. The killer tilted their head. Walking ever so slowly to Rowan, who was still weakly dragging himself on the ground.

You could only watch as the killer got out a camera of their own and got onto Rowan's back and yanking his head back and flashing a picture. They rolled Rowan onto his back and he began screaming as the killer began stabbing him multiple times. Rowan’s pleas reached deaf ears as the killer began stabbing him faster and harder than before, never once stopping.

You sat there shaking like a leaf sobbing hysterically. Covering your ears at the sound of Rowan’s screams mixed with him choking on his own blood, and the mush sounds of the knife coming in contact with Rowan’s intestines. His screams died down and nothing was heard other than your hysteric sobs. The killer stood up

The killer took off their mask with their back facing you and you stopped breathing. You recognize that head of hair and that back anywhere. But you were in denial, you refused to believe it. There was no way that was him. It couldn’t be. The killer slowly turned his body around finally facing you making eye contact.

As much as you want to be in denial, it was loud and clear. Your sweet loving boyfriend Xavier Thorpe is the killer. The notorious Ghostface.

#xavier thrope #xavier x reader #wenesday #percy hynes white #xavier x you #xavier thorpe headcannons #xavier thorpe x reader

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ultrainstinctslasher · 2 years

Text

RZ!Michael Myers x GN!Nurse!Obsession Part 3 (OLD)

Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence, Violence

Notes: This one was kind of short, sorry.

______________________________________________________________

You and Michael had stood there for well over a couple minutes, simply staring at each other's eyes. Neither of you were making any move to get closer nor farther from the strange interaction.

You were lost in thought, staring off to the distance, refusing to look at Michael. Your emotions were pounding on your head, and if you weren't so shocked right now, you would be crying from the pain

While you were practically frozen in time, Michael began becoming frustrated

Do they not like me? Was all they did fake? Was it out of fear? Are they afraid right now?

Although Michael may be infatuated with you, he was still dangerous, and struggled to deal with his emotions. So he turned to the only thing he knew would calm himself down. Violence.

You were forcefully broken out of your gaze when Michael began to tightly squeeze your throat. You hadn't even seen the man move his hands from of how out of it you were.

Your hands had begun to move on their own, clawing at the tight grip bringing you closer to death

You didn't understand what had happened to make him react so violently. Never in the time you had taken care of him had he ever raised his hand at you.

Finally looking at his face, you realize what was wrong. He may not speak much, and his eyes may be cold and dark, but you've known him enough to understand him

His eyes held pain in them, and the slight pinch of the eyebrows behind the mask only solidified the fact

You gave up trying to remove his grip from your throat, realizing you didn't have much time before you passed out, and opted to try something else

Slowly, cautiously, fully well aware how unstable Michael was right now, you reached your hand out to his mask

You gently applied pressure, enough so that he could feel it below the mask, and looked directly at his eyes

"It's o-okay, Michael... I love y-you... too..." you gasped out, on the verge of passing out

Just as quickly as it had begun, Michael released you and you fell onto the ground gasping for air

And just as quietly he came in, he went out

And you understood. You understood how hard it was for him to process his emotions. You know how hard it was for him to stop hurting people. You know how hard it was for him to care. And yet, he was doing all of it for you.

The least you could do was understand

______________________________________________________________

Michael hadn't come back for a couple days, and you had begun to worry. Was he going to come back?

You knew he wasn't gone, as the disappearances around town were at an all-time high, but that didn't cease your concern

Unbeknownst to you though, Michael has never truly left you alone.

Any moment he wasn't hunting someone, he was watching you

He was too guilty to confront you after what he'd done, obviously not aware of that of what he was feeling

All he knew is that every time he waited for you to come back home on your couch, he would quickly leave the house once he heard your keys, not wanting to see you

He truly didn't understand. He wanted to be close to you, but he couldn't bring himself to. Every time he got close, he would get this twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he would leave

And that just frustrated him, leading to his seemingly never-ending sprees

It wasn't until Michael was completely battered that you had seen him again

He had taken a couple good hits from the husband of the woman he was strangling without him realizing he was there. Although he was hurt, it hadn't taken long for him to dispose of the man

But that didn't deter the fact that he was heavily bleeding, and needed help

(He totally didn't just use his injuries as an excuse to see you. Like, have you seen this man? Nothing harms him, so a couple hits would do nothing to him.)

You had nearly screamed at the sight of Michael on your couch, half because you didn't realize it was him, and the other half because of all the blood.

"M-Michael?"

Grunt

And you were back to being his nurse.

______________________________________________________________

#rob zombie michael myers #michael myers headcanons #michael myers x reader #rz michael myers #michael myers #halloween 1978 #halloween 2007 #slasher headcanons #the shape #slashers #slasher x reader #rz michael myers x reader #michael myers x y/n #rz michael myers x y/n #michael myers x you #michael myers x reader headcanons

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seretoningghost · 8 months

Text

Tomura Shigaraki x Male Reader

Warnings : Belt play, breath play, overstimulation, masochism, light sadism (but its just Y/N enjoying the other kinks and enjoying giving them to Shigaraki)

Idk why he gives me so much inspo, I swear I have other fics in the works like Mezo and Tamaki - I swear😭

Today's Tomura's Vibe song has to be Animal by Mindless Self Indulgence.

Powerbottom Y/N

THIRD PERSON POV

Here Tomura was again, laying on the bed - legs hanging off the bed, feet planted on the ground, pants barely halfway down his thighs.

His belt ripped from its loops, and instead secured around his throat - buckled and squeezing.

Tomura's vision went hazy, tongue lolled, chin dribbling with spit.

Eyes lovestruckenly staring up at Y/N, who was moaning lovely above him - not even looking at him with the bliss from riding his poor denied cock.

Y/N kept the belt taught, listening to Tomura gasp and gargle for breath - but grinning internally as Y/N could feel Tomura's cock throb strongly with each gasp inside him.

One of Tomura's hands held tight to the fine leather belt, unable to relieve some of the tension to even sneak a breath - not like he wanted to anyways.

And his right death gripping on Y/Ns hip, fingers digging into the sexy flesh.

This time Tomura had said something along the lines of finding leadership sexy, and Y/N had to put him in his place - beneath his form.

Y/N had to make sure that despite to everyone elses knowledge - that Tomura was not in charge here.

Tomura always loved to tease Y/N - and get his very own belt used on him.

Tomura even bought a fancy belt with tightening brackets that go the full length of the belt so it could secure around his neck.

Instead of with every bounce of Y/N's hot hips - untightening slightly.

"F-Fuck..." Tomura whimpered, eyes pricking with tears, cock twitching wildly.

The dolly pink hearted cock ring around his straining cock keeping him from ejaculating right then again, just like it had all night.

Tomura knew it was fruitless to beg for release - Y/N was a real powerbottom, and didnt stop until he was satisfied.

Tomura's cock was slowly but surely getting uncomfortable - and raw, it ached and longed to fill Y/N's blazing hot tight insides with his load, but couldn't.

But he was getting more and more addicted to the sensation the more times they did this.

Tomura's eyes got a tad too murky, a soft gasp left his lips, Y/N noticed - looking down and smiling softly.

Moaning softly as he gently slowed down, giving Tomura's belt slack.

Tomura let out a long moan, taking in several panting breaths.

Both oxegyn finally running to his brain and cock - but the man is driven by the cock.

His head throbbed with the impending heavy hangover like headache for tomorrow - and he could more clearly feel the overstimulation in his limb buried deep inside Y/N.

"A-ah-...!" Shigaraki whined.

But now instead gripped tight onto Y/Ns hips, letting out soft panty "ah"s as he made shallow but rather quick thrusts up into Y/N.

Y/N grinning as he pushed his hips down into the thrusts.

Shigaraki's eyes swelled with tears, it hurt, but hurt good.

Shigaraki was at this point only being fueled by the sensation consuming and radiating from his cock.

The vessel for pleasure throbbing harshly inside of Y/N - much to Y/N's enjoyment.

"Y-Y/N~... Y/N~! I-I w-wanna cu-M!" Shigaraki was cut off as Y/N pulled taught on the belt.

Shigaraki loosing his breath and letting out a pleasured cracky squeak, cock throbbing intensely - he would have came just then.

Y/N grinned wildly, recalling how fun it was to ride him with the belt without the cock ring - Shiggy came so much when they did that, but he rarely lasted half the time the duo had been at it currently.

Shigaraki gasped lovingly, gripping tight onto Y/Ns hips, mind being consumed with the desire to pump Y/N full.

Whining animalistically Shigaraki's back arched up, chest heaving as he audibly sucked in air.

Y/N grinned, wrapping the belt around his clenched fist - his hand hardly being 6" from Shigaraki's face.

Tomura's eyes dilated to finally get his sexy hand in view - but once he did - a grin cracked on Shigaraki face.

"O-OhhhHhhhh~" Shigaraki groaned brokenly, cock throbbing again.

If his hardened nipples weren't noticable from under his black shirt before - now they were.

Shigaraki was without a doubt - if he wasn't before - in love.

Shigaraki would be slobbering over Y/N's hand gripped around the belt if it were close enough and still choking him - or be taking Y/Ns cock in his mouth.

"S-Sadist-i-ic p-puppy~" Shigaraki whimpered, tilting his head back slightly.

Y/N moaned, grinning as he leaned forward slightly, getting in Shigaraki's view again.

Tugging on the belt - Shigaraki's eyes dilated again, focusing on Y/N's face.

"Shiggy~ ohh~... Your doing s-so g-gooood for me~.." Y/N purred.

Tomura groaned weakly back, cock throbbing, the demeaning nickname got his rocks off so bad.

If he could be both complimented and degraded in one sentance with it seeming natural - he got so fucking hard.

Y/N sat up fully again, biting his lip - his own cock throbbing.

His prostate was being berated with Tomura's large size.

Y/N whimpered softly, wrapping his free hand tightly around the base of his cock - it throbbing madly in his hand.

Y/N drastically slowed, and gave slack to the belt.

"S-Shiggy~? You ready to cum baby~?" Y/N whimpered, biting his lip and shuddering.

It took a moment but Shigaraki's eyes cleared, giving a stressed loud whimper - nodding frantically.

"Y-Yea-Yeah!" He blurted raspily.

It hurt his throat to talk - but that wouldnt stop him from being verbal during sex.

His cock throbbed wildly.

"Okay~.... Hold back for me babe~.." Y/N whined, pulling off of Shigaraki's cock panting.

Shigaraki simply groaned, feeling his release get dangerously close as Y/N slowly slipped the ring strangling his cock.

But Tomura knew the punishment - he tried his very best to hold it back.

Cock throbbing with a cold pulsation as blood steadily flowed back to his red cock.

Y/N whimpered, seeing the poor sexy cock - wanting to give it a deserved stroke, but knew Tomura would burst then.

"A bit longer Shiggy~.. Your doing soooo good~...." Y/N whined, sitting down on the cock again.

Savoring each raw inch that filled his tight ass.

Finally down to the hilt, the duo panted - both of them staving off orgasm.

Y/N moaned softly, beginning to slowly bounce of Shigaraki's cock.

Y/N got to a medium pace, moaning loudly as he gripped his hand onto his cock.

"C-Cum!" Y/N moaned, instantly pulling taught on the belt.

Shigaraki groaned brokenly, dick throbbing wildly against Y/N's moving walls as he finally released his large load.

Eyes fogging over again he whimpered and moaned strained, clawing onto Y/N's hips like Y/N was the only thing keeping him alive.

Humping up into Y/Ns thrusts.

His orgasm felt like heaven, but soon another overwhelming orgasm rushed over his quivering cock.

Y/N mewling as he let go of his own cock - thick ropes of cum staining Shigaraki's shirt - even getting some on Shigaraki's cheek.

Y/N shuddering lovingly at the hot feeling seeping into him, quickly spreading throughout his insides, pooling into him.

"O-OooHhh~ agAin~!" Y/N whimpered, back arching like a slut.

Shigaraki's arching as well, as if he even heard Y/N ask, he was too long gone in pleasure.

Groaning lowly as he released another load, cock getting much more overstimulated now.

Whimpering and huffing now, out of breath as it stung - but he couldn't get enough of Y/N.

Still hard as a diamond, and throbbing wildly he kept at it.

Y/N's spine wracked with euphoria as Shigaraki kept going, moaning loudly as his cock bobbed - squirting another load messily over Tomura's shirt.

Y/N bit his tongue, groaning loudly as he grabbed tight hold of his cock - fisting his dick madly as he milked his throbbing member.

The two simply whimpered loudly and moaned, Tomura groaning loudly as he let out a orgasm laced with painful overstimulation after.

Tomura kept going however - as he was slowly softening - watching Y/N rub one more out.

Y/N moaning loudly, throwing his head back as he came again.

Shigaraki slowly pacing down as Y/Ns hips stopped moving.

Stopping - panting loudly as Y/N released his belt - his cock steadily softening inside of Y/N.

Tomura's dick throbbed wildly.

The two sat in silence, panting and enjoying eachother.

Finally Y/N sat up a bit straighter.

"You did sooooo good Shiggy~." Y/N cooed affectionately, smiling.

"Y-yeAh...." Shigaraki crackedly whispered, smiling.

"You oWe me Lots of lEMon wAter..."

"Yeah? Well your the one who buys sexy belts like these~..." Y/N grinned, teasing as he twirled the end of the belt.

Shigaraki turned red.

#bnha x male reader #male reader smut #mha x male reader #x male reader #smut #tomura shigaraki #+18 blog #+18 only #+18 content #+18 or +adult only #yaoi #yaoi bl #power bottom #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #masochistic #breathplay #overstim kink

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wildfloweroutlaw · 1 year

Text

Protective and Proud

~~~~~~~~~~

pairing: arthur morgan X female reader

drabble: arthur being protective

summary: when arthur and reader’s night is so rudely interrupted, arthur has to show his protective side.

a/n: sorry for the short writing hiatus, school kicked my ass this semester. this was originally just meant to help me get back into the swing of writing, but i figured i’d share in case someone enjoys it :)

word count: 1,652 words

~~~~~~~~~~

You impatiently shifted from one foot to the other, back pressed against the wooden hitching post just outside the sheriff’s office. The sun had already started its decent below the mountains in the distance a while ago, leaving the street lamps to cast a soft yellow glow on the town of Valentine. A few people still meandered about in the street, but for the most part the town was empty. Save for the saloon of course, you often found yourself glancing that way to observe the drunken citizens coming in and out of the swinging saloon doors, laughter and music filtering out into otherwise quiet night.

You fished in your pocket for your watch, glancing down at the little hands that read 7:30. Arthur had told you to meet him here at 7 p.m sharp for a drink or two. You shoved the watch back into your pocket, sighing dramatically, though you urged yourself to be more patient. You can’t even blame the poor man for being late, you know he works himself half to death each day. Hell he probably hasn’t even had time to glance at his watch today. You pulled a cigarette out of the pack in your saddle bag, lighting it up. You absentmindedly stroked your horse’s neck as you puffed a cloud of smoke into the cool night air.

“Thought you was quitting?”, A gruff voice from behind you interrupted your thoughts.

The sudden intrusion made you jump slightly and you quickly turned to see your cowboy walking towards you, reins in hand and the usual smirk plastered to his handsome face.

“Yeah well… maybe next week.” You grinned with a shrug, cigarette dangling out of the corner of your mouth.

Arthur approached the hitching post, tying off his horse alongside yours. “You know…”, he reached forward, pulling the cigarette from your lips and placing them between his own, “these ain’t good for ya darling.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you, and you were quick to close the gap between the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his thick torso, burying your face in his chest. “Missed you.”

Arthur’s hands snaked around your waist, one hand gently stroking your back. “I missed you too sweet heart. Sorry I was late, Marston had me running all over the county chasing some damn sheep.”

You released your grip on him, grinning at the obvious annoyance that laced his voice. “I’m scared to even ask.”

“I’ll tell ya about it over drinks, c’mon.” Arthur snuffed out the stolen cigarette and motioned towards the lively saloon. You happily made your way towards the commotion and the smell of liquor, Arthur following closely beside you.

Upon approaching the saloon doors, Arthur pushed one open and held it for you, allowing you to lead the way. The sudden turn of heads and lingering eyes from the men in the bar were not lost on him, far for it actually. Though you always seemed to either not notice or not care about the curious eyes of strangers, Arthur actually enjoyed it, he absolutely loved being seen with you.

Arthur knew you were so much more than just something pretty to hang on his arm. However, he couldn’t help but to love the feeling he got when he saw the way other men looked at the pair of you, though he’d never admit it. The way they oozed jealousy watching you dote over him, kiss on him, hell even just stand next to him, it was something he’d never experienced before. Arthur never thought there was much about himself to be proud of you. But you, you made him feel special. There was nothing he enjoyed more than to be able to boast about his claim on you. You were his and he was going to make damn sure everyone in here knew it.

Arthur placed a large rough hand upon the small of your back, keeping you close to him as he guided you towards the edge of the bar. He was quick to get the bar keeps attention, ordering you both a glass of whiskey. Arthur was happy to chatter a long with you while you both nursed your drinks. He’d barely seen you all week and was eager to catch up with his favorite girl.

Though the bar was loud, you were only focused on Arthur. The way he intently listened every time you spoke, the way he would often lean in closer just to hear you a bit better, the way his arm always found it’s way around your waist: he was perfect to you in every way. You leaned up to pepper a few kisses along his bearded jawline as he spoke. Suddenly remembering Arthur’s promise from earlier, you quickly pulled away.“Oh! Arthur the sheep! You never told me what the hell you were doing with the sheep.”

Arthur had never met anyone who took such an interest in him and his stories before. Perhaps that’s why he’s always been so taken with you, you seemed to be one of the only people in the world who wanted to know more about him.“Well, Marston had this bright idea, and that’s never a good thing…” he chuckled a little at his own joke, promoting you to roll your eyes. “He figured that we could make a pretty penny by-“

“Miss? ‘Scuse me miss!” An extremely intoxicated man stumbled his way beside you at the bar, much to close for your’s or Arthur’s liking.

“Yes?”, confused, you turned to face him. His face was red and his eyes glassy.

“Miss I-I couldn’t help but to notice you. I was just wondering if I could buy you a drink.” His words slightly slurred together and he propped one elbow up on the bar clumsily.

Still confused you glanced from the man to Arthur and back again. “I’m sorry mister but I’m spoken for.” You tried to be as polite as possible and you figured the man was just too drunk to notice you were there with Arthur.

“Spoken for by who?” The man dramatically studied the room.

You nodded up to Arthur who was standing protectively behind you, so close his chest almost pressed to your back.

“You see… that’s what I was a-suspectin’. But then I thought to myself there was jus’ no way a pretty woman like you’d be here with him.” The man leaned in a little closer to speak just to you, a devilish grin on his face.

You were quick to furrow your brow in confusion.

Arthur chuckled a bit behind you. “Alright buddy you’ve made your point. Now if ya don’t mind we’d like to enjoy the rest of our night”. Arthur did his best to keep it light hearted, but it was hard to disguise his dour tone.

The man made no indication he had heard what Arthur was saying, instead he proceeded to rake his eyes over you. “Miss… I will say, you’re even prettier up close.”

You felt Arthur’s arm around your waist tighten and his chest press into your back as he leaned slightly closer to this nuisance of a man.

“You got fuckin’ hearin’ problems or somethin’?” This time Arthur’s voice was a bit more stern and you could tell he was growing annoyed at the continuous interruption.

This time the guy glanced up at Arthur, but only for a second, for his gaze was back on you in an instant. “Look miss, you give me 5 good minutes and I’ll show you what you’re missing out on.”

Arthur pulled you behind him, positioning himself between you and the drunken bastard. “She said she was spoken for. Now are you gonna fuck off or am I gonna have to embarrass you in front of the lady?” Arthur nodded back to you.

His voice had deepened to that gravely tone he used in very few scenarios, and you found yourself growing a bit hot under the collar in response. You loved when he spoke like that, it damn near sent chills up your spine.

The man raised his hands defensively, “Alright alright… was just having some fun mister.” Deciding you weren’t worth the brawl that was sure ensure, he began to stalk off.

Arthur was quick to grab ahold of the man’s shoulder, pulling him back and glaring down at him. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood fella. Come back over here and I will break your god damn jaw.” Arthur spoke low, attempting to shield you from his harsh words. He shoved the man on his way and turned to give his attention back to you. “Ya okay darlin?”

You heard it all, and the butterflies proceeded to flutter in your stomach. Seeing him so protective of you, it did things to you that you couldn’t explain. You nodded and turned to face the bar, attempting to hide the blush that had crept up on your face.

Arthur moved to stand behind you, arms on either side to cage you against the bar. “You sure do cause a lot of trouble y’know.” He teased, stooping to affectionally press a kiss to your temple. “Can’t take ya out nowhere.” Arthur smiled to himself. He was so proud to be a protector, and even prouder to have something as special as you to protect.

You knew Arthur was trying to be sweet, as he was always extremely sweet. However, the only thing you could think about was his deep timber voice, his willingness to fight for you, to kill for you, and of course his looming figure pressed up behind you. You tried not to dwell on the fact that there was a growing pressure between your legs, and instead pressed your glass to your lips and took a big swig. You cleared your throat awkwardly, “You uh- you still owe me a sheep story”.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption x reader #rd2 #red dead redemption arthur

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