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pinkie-pop · 2 months

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"I Have Something To Tell You."

Part I Part II Part III

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Yandere Genshn Impact, non religious SAGAU, Yandere Fatui Harbingers

Word count: 3.1k

Includes: Portrayal of mental illness, suicide, description of injury,

Synopsis: After killing yourself and landing in the world of Genshin Impact, you reflect on all that has gone wrong.

•~•~•~•~•~•

You don't really want to go home. Not exactly. But it's easier to say you miss your bed than to say you'd be fine with any bed, so long as it isn't the one in your wing.

You thought people who get isekaied into new worlds were supposed to be happy. You've always been unlucky, you suppose. That's right. It's easier to say you were unlucky than to face the reality of the situation: that this was all your own fault.

You should have sucked it up. Should have gone to counseling or stayed at a hospital. Should have done something else. Should have done anything else.

You should never have killed yourself.

•~•~•~•~•~•

It all started maybe a week ago. You've always been depressed. Never passionate about anything other than your video games, never smiling at anything other than a shiny new character or banner weapon, but it had never been this bad before. For all the talk, you had never actually wanted to die.

But then something changed. You aren't quite sure what it was that set you off. Maybe a particularly bad day at work, a side effect from an experimental medication you're on, or nothing at all. Regardless, something changed, and it changed fast. Soon, death became all you could think about. It plagued your mind both night and day until, at last, you slit your wrists in the bathtub, and when that didn't work, and you woke up again, you climbed up your local water tower and jumped off.

But it didn't matter. You woke up again. Looking different, but still undeniably you. Your face and voice had changed, but the same two scars still sit mockingly upon your wrists. You can't say you're prettier now, just different. Weren't the protagonists of transmigration stories meant to wake up in beautiful bodies, completely unlike their originals? So why was it that your hair and eyes remained the same, that only your face and body had differed?

“Your body,” Dottore explained, “was completely destroyed during your fall. So it reconstructed itself, leaving you a little different, a little the same. That's why,” he said, tapping your wrists,”—that these are still here.” Any other scars you have had disappeared from your body, any blemishes vanished, though the two on your wrists remained. It left you looking smooth and unfinished, a pale imitation of who you once were. Like someone who had only seen you a couple of times tried to draw you from memory. Dottore told you it was because you were attached to them. That the scars shaped your soul, hence their survival. You didn't quite understand, if you're being honest, but he seemed to know what he was talking about, so you didn't bother to question it.

When you woke up again after death, the first thing you noticed was how cold it was. The chill wind was bitter against your white nightwear, the breeze penetrating through the thin fabric as easily as a needle piercing one's skin. The cold seemed to seep into you, lodging itself deep inside your bones.

It was snowing, you realized dimly. That's odd. It hardly ever snowed anymore. The thought that you ought to have been dead by now hadn't yet occured to you, only the thought of cold and bitter winter days lingered in your mind. You thought of school being dismissed due to snow in your youth, of playing and building snowmen as a child. You recalled how the snow eventually stopped coming in winters, due to the Earth’s gradual heating. When it did come, it was a sad and pathetic thing, only a few inches total, melting as soon as it hit the ground.

You thought long and deeply, in an odd, serene state of mind despite, or perhaps because of the polar cold. You aren't quite sure how long you stayed there, reminiscing, but it must have been quite a while, seeing as how your fingers and toes turned black, contrasting starkly against the snow.

It was Tartaglia who found you first, buried knee-deep in snow, strangely calm despite the way your fingertips are blackened by the cold. Of course, you were calm. You were supposed to be dead anyway.

“You okay there, comrade?” He asked you, waving a hand in front of your face. You blinked at him slowly but otherwise didn't respond. You were so still that he would have thought you dead if not for the soft rising and falling of your chest. Tartaglia attributed your inaction to shock—a symptom he's seen plenty of during his time as a Fatuus. Seeing as how you seemed unable (or perhaps unwilling) to move, he simply picked you up and dragged you back to the Zapolyarny Palace, where you were able to warm up and get treatment.

In normal circumstances, your arms and legs would have had to be amputated, but your circumstances were far from normal.

Dottore was the one who had saved your limbs (Your legs, having been buried in the snow for hours, were beyond saving, but your fingers and hands were able to recover). For that, you were grateful. He’s a creep, sure, but sentiments of debt made you tolerate his odd rambles about medical malpractice. Made you politely ignore the way his hands seemed to linger and stray.

After all, if he could save your limbs from certain death, he could most certainly remove them with just as much ease, too.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The mirror in your quarters is broken.

You punched it when you first saw yourself reflected in its panes and refused to get a replacement, despite the many urgings of Pantalone to let him buy you one. Simply having your mirror broken was not enough to completely block out your new reflection, so you requested a can of blackout paint to be brought over to your room, where you then did a—in hindsight—rather shoddy job of enshrouding the reflective surface. It looked bad, but you didn't care.

All you cared about was never seeing the face that you hesitate to call yours ever again.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You aren't quite sure why Tartaglia brought you back to the Palace when it would have been much easier to leave you in the snow. You asked him about it once, but his response was less than satisfactory.

“You could say I fell in love with you at first sight,” he said, ruffling your hair. Because what could be more charming than a frostbitten civilian in white nightwear that camouflages them in the snow?

You decided then and there to ignore any questions you had about the Harbingers’ growing attachment to you. You didn't need to know why they felt the way they did. Only that they did.

Only that they do.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You were given a luxurious room at the Palace, far nicer than even the best of five-star resorts you could never afford. You even had your own personal maid, a brawny woman named Lera (an aptly chosen name, considering it means strength). She had her own helpers that also attended to you, three girls named Ana, Ulyana, and Irina (Ana and Ulyana are twins belonging to two rather uncreative parents, and Irina is an only child). Ana and Ulyana seem to be around your age, Irina a few years younger, and Lera about two decades older. Having the four of them around makes you feel as if you've been transmigrated into a romance fantasy novel.

When Tartaglia brought you to the Zapolyarny Palace, it caused a small ripple of chaos in its wake. The halls were filled with whispers about the strange person who seemed to have captured the heart of the eleventh Harbinger. Even more shocking than that, however, was the second’s agreement to heal you. There were many rumors going about, talk of backroom deals that must have been done to get Dottore to agree to save your arms, but no proof of such things were ever found. Some brave souls claimed that Dottore had also fallen for you and that that was why he had agreed to help. These people were hushed by their friends rather quickly, for fear of their own lives.

Stranger still was the seventh’s involvement in your recovery. Sandrone, though you're not sure how she heard about it or why she had decided to help, had created a pair of porcelain legs for you to wear. They were pretty, like a doll’s, a pale eggshell white with elegant gold carvings etched into the skin. They were comfortable, too, so much so that you almost forgot they were prosthetic, and Lera had to remind you multiple times to take them off before heading to bed.

You wanted to thank Sandrone for your legs, but you haven't seen her since your measurements and fitting. You asked a servant to send a message to her, but you've gotten no indication that she's even received it, let alone a response. As for Dottore, you were able to send your regards through Ulyana, who had to visit his section of the Palace anyway.

Tartaglia visits you daily, and soon you begin to coincidentally meet with the other Harbingers, who always seemed to have time for entertainment in the form of you.

“Oh, are you the one that our dear Tartaglia is so smitten with?” Came the sing-songy voice of Columbina. You pause, turning around slowly. To be honest, Columbina was one of the Harbingers you'd most like to avoid. Her soft voice sent shivers down your spine that—you hope—would be attributed to the cold instead.

You turn towards her, and, afraid your voice might crack, say nothing and simply nod instead.

“What’s your name, little songbird?” She asks you. You give it to her in a quiet voice, and she returns it with her own. Before she can say anything more, Tartaglia comes by and wraps an arm around you, making up some excuse about the two of you having someplace you needed to be. Columbina watches the two of you leave in silence, a small, closed-eyed smile upon her face.

Later, Tartaglia warns you away from Columbina. “There's something not right with her,” he says, a rare frown dancing upon his lips. “I can't place it, but you're better off staying away. And that's not just because I'd rather keep you to myself.” He then smiles and ruffles your hair in an attempt to lighten the mood. You don't say anything, but nod when he asks you to avoid her.

Pantalone is next. He visits you directly, bringing with him two golden bracelets you have no choice but to let him place upon your wrists. They do a good job of covering up your scars, which you assume is the intention behind the gift. It's oddly thoughtful, coming from him. But you know better than to think it was free.

You aren't sure if you want to know what he expects in exchange.

You meet with La Signora next, and you're surprised to see that she's still alive. You suppose the Traveler hasn't made it to Inazuma in this world yet. That's strange, but you decide not to dwell on it.

Next is Dottore’s segments, also still alive, and all of whom seem to enjoy lingering around your quarters. You often find one or two hanging around in the hallways, always making light conversation or asking if you require anything. You know better than to write it off as a coincidence, and for a while you entertained the thought that Dottore had put them up to it, before promptly writing it off as ridiculous.

Still, a small part of you can't help but wonder if the doctor has taken a special interest in one of his dear patients.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Two weeks into your stay at the Zapolyarny Palace, you overhear a conversation amongst the servants. You hide behind a banister and listen in.

“How long has it been now?” Says a maid, a nervous hand tangled in her hair, tugging it slightly. You’ve seen her before but have never gotten her name. She’s speaking to another maid who you recognize as Tatinana.

“Almost a month, I’d say,” responds the other, gently stopping her from ruining her braids.

“Everyone’s getting antsy. I’ve never seen Lord Tartaglia so irritable.”

“I know what you mean. He used to be such a laid-back guy. Now, you can barely even hold a conversation without him looking at you like he’s ready to tear out your eyes. Lord Scaramouche has gotten even more unbearable to be around, too. And you can tell the Player’s absence has taken a toll on everyone else as well.” Player, huh? If their absence is so heavily noticed, they must be important. It’s odd, though. You’ve never once heard about such a character existing at all, let alone their disappearance. You keep listening, hoping for clues about this mysterious person’s identity.

“Don’t you think the timing is a little odd? They showed up right before the Player stopped logging in. They’ve got the Harbingers wrapped around their finger. It’s too precise to be a coincidence. There’s something to it, I just know it.” Is she…talking about you now? So this ‘Player’ disappeared right before you showed up? They stopped ‘logging in’? Well, isn’t that wording a bit peculiar? It sure sounds like gamer lingo to you.

This Player that they mentioned…it couldn’t be you, could it?

“Enough with your conspiracies. Let’s get back to work before—” A floorboard creaks from under your foot, and the two maids freeze. You suppose there’s no use in hiding anymore, so you step out to face them.

“E-esteemed guest, w-what brings you here?”

“Ah, nothing much,” you say. “I heard voices and came to take a look. What were you two talking about?” You ask casually, stuffing your hands in your pockets.

“Nothing!” The girl with braided hair squeaks. You raise an eyebrow at her, and the other shakes her head.

The girl sighs. “We aren’t supposed to talk about them,” she says.

“Maria, I think they heard,” Tatiana says. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me more about this ‘Player’ you mentioned.”

“Didn’t stop you before.”

“Right, well…” She pauses, seemingly formulating her next words carefully. “It’s this…force. This being behind the Traveler. We don’t know its true nature, none of us have ever seen anything like it. It controls the Traveler and their companions like a puppet to its puppeteer.”

“They’ve lost their minds,” Maria whispers. “It’s scary. They make us clean a ghost’s room. Every day, it has to be spotless.”

“And? What’s the goal?”

“That’s the thing…none of us know. The Harbingers know something, they’re all obsessed with the Player, they’re convinced that the Player holds some kind of power they can utilize, but the Player isn’t from Teyvat, and only Lord Tartaglia has figured out how to interact with it.”

“Interact with it how?”

“By being possessed. All the Harbingers want to be controlled by the Player, they think it’ll make them stronger. But it’s more than that. They used to just want to use the Player for their own gain, but somewhere along the way things changed. They’ve been working on a way to bring them here, and when they do there’s a whole wing in the Zapolyarny Palace dedicated to them.”

“It was unbearable right after the Player first disappeared, the air was suffocating. But then Lord Tartaglia brought you back and things started to return to normal. I overheard him saying being with you reminded him of when the Player used to take control.” You nod, the cogs in your head turning furiously. That settles it, then. Without a shred of doubt, you are the Player.

“Hey, so listen…”

The Tsarista summoned you and all Harbingers to a meeting in an effort to control the chaos your revelation had caused.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You thought you were prepared to see the Tsarista for the first time, but nothing in the world could prepare you for the sheer, glacial beauty standing in front of you. Her presence was strong, commanding obedience with a simple glance. Her eyes looked at you coldly, interest evident in her face as she called the meeting to order. A beautiful crown of ice sat upon her head, her impossibly white hair elegantly framing her face as it cascaded down her back.

The meeting passed by in a blur. You remember them talking about your need to be protected, to never leave the Palace without at least two Harbingers or the Tsaritsa herself escorting you. You remember telling them about how you died, stating simply that you ‘fell from a high place’ and omitting the part where you jumped. You remember the color of the buttons each Harbinger wore on their coat. But you don’t remember the part where you agreed to stay with them. You don’t remember anyone even asking.

After the meeting, news of your true identity spread like wildfire. Some people didn’t believe it, calling you a fraud or an imposter, but those voices were quickly snuffed out the second the Harbingers started to accept your new status as the Player. Immediately, you were moved to the Player’s Wing in the Zapolyarny Palace, an easy move, considering you had no possessions.

You don’t know why they’re trying so hard to win your favor or even if they realize that they’re failing, but either way, you know you need to get out of here. You’d try dying again if you thought that would work, but after seeing your scars, the Harbingers have already blocked all potential means of speeding up your expiration date. That only leaves one option.

The Harbingers’ visits, already a nuisance, became overbearing in no time. If it wasn’t Tartaglia dragging you to his training hall, it was Dottore giving you the nitty-gritty of his latest experiments. If it wasn’t Arlecchino shoving sweets down your throat, it was Pantalone burying you in gifts.

If it wasn’t one, it was always the other.

You have to run away.

But how? The Harbingers are all working together to keep you under constant lock and key.

Maybe if you were able to break the bonds they’ve formed with each other, you could recruit one of them to help you. They’re all selfish assholes. You’re sure it wouldn’t be difficult to convince one of them they’d be better off keeping you to themselves.

“I have something to tell you,” you say, brushing a strand of hair out of the Balladeer’s face. “It’s about Dottore.”

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soapskneebrace · 5 months

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imprimatura

muses - part one - next

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x f!Reader Word Count: 2.8k Rating: Mature (mostly Soap being Soap) Warnings: please see this post for notes about this reader character Also on Ao3.

An artist meets her muse, and a solider meets his.

He arrives early as you’re setting up for your students, in jeans and a tight t-shirt, and the first thing that crosses your mind when you lay eyes on him is Jesus, he’s fit.

You are no stranger to bodies. Hundreds of them have cycled through your studio, all shapes and sizes and colors; you think you may know every dip, every roll, every hard angle and soft curve that a human body is capable of holding. The mystique of defined muscle has long lost its novelty. Bodies are bodies, and each holds the same value as the next when subject to brush and canvas. It never matters, you teach your students, what a body looks like in the modeling chair. It only matters if they can reproduce it accurately.

Even so, when a body like this walks in, you really can’t help but take notice.

Decadent muscle, fed and worked well, round and full with hydration. It’s impossible to miss, even through his clothes; each group delineated clearly, gracefully, as if sculpted rather than built, and alive with soft, subcutaneous movement. It’s indulgent to look at, the comfortable breadth of his shoulders and chest down to that slight taper of his waist and bulk of his thick thighs. It’s a physique no hard-bodied gym rat could hope to achieve merely with extra time at the racks—a physique that is easily, harmoniously attractive in its makeup of muscle and healthy fat.

The man is also mohawked and suntanned, and his mouth rests at an angle that suggests he often smiles—as if he knows that Michelangelo would have swooned at the sight of him. He comes into your classroom, saunters over to you, and stops precisely two paces away from you.

“Sergeant John MacTavish,” he says, offering his hand. “I understand you’re the instructor?”

He has gorgeous, vivid blue eyes (pthalo and cremnitz, with a touch of hamsa). You blink several times. Fit is still rattling around your skull, and begins knocking against sergeant at the same rolling frequency as his warm Scottish brogue. You realize his hand is still outstretched and quickly take it to shake.

“Yes!” you say. His palm is tough, callused, and not soft in the slightest, but very warm. “Nice to meet you, sergeant.”

He gives a grimace. “John’s fine. Or Soap.”

“Soap?”

“Nickname, y’know.”

Neither of you have released from the handshake. Soap’s grip is firm, the kind of firm that suggests he can squeeze much, much tighter if he needs to. And if the grip isn’t any indication, the broad forearms, dusted soft with dark brown hair, certainly are.

Black lines, a sword and helmet framed in laurels, catch your notice. The ink has the soft edges of having lain in the skin for a few years. You turn his arm to see it more fully. “Oh. Nice tattoo.”

He looks at the ink as if it is entirely new to him, and then gives an easy grin. “Thanks. I’ve got a few more too. Hope they aren’t hard to draw.”

When you loosen your grip on his hand, he releases you immediately. You still feel the squeeze in your bones even as you drop your hand to your side.

“So, then, Soap,” you say, “have you ever modeled before?”

He shakes his head, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his low-slung jeans. It tugs the waistband just a bit, revealing a sliver of warm, tan skin (raw sienna, flesh ochre, naples yellow). “Should have, honestly, with how much it pays.”

“It gets very boring, very fast,” you say. “What do you plan to wear for the breaks?”

“Was I supposed to bring that m’self?”

You are unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck and going a little sheepish—as if expecting a reprimand. You suppose it’s a valid expectation to have, in his world. You aren’t terribly familiar with the military, but you do know it’s one hell of a stickler for rules.

You also can’t help but admire the appealing pull and stretch of his bicep and deltoid, the flex of his pectoral as he lowers his arm.

“Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll go see if I can find something for you?” you suggest kindly, letting him off the hook.

“Sorry,” he says, pretty blue eyes filled with genuine apology. “I’ll remember nex’ time. Thanks.”

The expression is so hangdog that you almost want to pat his head and noise at him reassuringly, like an actual dog. You press your lips together to hide a smile, and leave the studio.

When you get back from the models’ changing room, you find Soap with one hip against the counter where you’d been organizing your supplies, one knee loose and shoulders set at a relaxed angle. You want to laugh at his easy contrapposto. He’s going to be an excellent model. You can feel it.

It looks as if he’s moving around the sticks of vine charcoal with one outstretched finger; he pulls his hand guiltily away when you reenter the studio, crossing his arms over his chest as if to hide the evidence of his snooping. It makes his pectorals bunch and round out, gathers the thickness of his biceps up into chiseled, full definition.

You lift one brow at him as you walk over.

“Never could keep my hands to m’self,” he admits, still sheepish.

“It’s alright,” you allow, smiling back. “Do you draw?”

“Used to,” he says. He looks back at the charcoal. “No time, now.”

“Are you deployed often?” you ask, taking the opportunity to look at his face.

Beauty is cheap in art, but you notice it all the same—appreciate the strong brows, the hard angle of his jaw, the dark stubble of a beard you suspect he can’t keep shaved down, and the long scar that cuts through it across his chin. The light brown of his complexion is speckled with sun exposure, and there are the faintest of creases at the corners of his eyes, which you expect will deepen into genuine, gorgeous crow’s feet as he ages.

He’s not all rugged, though. There is a soft, thick curl to his lashes, which are as dark as strong coffee or expensive chocolate, and an equal decadence to the pink, plush little swell of his bottom lip—which, in the very middle, has the smallest of divots, as if he regularly spends time biting it.

They’re traits that are far too sweet to belong on an otherwise masculine face, and their effect is such that they turn an objectively average set of features into a shockingly attractive portrait—that suddenly has something fluttering, just a bit, in the roof of your stomach.

He looks at you, and catches your survey. You can see him realize you’d been watching, the knowledge of it blooming in ocean blue eyes like ink dropped onto linen.

“More often than no’,” he answers, showing teeth in a crooked, interested grin. And now he’s looking at you—attention flitting across your face, dropping down your body and jumping back up to meet your gaze. The creases deepen at the corners of his eyes.

The fluttering intensifies. The sudden role reversal has you feeling at once flustered and unmoored. You are never the subject of any perusal—always comfortably the observer.

“Well—” you try, and you’re embarrassed at the low tone of your voice. You clear your throat. “Well, let’s make use of the time we have you, then.”

His smile remains, cocksure and easy. “Let’s.”

He knows the effect he’s had.

“Anyway,” you say, blinking several times and proffering the sheet you’d retrieved, “none of the other models are your size, so I’m afraid this will have to do.”

He takes it in his hands, which are sun-dark and striking against the clean white linen. “So it’s a toga, then?” he asks.

“Whatever you like. Let’s go over the basics, and then you can undress.”

“Oh, already, aye? Y’move fast, hen,” he drawls, still grinning. “I like it.”

Heat rushes to your face, but you don’t feel embarrassed enough not to laugh. You busy yourself with tapping your charcoal sticks back in place, putting them back in an even row ascending in order of length, and saving yourself from having to look him in the eye. “Ha! We don’t do a lot of foreplay in this studio, I’m afraid.”

“No?” Soap hums, and he steps closer. He’s very warm, enough that you can feel it even with the space between you. You do have to look at him then. His eyes are half-lidded, lashes casting pretty shadows on his cheekbones as he gazes down at you. “That’s a shame. I’m right partial to it.”

Your brows lift, and you will your pulse to remain steady even as you inhale, catching a thread of—cologne? Aftershave? Just plain deodorant?—coming off of him. The scent caresses you, almost beckoning you to lean forward. You swear you can see the thrum of his heartbeat, there in the soft hollows by his Adam’s apple.

You blink. He is your model. “Well—I’ll try to set you up as best I can, anyway. Follow me, please.”

And you turn your back on him, because this is your workplace, and you are at work, and if you don’t get on with things you might do something stupid like actually flirt back.

Soap hadn’t been sure what to expect when he arrived at the art studio. He’s never been to one before, much less one housed in a university—which he has also never been to—and hell, he only ever took one art class in high school.

If pressed, he’d have imagined old brick walls covered in diagram posters, shelves of supplies in all colors, the smell of paint hanging permanently in the air. What he finds instead is modern, clean, and impersonal. Stage lights hang from fixtures in the ceiling, pointing at a platform in the back center of the room. A tight line of easels, all folded up, stand pressed into a far corner, next to a tower of stacked chairs, and waist-high cabinets line half the room against the bare, painted cinder block wall. The linoleum floor looks new.

None of this, however, has any opportunity to disappoint him. His final unmet expectation, standing across the room and organizing a tray of art supplies, is a very welcome surprise.

You’re bonnie. Like, every point on his wishlist bonnie. Christ, he must’ve done something really good lately, because he can’t imagine just lucking into this. There’s not a hard angle to you, all sweet and soft, but when you meet his gaze during introductions there’s a sharpness to you that skewers him through the chest. You are much smarter than him, he can tell immediately.

He’s always had a thing for smart women. Soft ones, too. And if that weren’t enough, you let him flirt shamelessly with you, while checking him out the whole time.

Steaming Jesus.

You direct him to get onto the platform and sit down, still clothed, in an armchair draped in another pristine white sheet. The stage lights are bright overhead, and they highlight free-floating wisps of your hair in gold.

“You want to ensure that you don’t rest your weight on only one or two points,” you explain. You have a nice voice. Steady, confident—this is your territory, your studio, and in it you are clearly the master. “The main danger is that your arms or legs might fall asleep, and you won’t realize it until you get up, in which case you’ll fall. We can’t touch you, so we can’t save you from that.”

“Y’canna touch me?” Soap repeats.

“Not without your explicit consent,” you say.

He smiles at you, the kind of smile he saves for bright nights at the pub over platoons of shot glasses. “I explicitly consent to you touching me.”

The corners of your mouth tug upward, just a bit, and you look away, clearly bashful. Something in Soap’s chest starts beating a drum. He knows already he’ll ask you to drinks after the class ends tonight.

“I doubt I’d be able to do much,” you say, “you’re a bit more substantial than the usual models.” Your eyes flick down his torso and back up.

“Guess I’ll have to follow your advice, then,” he says.

“You should,” you say, and he looks at your thigh shamelessly as you pat it—even beneath your jeans, he can see the ripple of the impact. “One of the worst-case scenarios is nerve damage.”

“So you have done this before!”

He can’t help it—Soap’s imagination runs wild. Titanic, draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls wild. It’s not exactly polite to imagine a teacher naked while she’s in the middle of giving him directions (and Jesus, what a concept, he might be half-mast already), but Soap has always found that people like it when he’s a little rude.

You drum your fingers. “I have.”

He finally hears the nerve damage part of your instruction. “How, uh—how bad can it get?”

The drumming stops. “For me? It just starts to twinge a bit if I sit on this side very long. So don’t rest your weight all on one hip, yeah?”

Concern assuaged that he had not ignored your genuine pain in order to objectify you, Soap grins. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Also—even if it doesn’t hurt, Soap, you can stop at any time, okay?”

That has him blinking. “Kinda defeats the purpose, doesnae?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. This is your first time modeling. You don’t know how you’ll feel, sitting here with your clothes off and everyone looking at you. If you need to stop, I want you to stop. I’ll make sure you’re paid anyway, so don’t worry about that.”

You are…so serious about this. The line of your brows is furrowed, imploring, like a little discomfort on his part is a violation of the highest order.

“Sure,” he says, a little dumbstruck and mostly lying. He’d be a rubbish soldier if he tapped out of a little thing like sitting down, but it’s nice that you care.

You purse your lips, nod, and then move onto the task at hand, stepping back and then down off the platform. When you begin to survey him—gaze flitting up and down his body, more pensive than appreciative—he has to resist the urge to flex.

Instead he watches you as you look at him. He especially likes, he decides, the slope of your nose and the smart, serious press of your mouth. You could get him all turned around, he thinks, if you gave it half a try.

Your tits are also great, but that’s by the by.

“Try resting your elbow up a little higher, and twist at the hips a bit,” you instruct, and Soap obeys. “Hm. How would you feel about crossing your ankles?”

You continue like this—nudging him in directions he doesn’t think make all that much of a difference, standing in different positions around the room to check the angles. He half-wishes he could step out of his body and join you, curious as he is about what you’re seeing, what your students will see. He’s not sure he has any clear expectations for how the class will go, but if you’re any indication, it’ll be more fun than he expects.

“Not sure if I’ll remember how to get back into this,” he says, partly to be helpful and partly to get you to talk to him again.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry,” you say. “Okay, I think that’s a good one, you can move now—I’m going to start setting up, the students should be here any minute.”

He stands, and you turn away to collect your supplies, so Soap figures this means it’s time for him to strip. He pulls off his shirt and drapes it over the chair’s arm, unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his knees.

“Soap!”

He freezes. Then he looks at you. You’re blushing again, deep and saturated, mouth parted in surprise and hand pressed to your chest. He does not miss the quick flick of your gaze down his body; he’s probably violated some rule or another of the studio, but he can’t help but grin.

You’re adorable.

“Gotta happen eventually, right?” he says.

You cover your face with your palm. “I was going to leave the room first!”

“First time someone’s wanted to run away when I’m takin’ my clothes off, I won’t lie—”

“You just come get me when you’re done!” you say hastily as you beeline for the door. “I’ll be right outside!”

Soap chuckles a little when you’re gone, the door slamming mortified behind you, and folds his clothes up behind the armchair he’ll be sitting in. You’re so cute. He can’t wait to sit naked for you for the next three hours.

And he’s definitely asking you out for drinks.

Author's Note: THE PROMISED FIC. I really hope y'all enjoy this one, I've been teasing it since March and I have so many plans. This fic has a special place in my heart because it's drawing heavily from my college days--my bachelor's degree is in fine arts, and I have a lot of fond memories of many hours in the studio both as a student and as a model.

I expect this series will also have a looser timeline than my Neighbors series, so I'm open to suggestion in terms of scene ideas! I already have plenty, but if I know my mutuals, y'all might have some good ones as well. No promises I'll write them, but you never know.

Thanks everyone for your patience, and I hope you'll look forward to where this fic goes!!

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illusioninfnty · 7 months

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day 20 ; cock worship

↠ rafe cameron x reader

fandom: outer banks word count: 1.5k warnings: nsfw 18+, lots of dirty talk, mean!rafe, degradation, intoxicated sex, blowjob, possessiveness, maybe ooc rafe bc i have not actually seen the show

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

It was no secret to your closest friends that whenever you drank at parties, you got really horny. Go figure that out of all of your insanely wild friends, you would be the one who gets utterly humiliated by grinding up on random people. It was why you always volunteered to be the designated driver. Yet you couldn’t help but admit that the payoff was sometimes worth it.

But of course, one can never say no to Rafe Cameron. Your boyfriend had yet to see what you were like when you were drunk, and that only happened once he convinced one of your friends to steal your keys and give you more than a single drink.

“You taste so good, baby,” you whisper in Rafe’s ear, craning your neck to reach. The party at Topper’s house was probably at its peak, people from all over the island swarming the house in droves. But you don’t care about anyone else right now. You press sloppy kisses on your boyfriend’s neck, sucking hickeys in certain spots. Your hands run down his sides, stopping at his ass to give it a squeeze.

It was clear that your boyfriend also had quite a bit to drink, his cheeks were flushed and his always tense body had relaxed ever so slightly.

As your kisses get more heated and you begin to grind on him, Rafe raises an eyebrow and looks down at you, removing your wandering hands from his bottom and placing them higher on his waist.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Your hands turn their focus to his chest, caressing it, and you look up at him with slow blinks as a sly smirk crosses your face.

“Hopefully you, later.”

Rafe’s eyes narrow at your comment, and he lets out a faint laugh. He pushes against you until your body is up against a kitchen cabinet away from most of the other party guests.

“You're acting like a little slut today, aren’t you?” He grasps you by the chin, forcing your gaze onto him. With his other hand he presses into your hip bone, forcing them to still. You whine at the loss of contact.

Perceptive as ever, Rafe notices your problem and sighs mockingly. “Guess I’m gonna have to treat you like one too.”

He pulls you out of the kitchen and up the staircase, ignoring the hoots and hollers of those who notice you two leaving.

He tugs you into the first room you come across—a bedroom, no surprise. It’s definitely not Topper's; the setup and color scheme is a simple pale beige, much too classy for a guy like him.

Rafe shuts the door behind you as you go to grab his neck and pull him down for a kiss. He stops you, grasping the back of your head to restrain you.

“Baby,” you draw out as you lock your fingers behind his neck. “Let me make you feel good.” He shakes his head at your failed attempt to appease him.

“If you really want to make me feel good, then get on your knees.”

You eagerly comply.

Now eye level with his crotch, you can see the tent that was straining against his shorts. Without being prompted to, you push him down onto the bed as you begin to undo the button and zip on his cargo shorts and tear down his boxers. His hard cock bounces from its confines and you grasp it, practically drooling at the sight. Precum is already beading at the head, and you press a finger to it, pulling away to see it follow you in a long strand. Rafe moves his hand to the back of your head, guiding your motions.

“I’ve missed your cock,” you moan out. You trail kisses up and down the length, mimicking what you were doing to your boyfriend’s neck just minutes ago. Rafe hisses above you with the sudden contact, and you squeeze him ever so slightly. Your other hand trails to his balls, fondling them. “I’ve been missing these, too.”

Rafe’s hips jerk involuntarily. “Fuck baby, you’re always so good to me. You love my cock, don’t you?” As you glance up at him, you see that his eyes are already on you. They darken as they meet your own, and you could feel your cheeks heating up with the intensity of his stare. The sight of your boyfriend’s enjoyment makes you only want to pleasure him harder.

“I do,” you coo, giving the head of his cock a single, long lick, flattening your tongue on the surface. He groans and the grip he has on your hair tightens.

The sensation has your heart racing, and you moan loudly against Rafe’s cock, catching his attention. He sneers at you from above.

“I bet you’re fucking soaked down there, huh? Am I gonna feel your pussy all wet if I stick my fingers in it?”

Your pussy throbs at his demeaning words, begging for attention. But all that matters to you right now is Rafe, so you hum in agreement at his words and focus on his length.

“Don’t care about that right now.” Your words begin to slur, practically cock drunk as you nuzzle into him. “Only care about you.”

That sends him into a spiral. His nostrils flare and he slaps his cock against your cheek, keeping your head in place.

You chase his warmth, hands touching whatever they can with your limited sight. His balls feel heavy in your hand, and you so desperately wished that Rafe would let you do more than just touch.

He pulls you away from his cock and tilts your head up. He’s panting as much as you are, the red in his cheeks harsher than before. His arousal practically mirrors your own, and the thought of how much he wanted you in that moment makes your body ache all over.

“Get to sucking, slut.”

Your wish is finally granted and you enthusiastically swallow his cock, gagging on the long shaft in the process. Your throat burns and your eyes water, but all you can think about is the heaviness of it on your tongue, the salty precum coating the inside of your mouth. Your vision goes blurry from the tears that leave your eyes yet you can only moan at the feeling of it.

“Feel so good, babe.” Rafe’s praise is surprising and it causes you to suck him harder, taking him deeper into your throat. He hisses at the sensation. “This mouth was made for me. It’s all mine, right?”

You release him with a pop to answer him. “Only yours, Rafe.”

His eyes narrow and a dark chuckle leaves his lips. “Say it again.”

Your heart is racing in your chest and your pussy aches with need. You thrust in the air against nothing, silently begging for some sort of release. Rafe’s words stir up carnal need within you.

“Only yours!”

“Better fucking be.”

He jerks his hips back up and you take him in your mouth again. You bob up and down his shaft furiously, desperate to give him some pleasure. The remaining length that doesn’t fit in your mouth is taken into your hands, fondled and stroked as your full attention remains on his cock.

There isn’t a single part of Rafe that isn’t being worshiped by you. Drool leaves your mouth as you hum against his cock, refusing to let it go. It feels hot in your mouth and you try to take it even deeper, your gag reflex mildly suppressed by the amount of times you’ve already tried this with him.

“Fuck yeah,” he jeered. “My little cock whore has to get her whole fill, ain’t that right?”

You whimper instinctually, the possessive growl in his voice practically making a puddle form beneath you. Rafe’s words egg you on and you take him all the way to the base, nose hitting his pubic hair. You can feel him twitching, nearing his end and that only makes you work harder. You move your head even faster, swirling your tongue all along his length.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rafe pulls you off of his cock as his cum releases all over you, the sticky liquid splashing onto your face and dripping down your chest. You sweep a finger across some that landed on your cheek and put it in your mouth, swirling it around. The taste is so familiar, so him. You moan at it, smiling up at him. You relish in the sensation of him all over you.

Rafe leans back panting with a matching grin. His pupils are dilated and his cheeks are flushed; if he looks like that, you don’t even want to imagine the shape that you’re in right now. He caresses the back of your head and you nuzzle into his thigh, mumbling an I love you that you’re not quite sure he hears.

Rafe’s eyes gleam as he smirks down at you.

“God damn, babe. You gotta start drinking more at parties.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron smut

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mydearlybeloathed · 1 month

Text

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: nami x reader, zoro x reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.8k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, angst

𝐢 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭

𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞…

zoro

“Love?” you mumbled, eyes still hazy with the sleep you’d dragged yourself from. You held a pair of bone white mugs, steam swirling up from them. The bed dipped as you set one knee after the other on the stiff mattress, inching forward to leer over him with a lovely smile.

Zoro was only just conscious enough to acknowledge you, blinking awake and leaning up on his elbows. “What…”

Again, you smiled, leaning over to set one mug on the nightstand before lifting up the covers to slide in beside him. You balanced your mug in one hand and curled into his side, warming your hands on the glass. “I brought you coffee.”

His eyes drifted to the window, alarmed at the brightly shining sun. “What time is it?”

You hummed, adjusting to sit up a bit as you sipped at your own mug. “Afternoon probably.”

Zoro huffed as he shoved the blanket off, ignoring your annoyed puff and rubbing furiously at his eyes. There were black spots in his vision when he dropped his hand. His shoulders ached and the bandage around his arm felt like a shackle of some kind.

Nearly frantic, he clawed at the tight fabric, digging into his skin when it didn’t budge. Your mug clinked onto the wooden nightstand and the sheets rustled as you followed him, your shoulder at his shoulder, your hand over his. Zoro softened entirely the moment your fingers brushed his own, your movements fluid and gentle as you removed the bandage in one swoop.

He heaved, stiff shoulders drooping over at the light caress of your hand over his worn, tanned skin. Your other hand came to nurse at his hair, nails scratching at his scalp and drawing a softer, more relaxed sound from him.

Your cheek rested on his arm, your body wrapped around him. “Love?”

He liked it when you called him that. It made him feel loved, despite everything. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” As if you needed to say it out loud. He knew. He knew that above anything else, really.

“I... me too.”

A little snort left you as you turned to bury your face in the sleeve of his shirt. “Idiot.”

You knew he felt it too, despite everything. His next sigh lifted and lowered your head. “You tired, big guy?”

He grunted, turning his face to brush his lips over your temple, closing his eyes as a draft floated in and out of the room. “Nah.”

You laughed again. Conversation fled the room, leaving your intertwined breaths alone with the quiet. Zoro couldn’t explain this feeling very well; if he tried, he’d say it was warm. like a bonfire, the flickering light reflected in his eyes, the warmth wrapping around his entire being till he could hardly breathe.

But he was very good at articulating all that, so it was just warm.

His eyes fell to the nightstand. “You didn’t need to make me coffee.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” you reminded him, and that was simple enough.

Zoro reached to take his mug and leaned back against the headboard of the bed, waiting till you took up your own coffee and settled into his side again. Only then did he cast his mug a look, admiring the rich blackness swirling inside.

A sweet scent filled his nose and his gaze found your coffee, a nice taupe from the cream and sugar you surely flooded it with. You took three long sips before you noticed his lingering eyes. “You do like yours black, right?”

“Mhmm.” He tipped the mug back and drank half the coffee in a matter of seconds, grimacing slightly. That's one way to wake yourself up. Still… “Can I try yours?”

You obliged, of course, lifting the cup to his lips and tipping it. His hand hovered yours to make sure it didn’t spill, and the taste was nearly too much. Whereas his coffee was still scalding and bitter as all be, yours was… warm and sweet.

Much like you. He offered you a small smile, downed the rest of his drink, and set it aside. He was so bitter much of the time, too angry and sour. But you were consistently different. “You’re… too sweet for me.”

A beat passed, and you sputtered out a laugh. You set down your mug and swung a leg around his hips, straddling him as you cupped his face, your smile incredulous as you shook your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His ears burned red, and he lost his sudden conviction. “You’re just… so nice.”

You raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

He didn’t answer, and once more you laughed in his face.

“Love,” you nearly whispered, your eyes too deep and attentive, leaving him no room to hide. “I don’t know if you’ve met my boyfriend, but he’s very nice to me.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then his cheek. “He’s very sweet to me.” And his other cheek. “I can tell he loves me, even if he’s too shy to say it.”

Zoro could hardly breathe, trying so very hard to not let out the soft gasp rising in his chest as you grinned like a devil. “He should know by now I’m not too sweet for him.”

His hands found your hips and his eyes darted to the side. He scoffed, “Whatever.”

“Hey.” You hooked a finger under his chin and made him face you again. “I love you.”

“You said that already.”

“I know.”

A piece of hair fell over your eyes, obstructing Zoro’s view of your face, so he reached up to brush it away. your eyes flickered to his approaching finger, and in an instant your teeth clamped down on his hand. Not too hard, of course, but he still jerked away with pursed lips. “Would ya stop biting me?”

You cupped a hand over your mouth, unable to stop the laughter bubbling up from within you. “I’m—I’m sorry! I dunno—dunno why—” You dissolved into giggles, careening forward into his chest and tucking your head into his neck.

Zoro didn’t bother fighting his smile, wrapping his arms around your back and resting his chin on your head, completely forgetting that the day was halfway through and that work was a thing to be done.

nami

The sound of humming shouldn’t have made Nami so on edge, but it was only because she knew exactly who the melody belonged to that her defenses were on the rise.

Slowly, she rounded the final row of tangerine trees. She’d gone there—to the place she used to call home—intending to find her sister. What she had hoped she wouldn’t find, was you.

Yet there you were, up on a stool to try to reach the ripe tangerines at the top of the tree. You usually helped Nojiko with the harvest this time of year. Nami should have known to expect you.

Your rose up on your tip toes, tongue poking out, and your fingertips barely grazed one last tangerine. One foot left the stool in a last final effort—your fist closed around the fruit but your foot missed the stool by an inch.

You hit the ground unceremoniously, landing on your back with a harsh thump. Nami’s first instinct was to run up and make sure you’re all right. Well, no—her first instinct was to laugh at you.

Turning your head to the friendly sound, you ignored the pain in your butt to smile wearily up at the ginger girl now looming over you. Her shadow blocked out the sun and a halo formed around her body.

“Clutz,” she murmured, reaching out a hand. You took it with a roll of your eyes, jumping to your feet and dusting off your pants.

Your smile was easy even as a bruise formed on your skin. “What’re you doing here?”

“Nojiko,” she replied simply, not wanting to say that really, Arlong was in one of his tempers again. You’d only worry if she said that, and the smile would leave your face, and Nami couldn’t have that (your smile was too sweet to lose for even a second).

“Right,” you nodded, ignoring the sting in your chest that she wasn’t there for you. She never was, so you shouldn’t bother hoping, but oh well. “She’s in town.”

Nami pursed her lips. “Right.”

The pair of you locked eyes, sucking all the air out of the moment and leaving it rather suffocating to stand in. Nami knew you knew. You were always around, being Nojiko’s close friend (being Nami’s best friend, once upon a time). Nami knew you knew her plan. She said nothing about it, and neither did you.

This was only the fourth time she’d seen you in six years. She ached like every other time, her skin blazing where you’d grabbed her hand. In six years, you’d both grown older, taller, stronger… in your case, prettier.

If distance made the heart grow fonder… Nami killed that thought where it stood.

She started to turn and clear her throat. “I should go.”

Nami barely made it three steps before a hand closed around her wrist and she forgot how to breathe. Nami didn’t know you and you didn’t know her, not anymore. There shouldn't be any reason for her to turn around. Nami should be able to rip away from you and storm off with no trouble.

But Nami turned around slowly and met your eyes, losing herself as you smiled softly, hopefully. “Stay?”

“I can’t.”

“I wanna talk to you,” you pleaded. “You’re still my friend, right?”

Yes. Please. “I don’t have friends anymore.”

Your grip tightened. “But—”

“You don’t want to be my friend,” Nami snapped. “Any attachment you have to me is just clinging to the past, okay?”

Hand slackening, Nami nearly breathed a sigh of relief as your hand started to slip, only for your fingers to intertwine with hers. “I don’t believe that. Nami, I am your friend. I’ve always been. And I worry.”

This was the longest conversation you’d had with her since Arlong took her away. Arlong. You gritted your teeth and sent out a curse. If only you were strong enough to do something, to save the friend who gave up her life to save that damn village.

Nami watched the clouds enter your eyes, darkening the lively glow she so admired, and she found the strength to pry your hand off of her. Nami could hardly stand to look at you when your face fell, but she managed. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Nami…”

She couldn’t bare to drag you down a similar path as her. You were too sweet. Too good. The world needed good people you, and so she wasn't about to go around tainting you with her darkness.

She took a step back, then another, and turned away, hopefully for the last time. “Goodbye.”

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willowser · 9 months

Text

touya doesn't stir when you sit up.

it takes several, heavy blinks to realize that you're no longer dreaming, and by the time you do, your eyes are already stinging with ready-to-go tears. in the silence of your bedroom, your pathetic sniff sounds too loud, throat already thick with worry as you rub at your face; you let out a small, sad moan and it sounds like you're congested to all hell.

it wasn't real, you tell yourself, over and over again to stave off the baseless fear rushing through your blood — but the only thing they really makes it better is seeing touya beside you; on his stomach, one arm hanging off the bed, cheek smushed into your favorite pillow that he's claimed for himself. despite the a/c being on higher than you can afford, he's still without a shirt, patchwork back on full display. it's comforting, that he's still here despite it all.

you're afraid and, selfishly, want him to wake up, so you move to press your face into his back, nosing at a curved line of his stitching. you don't feel him come to, but you press a kiss to the top of his shoulder and then he slurs,

"'s'wrong?"

you let out another moan. "i had a bad dream."

touya grunts, like he was expecting more than that. you can't tell if he's relieved or annoyed. "'s'jus' a dream."

"i know," you tell him quietly, though your heart still pounds and you can feel the sweat cooling in your hairline. you press another kiss to his shoulder, and then another, until your peppering scars and freckles along his back. "i love you."

all you get is silence, which isn't surprising. a little more hurtful than usual, in such a vulnerable state, but he's stopped breathing and has gone stiff enough for you to feel the coil of his muscles; whether he says so or not, your words affect him. exactly how, you've yet to find out.

you turn away to let him sleep, nerves satisfied now that he's spoken to you, now that you've felt him breathing under your cheek and lips. but it's not long before he's stretching, bones popping, and he's adjusting in the bed so that he can pull you back into him. touya's face fits into your neck, breath warm against your ear.

another grunt is pulled from him when you wiggle around to face him, wiggling relentlessly in bed until you're as close as can be.

his eyes are closed and he smacks his mouth a little, half asleep. "'s'fine," he tells you, voice deep and raspy. when you wrap your arm around his waist, one of his own trails over your thigh and your hips, smooths past your chest until his fingers are resting at your jaw. "alright?"

you kiss him, soft and chaste and wantless; it's a simple affection, only meant to offer a sweetness he's not always open to receiving. but you've caught him, now, with his defenses down, malleable and warm in your arms.

touya hums, and when you lean up to kiss him again, his lips part, just enough for you to feel the hint of his tongue against your bottom lip. the two of you stay wound together like that, for a while, mouthing lazily at each other, lips growing swollen and bodies growing warm. the heated tips of his fingers ghost along the side of your neck, becoming tangled in the hair at your nape eventually; you slide a hand up his back and draw shapes along the broken trail of his spine.

he falls asleep after ducking his head down to hide against your throat, huffing lightly against your skin. he stays tangled, comfortable and simmering, a promise to still be there when the sun rises.

you much prefer this kind of dream.

#goodnight ✨️#✿ willow writes #✿ thoughts: dabi/touya #✿ theme: domestic dabi/touya

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 1 year

Note

hi! could a request a scenario with sebek where his s/o is really short and quiet and so he doesn’t notice them behind him and accidentally elbows them in the head or face and ends up injuring them? and how he feels and takes care of them after it happens

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek was a strong advocate for loudly announcing your presence before entering a room.

He had come up with this rule only because you’d stood around waiting to draw his attention for almost too long, politely

allowing him to finish a conversation before speaking up. He was surprised then, eyes wide as he asked just how long you had been standing there waiting to speak with him. He seemed more annoyed than even you were, scolding you on standing tall (hard to do when you’re short) and puffing out your chest with some authority so you drew attention to yourself. You had nodded and promised to try, pushing his advice to the back of your mind as you got on with the task you had been given.

But clearly, you should’ve taken him a little more seriously.

You can see the shock in Sebek’s face as you let out a pained cry, hand protectively cradling your potentially broken nose. His eyes start out wide, like an enemy observing its prey and getting ready to chomp down on their throat, but they soften when he realized it was just you. There’s a brief moment where he’s getting ready to address you before his brain noticed the slight amount of blood dripping from between your fingers to the floor.

“W-What happened?!” He asked, wincing as you did the same and took a step back out of reflex. He’d already elbowed you in the face once, you and your bones weren’t prepared for round two. “Come here!”

Nurse Sebek is on the case as he sat you down on a nearby chair, whipping his head around for any cloth in the area he could use. He demanded you keep pinching your nose until he was back, rushing around the dorm like a madman as he gathered all the material he needed; he requested Silver get some ice from the cafeteria for him as he didn’t want to leave your side for that long, his sleepy companion nodding without question. Sebek was in such a frantic state, with a splash of blood on his hands, so Silver could only assume something had happened to either you or Malleus (which he would know about if it was the young master) and that meant achieving his task before discovering what had happened.

The pain is subsiding ever so slightly and the bleeding has finally slowed, with Sebek having you keep your hands at your side as he carefully dabbed at your face with a wet towel. He was concentrating more than he did on his exams, a gentle touch he didn’t normally apply being used as he couldn’t bear to worsen your wounds that he caused. You could see there was guilt written everywhere across his face, the brief tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes after he realized he had been the one to hurt you coming to mind again, almost making you want to cry.

“…I’m sorry.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I should’ve announced myself like you told me… I’m sorry.”

Sebek looked frustrated, clenching the towel so tight his knuckles turned whiter. He doesn’t reply at first which sets you a little on edge, he wasn’t really one to keep things to himself and the lack of communication was already setting your anxiety off.

“It was my fault. I’ll take the responsibility for it.” He’s still quieter than you’d ever heard him be but at least he’s talking now; you wanted to reach out to touch him, to hold his face and tell you that you accepted his apology but you knew he hated being coddled like that. “I-I’ll clean your uniform as well! And the floor--"

"Thank you, Sebek. I appreciate your help!" You gave a small nod, slipping in a reassuring smile as well before Sebek went back to dabbing at the still red areas where dried blood was. "And you are forgiven. Please don't beat yourself up over this."

Sebek just had to train more. To sharpen his senses so he could detect you, to know when you had entered the room without you having to be the one to speak up. He should've been training himself for such a situation this entire time, considering he knew how stealthily you could maneuver, and yet he had neglected to act despite telling you to change your own behavior.

He would become a better man, a better body guard, by honing this trait.

And he would hopefully never have to see you wounded again.

#Disney TWST #Disney Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Sebek Zigvolt #Sebek Zigvolt x Reader #Scenario

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halibellecter · 1 year

Text

Break Me Open

"You want to spar? You never want to spar. Planning on defecting from us, Legate?"

"I want you to hurt me,"

"...what?"

"I want you to hurt me--" She's still so angry that she's shaking. And the right thing to do would be to spill the whole story to him, the return to the elevator, the digging, the other files-- the codes that now beyond a doubt weren't even their doing-- she nearly killed him and only to find out that her first recon mission had been right: that HE'D been right: there was no second layer, no true story, they did this to her on purpose, but... "And-- I want to hurt you. I can't-- there's so much and I can't--" Can't cry, can't scream, can't anything because Agents are always quiet, they're calm, and--

It's nice to be understood, even if at the moment, the way she knows Hunter understands what she's trying to say is via his left hook. That's a good start.

It's not enough to break her open-- let everything out so it will stop choking her-- but it feels good not to think about anything but the next few moves. Watch. Touch. Block. Dodge. Focus. Neither one of them is wearing any protective gear, belatedly she thinks she should've let him put some on but kicking against bone and tissue hurts, too, more than if he was wrapped up. They've never fought like this before, not before Quesh and not when she could finally hurt him. Not when she nearly killed him-- even then he went down easier, with that shock device. She can feel bruises forming and while they're not aiming for each other's face or head, accidents happen-- she'll have a black eye by tomorrow and her lip is split, nose bleeding, the blood mixing with sweat... striking and breaking apart again and again. It's so high energy that a stitch aches in her side as if she'd been running. No good, still no good. A few seconds where her eyes mist up or her voice jumps to a little louder than usual, but still...

Finally, both panting and bleeding-- when did she do that to his eye? ouch-- Legate curls in around her side, trying to guard the painful muscle spasm that keeps going every time she moves, and leaves her other side open. He lunges, and they both go down onto the mat, hard, rolling over and over. It's hard to fill her lungs up while being slammed down on her back and twisting around him to gain the upper hand. She didn't prefer either of them to win, not really; as long as they beat the osik out of each other that was fine with her--

But there is a winner, she realizes as his face looms over hers, as his hands clench around her shoulders, pinning her to the mat, locked in place. With some difficulty he frees a hand, shifts his weight,

"Wh-what--"

"Shut up," He moves around her carefully, as if she's the enemy-- isn't she?-- aware that she's still trying to get out of his grip, and suddenly manages to get the right angle to scrub the sharp points of his knuckles against her sternum.

Pain. Pain, and an overwhelming amount of it. She gasps in a breath.

"Hunter--!"

"You wanted me to hurt you." He digs the points deeper, and something breaks-- fortunately, only on the inside of her mind. Of course it's okay for her eyes to water a little. They don't use this trick in interrogations for nothing. Her next gasp comes out broken, a catch and then a rough sob. Her eyes finally brim over and tears spill down onto the mat.

"There you go. Keep going."

She assumes he'll draw back, give her some space, he hates this kind of mushy feelings crap, but he doesn't even move his hand away. He doesn't move it at all, in fact, except to gently rock his knuckles back and forth, watching her face and occasionally telling her she's doing good. He keeps varying where the points are exactly, but holds steady pressure that gives her constant pain-- and a constant reason to be sobbing as he pins her down. It's so bad, rough and dull and like an ache that's on fire, but that means it's a good excuse-- one that doesn't stop until she seems to have run out of tears, exhausted and only feeling half real. He pulls his hand back.

"Better?"

"Y-y-y---" she finally just nods, swallowing hard. He untangles them, stands up. Doesn't offer a hand.

"You good?"

More nodding.

"You're welcome. And Legate?"

She tilts her head at him, still not quite trusting herself to speak.

"Next time it's my turn."

He only waits for one nod before slipping out of the room, leaving her alone-- still sniffling-- in the middle of the mat.

I guess it takes one to know one.

#swtor #imperial agent #freaking ren #imperial agent x hunter #SIGH #swtor hunter #can't believe this tag is on my blog now #disgraceful #whump

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msbigredmachine · 1 year

Text

Angel/Beautiful (Jey Uso/OC)

Long-time feelings are finally expressed on a night out. Jey Uso/OC one-shot.

Warnings: SMUT

Word count: 7.2k

A/N: This is the fluff/smut fic from the poll that Jey won. Partly inspired by the Walemania pics from WM39.

Enjoy!

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

She couldn’t help herself. She had never felt this way about anybody before. And he had not done all that much to make her feel like this. When she was not wrestling, she was talking Mona and Jacqui’s ears off about him. Every night she went to bed thinking about him…She had fantasized about him since the day they first met, touching herself alone in her room as she imagined being held by him, touched by him…fucked by him.

Vivienne had done some pretty interesting things to get Jey Uso’s attention. She made no bones about how shameless she was about shooting her shot. Like rigging the annual Secret Santa draw to ensure she chose him, and gifting him with a watch that she’d heard from a source - aka Roman - that he wanted. She sent him flowers on Valentine’s Day and openly flirted with him every chance she got. Accessing his circle was easy because she was always around Jacqui and Mona, both of whom were dating Roman and Jimmy respectively. Everyone thought her antics were adorable, but secretly, it was a defensive mechanism of sorts, to soften the blow when he eventually, and inevitably, turned down her more serious advances. Luckily, Jey seemed flattered and was taking it all in his stride. It was all fun and banter, really.

Until he started texting her first. Checking on her. Then, he would ask her out for coffee before the show started and pick her up after the shows to head to the next city. Sometimes alone, sometimes in the company of others. He included her in more and more social gatherings, like the one happening later tonight. It was their day off and a group of them wanted to check out a new spot in town. This morning, he sent a text that had her head spinning:

‘Sup angel, we goin out with the squad tonight. Wear something nice for me. 😉😚

As she checked her hair and her outfit in the mirror of the lobby, a million different scenarios played in her mind. The romantic in her wanted so badly to believe they could take things further tonight. All signs pointed to a strong mutual attraction. But the more pragmatic side of her knew to err on the side of caution. After all, the last man she gave her heart to, broke it - and broke her - into a million pieces.

She would be fine. This was nothing like her last relationship. She and Jey were just playing a game, a fun, harmless game. It was going to be a good night.

An uproar of laughter caught her attention, her eyes looking up just in time to spot him coming into the lobby with Roman, Jimmy and a lot of the guys from Smackdown in tow. They all looked amazing - she could hear the other girls oohing and aahing, not least Jacqui and Mona. But Vivienne had her eye on one man and one man only.

God, he’s so handsome.

She could see him looking around, probably trying to figure out where she could be. Sweetly, he seemed a little nervous, wringing his hands as he searched for her. Taking one last steady breath, she walked into his line of vision and waved him over. His smile had her panties soaked with the quickness. As he made a beeline for her, she forced herself to calm down as her body grew hotter. This motherfucker got you weak in the knees…like, bitch, stand uuuup! Stand up!

“Hey, Big Daddy Jey. You lookin’ real good tonight.” More than good; decked in all red, with white Air Force Ones and a small cross earring adorning his ear, he looked sinfully sexy.

“What up, Vivi?” She did not miss the way his tongue swished across his lips as he eyed her from head to toe. “You look really beautiful.”

She absolutely adored his version of her name. Vivi, rather than Viv like most people called her. She liked to think it was their own special thing. “Why thank you, kind sir,” she smiled brightly, posing a little in her bodycon dress which showed off her generous cleavage and curves, with ropey high heeled sandals. The gleam in his eyes as he drank her in was unmistakable. She could almost read the naughty thoughts behind them, and she liked where his mind was at. “Tonight is gonna be fun, you ready?” she added.

“As long as I’m with you, I’m good. But first let’s take these selfies so Jacqui won’t nag us for the next week about not doing it.”

“I heard that, Jey!” Jacqui shouted, “Y’all two lovebirds get over here, now!”

They all took pictures in front of the famous sculpture in the lobby, with serious and goofy poses alike. Three limos filled with wrestlers headed to the restaurant they rented out to kick off their night. At dinner, Mona was on Vivienne’s left while Jey was by her right. They were in close contact with each other all evening; fingers brushing together, bodies side by side, paying attention to each other even when they were not talking. Though she was nervous, his reassuring presence calmed her. She could tell he was biding his time, confident that they would have their alone moment eventually.

That moment came not long after dinner, when everyone moved to the lounge area and were just hanging out and joking around. Jey walked over to Vivienne, silently took her hand and pulled her away from the group. She locked excited gazes with Mona and Jacqui as she walked past them; their thumbs-ups buoyed her, encouraged her to breathe and let Jey lead her outside.

“Finally,” he smiled, “About damn time I had you all to myself.”

The back of the restaurant led out to a beach. The sound of the waves crashing in the distance was soothing and calming. As they walked down to the patio, Vivienne’s hand brushed against Jey’s, and he smoothly threaded his fingers through hers without missing a beat. Butterflies fluttered in her belly at the warmth of his big hand enclosing hers.

On the patio, they came across a hanging wicker chair big enough for two. They settled in comfortably, sitting side by side. She could see him smiling at her out of the corner of her eye which made her blush.

“You good, angel? You’re kinda quiet.”

“I’m good. Just taking in my surroundings…taking you in,” you added, giving him another approving once-over. He looked so good.

He patted his thigh in invitation. “You’ve been shy all evening, baby. No more. Come sit on my lap,” he cajoled.

Eyeing him for a beat, she obliged, swinging her legs up onto his thighs. He did the rest, pulling her closer until his arms were around her waist and her butt was on his lap.

“Better?” she giggled.

“Much better,” he replied just as cheekily, tracing his finger along the side of her arm. “I know you feel the energy between us, right?”

Vivienne nodded, her gaze shifting from their joined hands up to his bearded face. “Yeah, I feel it,” she agreed. She watched him lift her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss so soft and tender on the back, that she swooned. “Mmm, what was that for?”

“Maybe it’s my way of telling you I’m feelin’ you too?” He smiled. “I don’t know if you’ve realized it, but you’ve worked your magic on me, girl.”

Man, he was quite the charmer. “Like they say, hard work pays off,” you joked.

“Mm-hmm. It’s been a while since I’ve been this interested in anybody. It’s been all about work and my sons, and then you tiptoed into my life and my days have become a little better.”

“Aww, I’m blushing, Uce.”

Jey chuckled and glanced down with a shake of his head. “Please don’t call me Uce. Not anymore.”

“Why?”

“That’s that platonic shit. We’re way past that point now.”

She felt a warm fuzzy feeling in her tummy at his knowing grin. Pinch me, she thought. “Is that why your heart’s beating so fast?” she asked, resting her hand on his chest. “Cuz you want me?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he said simply.

Vivienne giggled and snuggled into him, laying her head on his shoulder as she stared out into the beach. “Luckily, I want you, too. I’ve always wanted to be with a man like you.”

“A man like me?” A wry smile formed on his lips as he shook his head. “Trust me, baby, I ain’t perfect. Far from it.”

“And yet you call me angel,” she pointed out. “No one’s perfect. But there’s so much that attracts me to you. You’re strong, you’re passionate. You care and you love hard, and that is so sweet to me. On top of that, when I’m with you I feel safe, like I belong with you.”

“I want you to always feel that way with me,” he said sincerely. “You’re so cool, Vivienne, you’re a badass. It’s so dope to see how nothing seems to faze you or bring you down.”

“It's something I had to learn. As bulletproof as I make myself out to be, I bruise easily, Jey. And I don’t just mean in the ring.”

Jey felt his heart sink as he realized what she was talking about. “Hey, don’t say it like that.”

“I have to, because that’s exactly how it was. I may have dark skin, but every mark he left on me was visible to the naked eye. I barely escaped with my life and my daughter’s life. I had to deal with the trauma while trying to raise my baby and making a name for myself in this crazy business of ours. But now I’m a woman reborn, so I’m living life to its fullest. I have no doubt that you understand that.”

“I do. That’s why you’ve been so full-on with me, huh?”

“You could say that. I tend to cover up my terror by being vocal about it, you know. But I meant everything I’ve ever said to you. You’re gorgeous. You’re a good guy. A little oblivious sometimes, a lot blunt too many times, but a good guy.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” he laughed.

“Just being real with you. You make it real easy to fall for you, Jey. Any woman would be lucky to be with you.”

Touched by her sweet words, Jey arched his eyebrow as he held her gaze, drinking in her full mouth, her heaving chest. Having her like this in his arms was something he’d fantasized about for quite some time. And not just this…

"Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?" he said, his tongue swishing seductively over his lips.

Vivienne ran her finger along his chin, tracing it beneath his bottom lip. "A couple of times. But I don't mind hearing it again," she whispered.

“I can do better than just tell you,” he offered, his voice deep and sultry and making her heart race. As he pressed his lips to hers, she felt herself float up into the sky. His hand made its way into her hair, holding her to him as the kiss deepened. She moaned softly as his tongue teased her bottom lip before slipping inside her mouth. He tasted like Mai-Tai; strong, rugged, delicious. He pulled back just enough to pepper kisses along her jawline, making her lightheaded. Catching her eyes with a smile, he returned his lips to hers. Vivienne liked how passionately and thoroughly he kissed; his lips and tongue were built for it. He slid his other hand down her back and over her hip, his fingers closing around her thigh.

“You been drivin’ me crazy for months, girl,” he whispered.

The lust on his face made Vivienne’s pussy tighten with need. She’d never felt so wanted and so sexy with just one look.

“Look who’s talking,” she retorted, her voice raspy with desire, cupping the side of his face and pulling him in for another kiss. She could feel his hand inching further up her thigh, pushing up her dress, exposing more of her skin to the open air.

“This okay, baby?” Jey asked. Vivienne nodded with zero hesitation. Whatever he wanted was exactly what she wanted. His hand weaved its way to the front of her panties, and he groaned when he felt the heat emanating from her pussy, clamoring to be petted and played with. A needy moan rumbled in Vivienne’s chest as he neared the promised land.

Jey didn’t take his eyes off her for a second. Gently but firmly, he caressed her wet folds, gliding his long fingers from top to bottom and back up again. Vivienne tensed from a mix of lust, anticipation and the fear of getting caught. They were not so concealed and anyone who walked out would surely see them.

But getting caught was the least of Jey’s worries. He brazenly brushed his fingers over her clitoris before entering her pussy with one, and then another, churning them inside her while his mouth made out with the curve of her throat. Vivienne gripped his bicep with a breathless moan, her heart fluttering as he kept up the salacious rhythm of his fingers dancing inside her.

“Mmm, you’re dripping. Do I make you wet, baby?” he asked, his voice gruff and hungry.

“Yes,” she sighed, her pulse quickening with every thrust of his long digits.

“Good girl. Love how tight you are too.” He needed her, like asap. Suddenly all Jey wanted in this life was to hear her scream his name. Maybe tonight, if they could. But definitely sooner rather than later.

Without warning he shoved his fingers deeper, burying them up to his knuckles in her. Vivienne’s cry of pleasure was quickly devoured by his mouth on hers, equally swallowed by the crashing waves across from them. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to focus on kissing him. The pleasure pulsing through her was intense, amplified by the feel of her pussy greedily suckling his thick fingers.

“Jey,” she gasped, her head tilting to welcome his lips on her throat again. It was an onslaught, one set of fingers deep in her, the other set molding her breast through her dress. If he was this good with his hand and his mouth, she could only begin to imagine the commotion that the rock-hard dick throbbing against the back of her thigh would cause. Jey Uso was a dangerous man, and she was tumbling headfirst into the danger with no safety net.

“That’s it, baby, let me make you feel good,” he responded, kissing her again. His fingers were meeting far less resistance now as she was dripping all over the digits. This only fueled him to thrust faster, dig deeper, his own breathing ragged and heavy as he took everything she had.

Vivienne's breaths spiraled out of control as the orgasm claimed her. She moaned and panted as Jey continued to pump his fingers, making her come hard and long. It was almost too much, yet it was still not enough. Vivienne had to have him inside her.

“Fuck,” she breathed, clinging to him. He slowly pulled his fingers out of her, and she shivered when he brought them to his mouth for a taste. She watched with helpless, hazy eyes as he licked his fingers clean.

“Mmm, the sweetest little pussy. My sweet Vivi.”

His impromptu nickname for her had her sensitive pussy clenching again. A smirk curved his lips at her little blush as he pulled down her dress, covering up her modesty. He looked around quickly; they were still alone outside.

“You okay?” he asked her, stroking her leg tenderly.

“Damn, Big Daddy.”

Chuckling softly, he brushed his lips over hers in a softer, more chaste kiss. “We should head back inside,” he murmured, gently standing her up, and smiled at her disappointed features. “Don’t worry, baby, we got all night.”

By the time they returned, karaoke was in full swing. When it was his turn, Jey belted out a rather sweet rendition of “All My Life” by K-Ci and Jojo and kept his eyes on Vivienne the whole time, making all the ladies swoon. In contrast, Vivienne’s choice was the far more raunchy “WAP”, complete with a full lap dance on Jey. Mona and Jacqui could not believe their eyes and neither could the rest of the group. Jey blushing throughout her little performance made it even cuter.

The blossoming couple was inseparable for the rest of the night. Jey made it a point to stay by Vivienne’s side, kissing and touching her sensually the whole time. Deciding to be random, they cut a slightly drunken, Uso penitentiary-like promo on her Instagram live. Each time they danced together, it was a glorified dry-humping session. Her new seat was on his lap with his arms wrapped dutifully around her. Vivienne soaked up all the attention he was giving her. She was loving this new turn with him, and judging from the permanent smile on his face, so did he.

Roman invited those who needed a place to crash back to his condo. Most people declined as they had flights to catch the next day, so all that was left was the Bloodline and their ladies. Before heading out, they made a stop at a nearby convenience store to grab some things for the condo.

Jey cheekily palmed Vivienne’s ass as they walked up to the front counter with their selected items, earning a playful glare from her. Boxing her in against the counter with his bigger frame, he handed the cashier his card to pay. A row of shelves lined with branded contraceptives caught Vivienne’s eye. Wordlessly, she reached up, picked out a Trojan pack-of-ten and tossed it among their other purchases.

Jey grinned, kissed her neck and pressed himself against her. “That’s what I’m talkin ‘bout,” he murmured.

The limo ride home was uneventful save for Jimmy and Mona’s hyper singing and rapping. Roman and Jacqui were locked in a heavy make out session in the back of the limo. Vivienne was content to just be in Jey’s arms and watch her friends be happy.

“You okay, angel?” Jey asked her, resting his hand on her thigh as he looked at her with sensual eyes.

“Mm-hmm.” Having become much bolder over the night, she tugged his head down for yet another kiss. Soft and teasing, her lips sweeping gently over his. The tip of his tongue tickled her bottom lip and she opened up for him. His warm, wet tongue caressed her mouth and she slowly dragged hers over his. When she withdrew her lips to breathe, the hunger in Jey’s gaze made her loins throb.

“You two are so cute!” Mona gushed from her place on Jimmy's lap, causing Vivienne to blush and duck her head in Jey’s shoulder.

Back at Roman’s condo, Mona and Jimmy arranged themselves under a blanket on the sofa. Jacqui and Roman were first to disappear into one of the bedrooms downstairs. Jey dropped down in an armchair and pulled Vivienne onto his lap. Jimmy grabbed them all big bottles of water - no one wanted to drink any more alcohol - and put on a random documentary on Netflix.

After about ten minutes of squirming, Jimmy stood up. "Uh, we’re gonna go get some sleep, I think,” he said, casting his girlfriend a sly glance.

Vivienne smirked as she watched Mona take Jimmy’s hand and lead him away towards another bedroom. "Goodnight guys," she called out.

"Roman said something about another room upstairs, if y’all are interested," Jimmy said, and then added, “Sorry, when you’re interested.”

"All good, man, we cool," Jey reassured him with a thumbs up, "Go get you some, Uce!"

Jimmy smiled back, distracted, then stumbled off to the bedroom behind Mona, not quite closing the door all the way behind him.

“Wanna go to bed before they start makin’ all that noise?” Jey asked Vivienne.

Right on cue, they heard Jacqui moan.

“Sure.”

As they left the living room and headed upstairs, Vivienne felt her heart pound with excitement, quickly accelerating when they entered their room for the night. Beautiful bedroom, just like the rest of the apartment. The king-sized bed was made, but she knew it wouldn’t be for long. After tugging the window open to let in some fresh air, Jey turned, a serious look on his face as he walked over to her. Holding her close, he smoothed his big hands up and down her waist, a smile on his face as he looked down at her.

Fuck. This was finally happening.

Vivienne placed her hand on the back of his head as he leaned in to kiss her. Not for the first time tonight, the feel of his lips against hers took her breath away and her head swam. She pressed closer to him as his hands began exploring her body. Big, expansive hands that caressed her intimately. The heat between her thighs called to him, and she moaned softly as he ground his aching erection against her.

“You can change your mind if you want, angel,” Jey murmured, nuzzling her throat before pressing open-mouthed kisses to her cleavage.

Vivienne almost laughed at the thought. After spending half the night grinding on him, she was sure she would combust if she didn’t get her hands on him tonight. Helping him out of his red t-shirt, she let her eyes drink in his breathtaking body. He was lean yet muscular, with the strength of a male in his full-blooded prime. A Samoan specimen. Vivienne allowed her hands to roam over the muscles of his chest, the sturdy vault of his ribs, the rippling muscles of his abdomen, and the bulging outline of his biceps. Pure, unadulterated sex on legs.

Jey couldn’t stop the tremors that coursed down his spine as she touched him. He really could get used to her hands being on him like this. Pressing a quick kiss to her lips, he took one step back. “How about you take off that dress for me. Let me see you, baby,” he said.

Vivienne felt the heat blossom in her cheeks, all the way down to the tips of her toes. Wanting to give him a show, she peeled off her dress as slowly and sexily as possible. Jey looked at her like a man that had found water in the Sahara desert. She knew she was going to be in for it tonight, but she had no qualms. She planned on quenching his thirst and more.

Jey had to take a moment to even speak with the sight before him. He wanted to dig her out so bad. Her body was so thick and juicy. He planned to lick and suck and fuck her for hours, for damn sure. He watched her slide off her thong and smiled when she unexpectedly tossed it at him, catching it easily with one hand.

“Your turn,” she challenged.

With his eyes glued to hers, Jey’s hands met the waistband of his pants. He pulled his pants and his shorts down together, watching her reaction.

Her jaw dropped. Shit!

Stunned, she started to back away, but Jey pulled her right back to him, chuckling at the trepidation on her pretty face. “Where ya goin’? It’s a little too late to run, baby.”

Holy hell. She could always tell he was well-endowed, but seeing it up close and personal was a whole other story. “What am I supposed to do with all that dick?” she whimpered. She feared for her life.

Jey’s grin managed to be both devious and sexy at the same time. “Take it.”

Her mouth went dry. Fuck.

With a reassuring kiss, Jey led her over to the high bed, helping her in and taking off her shoes for her. Now perched on the edge of the bed, Vivienne adjusted her knees, arched her back and poked her wet juicy ass out at him. His palms on her deep brown skin kindled an already burning flame within her. He was using those hands to let her know exactly what he wanted to do to her tonight. He was gentle at first, with the way he massaged her thighs, hips and backside. But that changed when he smacked her ass. It was hard and sudden and alarming, but she liked it. Now, he had his fingers on her slit, moving them up and down, gathering her seeping juices. Vivienne closed her eyes and inhaled deeply when his thick fingers pulled her folds apart to rub all in there.

“This is my pussy now,” he told her matter-of-factly.

Without letting her respond, he spread her cheeks open and buried his face in her pussy from behind. She let out a shaky moan and clutched the sheets to steady herself as his tongue made contact with her flesh. He wrapped his entire mouth over her pussy, his long tongue lashing around and around, pulling and sucking and slurping on her. He then moved to her clit, and her gasps and moans threatened to pitch higher. She tried to look back at it, tried to grind back against his hot mouth, but her body was so weak from the pleasure she was feeling.

“You got a fat wet pussy, baby.” He was French-kissing her folds now with those soft lips. He opened his mouth wider, sucking and licking her all up, using his mouth and strong jaw to work every inch of her. “Taste so fuckin’ good. I want you to come in my mouth.”

He slapped her backside again and held onto it with both hands as she started to squirm. His commanding voice had her walls tightening around his tongue. Groaning against her pussy, he sped up his licks until it became too much for Vivienne. She couldn't control her body from releasing inside Jey's mouth, her eyes watering from the intense sensations surging through her. His triumphant moan vibrated against the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing her to groan out loud again as she leaked some more. He caught her cum effortlessly with long, sloppy laps of his tongue, not stopping until she was spent and emptied. Her pussy quivered when he gently bit her thighs and left big wet kisses on them. It was a miracle that she'd kept her position on her knees while he ate her out.

“Mmmm, fuck,” Vivienne sighed, twisting her upper body around to grin lazily at him. “You so fuckin’ nasty, Jey.”

“You never got it like that before?” She shook her head and he chuckled at her blissful expression. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ma change all that. When that dick hittin’, the rest will come later…literally.”

Standing upright, Jey grabbed the bag with the condoms. Vivienne’s stomach lurched with anticipation as she stared down between his legs again, licking her lips at the sight of the heat he was packing. As he sheathed himself with a condom, they met each other's gaze, and she loved what she saw in his. That she could evoke this kind of emotion out of him was an absolute thrill for her.

“Hopefully, we’ll fuck raw some other time,” he uttered. “Would you like that, baby?”

Her pussy instantly rippled at the thought of taking all that dick with zero protection. "Mmmm, give it to me, baby," she purred, licking her lips and twerking her booty at him in approval.

Jey groaned appreciatively at the sight of her wiggling cheeks and massaged each one in his palm. "You want this dick now, huh. You was runnin' from me earlier."

"Don't worry Daddy, I can take it," she promised.

“That’s a good girl.” Grabbing his throbbing erection, he slid the tip along her slit, preparing her for his intrusion. Her gasp echoed through the air as he pushed his full length inside of her from behind. He stretched her pussy open, making her moan into her chest. He remained still for a couple of seconds, letting her body adjust to him. He gritted his teeth as her tight, moist warmth enveloped him. Then, he started to move, slowly, steadily, drawing soft gasps from her. Jey caressed the arch of her back with his large hands as he worked his dick inside her.

“Shit, baby, you tight as fuck. Damn,” he hissed.

Vivienne tried to speak, but all coherent thought vanished when he drew his hips all the way back to the tip before lunging forward again. He repeated this until he was all the way inside her. His girth stretched her out as he started pumping in and out of her with deep, pounding thrusts. She felt as if the wind was being knocked out of her. So good. So perfect.

Letting out a low groan, Jey leaned over her body and lowered his lips to her throat. “Is this my pussy, baby?”

“Yes Daddy, it’s yours.”

“You gon’ give it to me whenever I want?”

“Yes…Unnhh, baby, you’re so big," Vivienne whined quietly, her breathing ragged.

Jey bit down hard on his bottom lip, trying not to think about how good it felt to be inside her. If he did, all of this was going to end…prematurely, pun intended. He lifted her ass higher against him, forcing a deeper arch of her back. It also nudged the head of his dick against her g-spot, making them both moan with pleasure. Bracing herself up by her arms, Vivienne threw her head back and rocked with him, throwing her ass back to catch his deep thrusts. His dick felt amazing. The sounds of their smacking flesh accompanied her moans and his growls, making Vivienne lightheaded. Resting his chest on her back, he guided her face up to his for a hungry kiss.

"So fucking beautiful. Your pussy feels so good, baby," he muttered, massaging her throat as he flicked his tongue across her parted lips, all while feeding her delicious backshots.

Vivienne yelped when he slapped her ass with his free hand. He grabbed her hip, his strong grip making her rock back and forth on his dick. Every action he took on her body ignited a brand new fire inside of her. "Do that again, Daddy," she pleaded.

Turned on by her request, Jey popped her ass again, then reached out to grip her by her hair, causing her to whimper and tighten around him. “I knew you liked that rough shit,” he rasped, “I been dreaming ‘bout fuckin’ you for so long, baby.”

She believed him, because he was fucking her like he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment. Like he lost sleep over the thought of having sex with her. Finally, all of his wants and needs were being fed, and he was ravenous. To prove his point, he ramped up the tempo, giving it to her deeper and harder. Vivienne used one hand to rub her clit furiously in an attempt to intensify the approaching orgasm. Jey rubbed her ass again and squeezed, feeling her get wetter instantly.

“Shiiit, you hittin’ my fuckin’ spot, Jey,” she moaned. “Yeah, fuck me up, baby, fuck that pussy up!”

"Uh huh, take that shit, take this dick," he said breathlessly, a smirk adorning his full lips when she collapsed onto her chest and groaned into the blanket. Switching it up, he held onto her waist and rolled his hips against her backside, practically slow-grinding her into the bed. He got the desired effect as her walls clenched almost painfully around his dick.

"Oh my god," she moaned loud and long, her voice muffled as his gyrations sank her face deeper into the mattress. “Mmmm, fuck, don’t stop…”

Jey growled as she squeezed around him again. He leaned over her prone body, caging her in as he pushed every thick inch of him inside of her. "You wanna come again, angel? Do it. Come on Daddy’s dick."

His gruff command made Vivienne's breath hitch and her brown eyes glaze over. She rubbed her clit faster, her fingers moving in circular motions on the small bundle of nerves, moaning as another orgasm danced closer. As he began slamming harder into her, she felt her toes curl and her thighs start to tremble.

"Fuck!" She screamed out as she came so hard she saw stars. Her body convulsed involuntarily, her inner muscles clenching around Jey's dick. All of a sudden, he pulled out of her with a grunt, right in the middle of her orgasm, and she was sure she was about to burst into tears. But in the next move, he had flipped her onto her back and climbed into the bed. Taking her right leg, he kissed his way down her inner thigh, nuzzling his face against the lush expanse of skin there. He then made a wet trail with his lips and tongue over her hip, traveling along the flat plane of her stomach, pushing her breasts together to suck her nipples. He watched her arch her head back, luxuriated in her moan. His final destination was on top of her body, wrapping his lips around hers and swallowing her sighs.

“I wanna look into your eyes when you come for me again,” he told her. He’d seen the look on her face when he pulled out; she’d thought he was done with her. But she would learn to know that he was never finished until he’d made her lose all her senses.

A mischievous smile spread across her face as a dirty thought came to her mind. He wasn’t the only one that could take control. She reached down to wrap her fingers around his cock, still hard and covered in her juices. She peeled off the condom in one go and caressed him with intention. He groaned as his dick jumped in her firm grasp. Her delicate kisses on his neck and shoulder relaxed him as he melted under her touch. As she gently massaged his sensitive head, Jey let out an appreciative moan, shivers traveling down his spine.

"Aww Vivi, fuck..."

"You're so hard, big boy. Wanna come for me?" Vivienne whispered in his ear, nibbling the shell of his ear. She raked through his hair with her free hand. "Come up here and come in my mouth." Her knuckles strained as she stroked him harder, faster, losing herself to his quickened breathing and lusty groans.

A startled yelp escaped her as he suddenly yanked himself out of her grip. She watched him quickly crawl up her body, pumping his dick in front of her face. Vivienne grabbed him again and put him in her mouth this time, her head bobbing to take him as deep as she could. She suckled and tongued him while twisting her fist around the base of him, holding his gaze with sexy, sinful eyes. His harsh, long groan followed when he began releasing into her mouth. She swallowed every drop with a deep breath, cradling his balls as his cum continued to spurt inside her warm mouth. He tasted good, just like she'd hoped. She reveled in his weak whimpers, reveled at the sight of his beautiful face twisting in blissful agony as pleasure washed over him. She kept at it, sucking him until she had thoroughly drained his cum down her throat.

Jey slowly slipped his dick out of her mouth, the length dangling helplessly between his sturdy thighs. She’d drained the fuck out of him and he fought to catch his breath. He crawled weakly back down her body and captured her lips in a long and profound kiss. Vivienne thought it was hot that he had no issues with tasting himself in her mouth.

“Wow, baby, didn’t know you was nasty like that,” Jey breathed, his face flushed as he stared at her in complete awe.

Vivienne merely winked and pinched his chin playfully. “I’m full of surprises, big boy.” She smoothed her palm down his back and looked him right in his eyes. “I think I want it raw now.”

Hearing her say it to him like that, with her eyes full of lust, gave him another erection. “You sure?”

“I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” she confirmed, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his waist to drive home her point. “Give me everything you got, baby.”

If the lady wanted it raw, she would get it raw. Seconds later, he guided his dick back into her wet warmth, causing them both to groan loudly at the intimate contact, with no barrier between them. Then, in an unexpected move, he took her hands and pinned them above her head. His fingers gripped her wrists in a shackle as he pumped into her, slow and deep.

“Fuck, it actually feels better,” she mumbled, a delicious feeling of helplessness and pleasure rolling through her in varying degrees. “Damn, Jey, yeah, fuck me with that big dick.”

"Mmm, moan my name like that again, baby," Jey nuzzled her cheek, a sly smile lighting up his gorgeous face when she obeyed. His voice was deep, compelling and dripping with desire, and she couldn't help but respond. She whimpered as she met his eyes, and his features softened, his mouth finding hers again. As his thrusts became harsher, Vivienne gripped his waist tighter with her thighs, trying to keep him as deep inside her as possible. He held her body down to the bed as he drove his hard cock in and out of her, his grunts blending with her throaty moaning. Though her arms strained from his vice-like grip, she couldn't deny how much hotter it was that he was making her take it like this.

“Daddy, you makin’ my pussy so wet,” she whined. He was impossibly deep, slipping in and out of her with relative ease, and yet with a tightness that dragged him back and forth inside her tender walls. The sensation was unbelievably erotic.

“I can feel you, baby, you all wet and tight. So fuckin’ incredible.” Grabbing her leg and hooking it over his shoulder, he powered deeper inside of her, glancing down at his long, thick shaft spreading her wide. “Mmph, look at you, creamin’ on me while I bust this pussy open.”

Vivienne's eyes rolled in the back of her head as Jey swiveled his hips while buried inside her. The feel of his skin sliding against hers due to his deep, grinding strokes, all while his hands pinned hers down, had her gasping for breath. He was turning her out, evidently determined to bring her off the edge of unspeakable pleasure. Her body started to go numb, her senses wracked by a cocktail of emotions that blurred into each other. She tried in vain to hold off the rising tide, her eyes squeezing shut as her leg began to shake on his shoulder.

“Babe, I’m gonna come,” she announced.

"Me too," Jey groaned. "Come for me, beautiful. Soak my dick with your cum." Leaning down to suck her nipples, his other hand curved over her ass and gripped tight, his hips moving with force and authority. He drilled the fuck out of her in search of his own release, his balls slapping against her ass, drowning in the sweet symphony of her cries and her weeping pussy. He sucked greedily on her neck, growling in her ear when she screamed his name and squirted all over his dick. His thrusts accelerated, faster, rougher, sloppier, until it all came to a sudden stop. A harsh groan erupted from his own throat as he exploded in an orgasm that had him forgetting his own name. Pleasure zipped through his bones like electricity as he filled her up to the brim with his seed. His senses were devoid of everything except the feeling of being buried deep inside her, and the look in her beautiful eyes, a look of sensual triumph and satisfaction, mirroring his own.

Finally releasing her hands, Jey trailed feathery kisses along Vivienne’s neck, making her shiver. She quickly draped her arms around him, craving access to his heated skin. He was still inside her. As their breathing normalized, he brushed his lips on her forehead and nose before claiming her mouth for his own, both of them sighing pleasurably at the lingering taste of their joined sex fluids. His hands dropped to her hips so he could pull out of her, before lowering her legs to the bed. Vivienne held on possessively to him, almost afraid that he would disappear if she let go.

“Damn. I can’t fuck witchu no more, you’re gonna ruin me,” she smiled up at him, a hint of seriousness in her voice as she massaged the back of his neck.

“But we just getting started,” he grinned deviously.

What had she gotten herself into? “You are gonna be big trouble for me.”

Jey chuckled and kissed her lips. "Well, you gon’ like my kinda trouble." Laying on his back, he slid his arm around her shoulders and laughed when she confidently tucked her leg between both of his. It felt comfortable and natural, like they had been laying together like this forever. He nuzzled his face against hers and ran his hand up and down her thigh, feeling his heart swell with affection for the beautiful woman in his arms.

"Can I take you out to breakfast tomorrow?" he asked her.

“Mmm. Sounds like a date," she mused. “But only if you fuck me again like this in the morning and buy me a Plan B afterwards.”

"You just said you wasn't fuckin' with me no more," he teased.

Vivienne laughed with him. “Yeah, that was cap. You can’t blame me, though. You dicked me down so good, baby.”

“All down to you, angel. Your pussy is so damn good. Best sex I’ve had in a long ass time.”

As he spoke, she felt him harden against her leg, as though aroused by the memory of being inside her, and her ego swelled. "It was my pleasure. Literally," she giggled, kissing his neck as a reward for his glowing review.

“Your girls will be happy about it, that’s for sure.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes good-naturedly at that. “I know, right?” Yeah, tomorrow morning was going to be interesting. Mona and Jacqui were not going to let her rest now that she finally had sex with Jey. And speaking of…She stared into his eyes, searched for any hidden doubts or regret. But he stared right back at her with the same content, dreamy expression. It made her feel on top of the world.

“I feel like I’m having another one of my fever dreams," she whispered, stroking his beard. “I can’t believe this is really happening...You and me. It’s so crazy.”

"Not so crazy, angel." He leaned into her touch, turning his face to press his lips to her palm. “We been waitin’ on this for a long time. And now that we here, I definitely want more of it.”

“Hmm. More of what, exactly?” she dared to ask.

His brown eyes seemed to see right through to her soul as he stared down at her, his face somber and serious. “More of you. More of us,” he elaborated. “I want you, Vivienne. I want what you want, and I wanna give you everything you want, too. So if you down, let’s get it.”

A tender smile appeared on Vivienne’s face, and she leaned in for another kiss, both passionate and heartfelt, letting her actions respond to his sweet proposition. It was a big step forward into the unknown, with challenges that were sure to come along the way. But Vivienne was ready to face them with Jey, and to know he was as ready as she was, convinced her that everything was going to be okay.

THE END

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This is my last standalone Jey fic for a while. I’ll concentrate on finishing up ‘On Sight’ after this.

Please leave comments. I love comments!

Banner made by me. Credit to owners of the pics and gifs.

#jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fanfic #jey uso smut #the bloodline #roman reigns #jimmy uso #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x black reader #wwe smut #the usos #wwe #jey uso imagines #jey uso imagine #jey uso x reader

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ash-is-dying · 9 months

Text

Temporary Tattoo

A/N: Felt compelled to write a quick blurb after drawing one of these on my own hand. Idk guys the delulu is really getting to me today. Anyway enjoy!

Shy!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 782

Fluffy / Mildy Spicy Blurb

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“Just stay still Eddie!”

“But you’re taking forever!”

The pen runs over his knuckles as you outline the bones on his hand. You had spent the entirety of calculus at the back drawing on Eddie’s hand. He had breached the topic of getting a skeleton hand tattoo so you had made the generous offer to be his temporary tattoo artist.

His various rings had been scattered across the desk and the sleeve of his hellfire shirt had been rolled the full way up his arm exposing his actual tattoos alongside the detailed sketch on his left hand. You sat knee to knee with the boy as the arm you’re drawing with pins his arm to the table and the other holds his hand flat.

For someone who was covered in hidden tattoos you’re genuinely surprised by how much he moved while you were working and how whiney he was being about you taking too long.

“How long?”

“Eddie I haven’t even done your wrist yet. Chill your balls. We’ve still got half an hour anyway.”

He throws his head back and sighs deeply. His other hand starts to fidget, miming the chords for some metal song or another. His eyes close and he looks like a toddler who’s been denied chocolate from the shops. His head lolls to the side to look at you.

You’re completely oblivious to the look he gives you as he studies your concentrated face, biting your lip and your brows furrowed as you smoothed over the outlines you had drawn. Unbeknownst to you the real reason he was so all over the place wasn’t because the tattoo was taking too long.

It was because you were the one drawing it.

When you had started your gentle touches had left him flinching, moving towards your warm hands. Hence the need for physical restraint. Eddie’s cheeks flushed the moment you had wrestled his arm under yours, your closeness making his heart jump start. He could spend hours here just having you draw all over him. He’d let you fill every gap between his tats if it meant he could keep you like this.

The only reason he was now encouraging you to hurry was because he didn’t need the artist girl he’d been crushing on for months noticing the semi he was sporting. He had tried to slide further under the desk to make it less obvious but the hold you had on his arm was making things increasingly harder.

In both ways.

“I don’t think we need to do the wrist, just my hand is fine-” he said sharply.

“But didn’t you want a half-sleeve anyway? Thought you wanted me to try the whole tattoo.”

“As cool as that would be I kinda need my arm back sweetheart-” He says with an edge of panic in his voice.

“Okay okay, I’ll be done in ten.”

The next ten minutes were probably the longest ten minutes of his life.

For the fine detailing you had made the decision that you needed to get even closer. You had rotated his arm and had folded your leg over his, just adjacent to where he desperately needed you not to be. He watched anxiously as you shifted to finish off the tattoo. He genuinely tried to sink into his chair and disappear. If you had even a hint of what was happening under the desk he would be absolutely mortified.

“Why do you get so many tattoos Eds?”

Her sudden question pulls him out of his head. “Oh- um. I guess because they look cool? And they help me express a part of myself that I want to show people rather than tell them about.”

“Fair enough.” There’s a long pause. “Can I ask you something?”

Eddie’s brows raise in concern. “Yes?”

“Do you get this turned on for all your tattoo artists or just me?”

The silence is deafening as his eyes widen in shock and realization. He stutters as you move off of his lap unable to find the words. The bell goes and you begin to pack up your things not sparing him a glance until you put your hand on his shoulder and lean to whisper in his ear.

“If you ever need another tattoo done… call me okay.”

You give his cheek a quick peck as you turn away and walk out of the room with a flush on your face, leaving behind an extremely flustered and red faced Eddie. He looks down at his arm. It’s amazing of course. But what really catches his eye is the messily written phone number on the underside of his arm.

Maybe he will get another temporary tattoo.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x reader #eddie x you #stranger things #blurb

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quiteliterallyilliterate · 4 months

Text

Had an idea for some Yan!TP LinkxReader who could also shift into a wolf. Working on requests!

Tw: Yandere, Mentions of murder, Mentions of Cannibalism, Obsession

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Link always knew there was something special about you. That was, something beyond the obvious. You were a being of absolute divinity in both beauty and intelligence. Not only that, but you saw him as a fitting devotee to grace with your presence. You saw him worthy of your worship. Someone to keep around rather than abandon, unlike some others he’s loved before. Of course you, absolutely incredible and utterly divine you, was special. There was absolutely no doubt about it —he’d kill anyone who had anything to say otherwise. He didn’t see the need to entertain or engage with such obvious mistruths. But there was always a nagging feeling that there was more to you than he could simply gather at face value. That there was something drawing him to you like a moth to a flame. Like he had some innate need for your presence like a starving man needs food. And yet, no matter how hard he tried nor how long he searched, he couldn’t exactly pin it. Perhaps it was sacrilegious of him to even doubt you, but his senses had never before led him wrong.

One must understand that, in the wreckage of his life post his heroics, the more animalistic side of him had since begun to merge with his sense of humanity. Two things, realms, entities mixing to eventually make some middle ground— an equilibrium. That line between man and beast blurred and bled into one another until he was more of himself than he ever was before. He could track down any missing person —incredibly useful for wrangling the rowdy children of Ordon— a task he could previously only do as a wolf but could now achieve as a human. He now had an odd hunger for raw meat. Originally, this happened posed quite a problem, as people don’t take well to seeing another person scarf down slabs of raw meat. But, as always, you provided a solution. Whenever he’d have to kill a man in offering to you —as they’d gotten too close to you, too close to touching what wasn’t theirs— all Link would need to do after the job was pick the bones clean. The carcass left quite a message, he was sure.

There was, However, the final issue he used to struggle with. The beast often demanded a Mate. He supposed it made some form of sense —the hunger for satisfaction. After All, it’s not like the beast can really understand that there’s more to living than survival and reproduction when you have consciousness. Whenever the urge would come back, knawing at his ribs like a spitting fire daring to be tamed, he’d let it fizzle out. It was all the real options he had. The beast didn’t beg for just anyone to tame the teeming flames. Instead it urged for someone specific. But of course, for no one he knew of. It cried and howled, with no way to sate the beast’s desires. And so, Link resigned himself to waiting. Again, It’s not like he had any other option. But of course you, marvellous you. You were the solution. You happened to be the very one that his soul cried out to. The calm sun, dowsing him with light after so long of storms. Like moonlight to a moth and bread to a starving man, you saved and sated him down to the matter of his vary soul. He didn’t dare question it, not now he had you. That would be simply disgraceful of him to turn you away in even the slightest. So while you attuned yourself to him, he could spend all his time and energy toward cherishing you. He could spend everything toward your worship. While you learned of him and of his home, he learned what foods you best like and how you’d best like him so you would just stay by his side. Please- you’re all he has left.

The summer night was quiet in Ordon, the kids having gone to bed and most of the adults having gone to follow. Crickets buzzed in the tall grasses and the pleasantly cool night meant you could open up the windows. The two of you lounged inside, curled up close. His face was nuzzled into your neck, calmed by the familiarity and warmth of your scent.

“Link?” Your voice was soft and quiet to match the comfortable silence you’d established for yourselves. He hummed back to you in response, looking up. He basked in the attention you gave him, he was blessed that you picked him. You could have had anyone. Well not anyone, he’d kill his competitors.

“Look, I have to show you something, but you have to promise you won’t freak out.” He sat upright with the worry that pulled at your tone. You were too good to live a life that provided you with worries. He’s gone through so much that you could live in blissful peace as you deserve. He’d level towns- he’d bring death to Hyrule as the two of you know it if it means your worries are calmed. You slid off the couch and returned with your fluffy cloak in hand. It was your favorite, lined with a thick pelt capable of keeping you warm and dry in harsh weather. Not to mention, you looked utterly adorable when the fluff dwarfed your frame. You clipped it over your shoulders and anxiously adjusted it so it fit perfectly. You breathed slowly, and it was like energy breathed into the still room. There was a small glow of light, and when it cleared, you were no longer sitting before him. Instead, a wolf looked back at him, ears perked and the same intelligent eyes looking back at his own. You were like him. That’s why you were meant to be together, why his soul called to yours. Gods- you were perfect for him in ways he didn’t know he craved. He was hellbent on making sure that you’d live a good life, by any means necessary.

#yandere link x reader #link x reader #twilight princess #tp!link x reader #lu twilight x reader

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actually-3kidsinatrenchcoat · 9 months

Text

Princess Treatment | Miguel O'hara x chubby!Reader

Miguel really knows how to relieve your stress 💕

18+ SEXUAL CONTENT | CW: Oral s*x (v + breast/nip), mentions of biting and bruising (hickies), body worship, (positive)talk of larger bodies, she/her pronouns, verrryyyy fluffy smut, slight Dom!Miguel.

Based on Miguel O'Hara x Chubby Woman Headcanons 💕

You’ve been putting in overtime at the spider society. Just as you’re about to leave, there’s always another anomaly popping up in some unhinged dimension. You’d think being the lover of the creator and leader of the spider society would get you some perks on the job, but far from it. In fact, he's put you on more missions than ever. You really can't tell if he just believes in your competency or is brooding and wants to be away from you.

After returning from a particularly stressful mission, something involving a rogue Goblin and a police station, your mind is a blur. Nearly dragging yourself into Miguel's floating work room, you find the nearest cold metal chair. Slumping into it and finally removing your mask, you release a long drawn out sigh.

Miguel was very aware of your current state and chuckled to himself upon hearing you enter the room. He knows he's been working you to the bone lately, but it's only because he respects your work ethic, especially since becoming official with you.

"Mi vida, how was the mission?" He asks as he saunters over to your exhausted body. You can barely lift your head to shoot him the dirtiest look you can muster before resting it back onto the chair. "According to Jess, you've been doing very well." You scoff and finally look up to him as he now stands just behind the chair.

"Well, I'm glad she thinks so," you grunt, half sarcastically. He leans down to kiss your forehead, a gesture you've come to recognize as one of his favorites. Before he can make contact, you lift your gloved hand to cover his mouth. "Hon, you really don't want to do that right now. I am drenched in sweat."

"Fair point. Why don't you head home and rinse off?" Miguel says as he moves to face you. He holds out his hand for you to use as leverage to pry your melted body off the chair. You take it and use what feels like the last bit of energy you have to pull yourself up.

"Thank you, Mig," you smile at him tiredly before tapping at your watch to open the portal back to your dimension. Before stepping through, you turn back to him and ask, "When do you want me back?"

Miguel thinks for a moment, looking back up to his desk and tapping around on his watch. He looks back to you with a smirk that you can't quite place the meaning of. "Actually, I think I'll join you."

"What? Don't you have work to do?" He rarely takes impromptu leaves from office, so you're fully aware that this must be a scheme.

He starts walking toward you, never breaking eye contact. "L.Y.L.A., make sure Jess knows I'll be taking the rest of the day off." Finally at your side, he wraps his arm around your waist, giving your hip a little squeeze. "Tonight, you're getting the princess treatment." At this point, you're far too tired to press for more information, so you just step through the portal with Miguel at your side.

The next couple hours are filled with Miguel dotting over you. He draws you a bath with your favorite bath salts and a couple of candles set around your bathroom. He sits by the side of the tub, massaging your aching shoulders and scalp as he helps to shampoo your hair. After your bath, he makes sure to help with your skin and hair care routine that he had quietly memorized from the many nights he's spent with you.

Of course, he has to help you apply lotion to your delicate skin. Initially you protest, "Miguel, you've done enough. I can take care of this, okay?"

He smiles at you and chuckles as you sit in front of him, on the edge of your bed. "Let me pamper you, mi reina. You've done so much lately, let me take your stress away." You relent and allow him to start.

Initially, Miguel seems to be intent on truly making sure your skin is adequately moisturized, having you sit on his lap, your back to his chest. He takes his time to rub the sweet smelling cream into your arms, working his large hands over your smooth skin. Doing the same with your upper back and shoulders, taking his time at your back rolls to caress the skin and examine it lovingly.

Although, once he gets to the point where your shoulders meet your neck, he leans down to kiss the delicate skin. You hear him inhaling deeply, taking in your scent. "Ah, Miguel..." you sigh. He shushes you and continues on.

Once he get's to your chest, his intentions become clear. His hands snake down to cover your breasts. He squeezes lightly, manipulating the flesh in his hands, You start to feel him hardening beneath you, the only thing separating you being his suit that he still hasn't bothered to remove.

Again, he kisses your neck, a bit more aggressively now. Slowly, you feel him start to rub over your peaked nipples. Gently pinching the buds between his fingers. You moan lowly, not expecting the pleasurable sensation.

"Suena hermosa," Miguel purrs into your neck. At this point, you've had enough, desperate to lock lips with him, you try to get up from his lap, bur his strong arms move to hold your hips in place. "Ah ah ahh," he coos, "I'm not done putting on your lotion." With a grunt of protest, you reluctantly allow Miguel to continue.

He quickly moves down to your belly, rubbing circles into your sides and lovingly nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He lingers for a while, allowing you to relax back into his chest and lace your fingers with his. It's moments like this that make you fall deeper in love with him.

"Eres perfecta, cariño," he mutters quietly. You giggle and turn your head just enough to place a kiss on his head. In response, he unlinks your hands and places his on your hips, signaling you to stand. Once up, he spins you around to pull you into his arms and kiss you deeply. You throw your arms around his neck and push your body into his, desperate to be as close with your lover as physically possible. He finally retracts his holo suit, revealing his warm brown skin and boxers, which hid a very obvious boner.

He shifts to lay you back on the bed, gently helping you down all while keeping your lips connected. He begins to kiss down your neck, stopping at a few points to suck and bite a few marks into your skin. Once he reaches your breasts, he captures one of your nipples in his mouth, sloppily kissing and sucking while rolling the other between his fingers.

By now you're already deathly aware of the heat pooling between your thighs, and Miguel is making it no better. After taking the time to attack both of your breasts with his skilled mouth and wonderful hands, he dips down to your tummy. He lovingly kisses a line down to your belly button while rubbing his hands along your sides and kneading the soft skin. You quietly sigh to yourself and tangle a hand in his hair, gently scratching his scalp in a silent 'thank you'.

After a time, Miguel slowly moves back up to your face. He butterfly kisses your forehead and cheeks before sitting up and smiling down at you. "What?" You ask, giggling at the sudden change from hunger and lust to loving and gentle.

He cups your cheek and rubs little circles into your cheek. "I know you're tired, Princesa. Let me make you feel good."

"God, yes please, Mig." That was all he needed. He quickly shifted down the bed and spread your legs. He kneels down and lifts your legs up to rest on his shoulders. He begins massaging your thighs and kissing up and down your calves, every now and then looking back to you to watch you squirm.

"Babe, please don't tease me," you whine moving your hands between your thighs. You use your fingers to gently part your slick lips, allowing the cold air of the room to hit your aching core. Miguel watches as your tight hole and clit throb around nothing, his dick straining harder against the fabric of his underwear.

"Mierda..." He groans, snaking his hands down your thighs and taking the place of your fingers. He gently rubs two of his fingers over your slit as he sinks down to face your pussy. He spreads you open again making sure to make piercing eye contact with you as he breathes cold air onto your heat, making you gasp and squirm and try to close your thighs. He chuckles and finally licks one long stripe up your cunt. Immediately, you shiver and moan at the contact.

"That's it, Princesa. Let me hear you," Miguel mumbles as he continues to swipe his tongue, collecting your leaking juices on his tongue. He resumes massaging your thighs as he finally buries his tongue in your hole, using his nose to add pressure to your clit. You nearly cry at the sudden increase in stimulus, instinctively lifting your hips to meet his mouth, which he responds to by placing his strong hand over your abdomen to push you back down into the bed.

You again move your hands to lace into his dark brown locks, using it as leverage to push his face deeper into your core. He takes this as an opportunity to move his mouth up to your clit, taking the pulsing mound into his mouth and gently sucking. A string of slurred curses and moans fall from your mouth as he begins to slide two of his large fingers into your pussy. Your inner walls tighten as he begins to slowly curl upwards into your most sensitive spot. The heat that had already been brewing in your stomach instantly grew into a raging fire as he continued to suck at your clit and pump his fingers.

"Please baby, p-please don't stop!" He chuckled at how desperate you sounded, sending vibrations into the little bundle of nerves he refused to remove his mouth from. You could feel yourself about to break as you greedily buck your hips into his face.

"Aww, are you getting close, cariño?" Miguel fully knew you could cum at any second, but hearing you admit it was half the fun.

"A-ahh yes! Please, can I c-cum?" Your free hand is gripping at the sheets below you, trying to focus on not releasing then and there. You know how much he likes when you ask permission first.

"Good girl, cum for me." That was all you needed, you almost screamed out in pleasure as you released all over his face. Your legs shook at either side of his head as you continued to spasm with the orgasmic wave that rolled down your body.

You finally begin to relax as he takes his final licks, lapping up your cum. He finally sits up as you relax your arms and legs out like a starfish, desperately trying to catch your breath.

"Thank you, Mig," you sigh out breathlessly, smiling weakly at your lover.

"Of course, mi amor." Miguel wipes his mouth and chin still coated in your juices, and gets up off the bed to turn down the lights, swiftly returning back to you.

You muster up your last bit of strength to scoot into him, resting your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you and kisses your temple before pulling the covers over the both of you. This is truly the most relaxed you've been in a while. And it was all thanks to Miguel, the man that caused all your stress in the first place.

At least he knows how to help you release your stress.

Thank you all for your patience! Let me know if you want more chub love! 💕

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara smut #spider man 2099 #chubby reader #chubby chaser #smut #miguel o'hara #18+ post #fluffy smut

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number1mingyustan · 9 months

Text

Expiration Date (2/2) ☾✹

GIF by shatsusik

artist!joshua x model!fem!reader

Genre: smut, hurt, angst

Warnings: cursing, brief smut, explicit smut, mentions of pregnancy/miscarriage, arguments, a lot of angsty sad stuff

Summary: there’s only one way to go from here

Word Count: 4.1k

_______________________________________________

part 1

Out of the 206 bones in your body, you don't have a doubtful one that believes Joshua Hong is not your soulmate. Everything in you believes you were meant to be together.

You'd bet money that it was written somewhere in the stars.

He loved you and you loved him.

When you first met, everything fell into place with him so easily. He was kind and caring and things were simple with him. He would never shy away from compliments, often painting you because he thought you were so beautiful.

His muse.

It wasn't until he started painting you that his career really began to take off. His previous work was less abstract and interpretive, often capturing different colors and shapes. He never painted people, but of course that all changed when you came around.

His work was known before you, but his popularity skyrocketed, gaining worldwide attention and giving him much more credit within the art world.

You became a large part of his art. He's often mix different shapes and colors with your features. Your eyes, your breasts, your legs, everything he found beautiful about you really.

It gained a lot of attention and people grew curious to know who the mystery woman that appeared in all his new art was. Much like Joshua himself, they too thought she was beautiful.

But that was then. When your relationships still made you feel like you were floating and the honeymoon phase felt like it would never end.

You and Joshua Hong were meant to be part of each other's lives, you don't question that. However, you do question how long you were meant to be together.

---------------Two Years Ago ---------------

"I'm just so glad you guys were able to come down here and visit," Mrs.Hong says for the fourth time since the two of you arrived in LA.

You smile at her excitement.

"I hardly hear from my son since he moved all the way up to New York," she continues, shooting her son a glare.

Joshua rolls his eyes playfully. "I call you every week. Don't be so dramatic."

"It's not the same," she frowns. "I like having you here with me."

"Yeah well I've been busy with my art and everything," he sighs, pulling you closer to his side. His hand is on yours, thumb drawing small circles on your knuckles.

You lean into his touch, breathing in his natural scent. He's so warm and comforting. "Yes... extremely busy," you pout. "He does so much nowadays I can't even keep up with it all. All kinds of projects and interviews, don't know how he does it."

He smiles at you. "I've got the best support backing me up," he pats your head lightly. "With you by my side, I can handle anything."

He opens his mouth to speak again, but he's interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

"Oh- one second. Angel is calling," He excuses himself from the table and exits to take his phone call.

Angelina Yoon, his manager. You absolutely despised her. She was a great manager, you give her credit for that. She's incredibly smart and good at her job, but on a personal level? Couldn't stand her.

You didn't like the way she talked to you or the way she talked to Joshua. She flirted often and acted rudely toward you. Of course any time you brought it up to Joshua, he brushed it off. He'd tell you 'you're being dramatic' or 'she's just doing her job.'

Fucking Angel.

Not a very fitting name for her.

"Soooo where's the ring?" His mother asks, grabbing your hand and inspecting your fingers.

"Ring?" you ask.

"He hasn't asked yet?" she raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Aishh this boy," she sighs. "Four years and he still hasn't popped the question."

You retreat, pulling your hand back slowly and pushing your hair behind your ear. "Oh yeah... I mean it's fine. He works so much you know? I think he's just waiting for a better time.... did he mention anything to you about it? L-Like is he planning something?"

"No, I'm afraid not. If he is planning for it, he hasn't told me about it yet at least. I just assumed after all this time he would have done it already. I'll have to talk some sense into that boy," she scoffs.

Your heart breaks a little, but you don't let it show. It's already been a few months since it was first brought up. It was in a similar manner, his mother had brought it up in conversation months prior and put ideas into your head. But that time, Joshua was sitting at the table and he didn't seem too keen on the way his mother had suggested it.

You asked him about it that night and he explained to you how it wasn't the right time with his career taking off. It hurt, but you were understanding. It was something you strayed away from even bringing up.

It stung though.

When Joshua's art first started to gain popularity, Angel suggested keeping your relationship and identity a secret. No one knew who you were, they just thought you were pretty and that Joshua captured your beauty perfectly.

It would create more buzz for him to be capturing some sort of mystery woman. Angel talked about how much it would help his career to keep you in the shadows and him in the light. So you did it.

For nearly the first three years of your relationship, you were a secret. A mystery, a pretty face on a canvas with no name, a nobody. It wasn't easy, having to sneak around and keep your entire life private.

Part of you thinks you lost yourself in those first three years, but that's an entirely different issue.

Thankfully, after you did finally go public with things, the modeling agencies came flooding in and you were in high demand.

"Don't worry about it... I don't want to put any more pressure on him," you give her a half-smile.

She feels for you. "You're too nice sweetheart."

Before anything else can be said, Joshua walks back into the kitchen with an excited smile. You and his mother both look at him as he sits back down.

"So.. Angel just told me there's a huge art exhibit coming up in Sydney, Australia and their main exhibit just fell through so they want me to replace them," he beams.

"That's so great Joshie!" you smile and hug him. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks honey, they want me to do all new pieces though, and they need me in Australia in two days. The exhibit is in three weeks," he explains.

"But we're supposed to stay down here for another week... and then we have our trip planned for Aruba. Josh... the whole point of this trip was so that we could spend our time together and with family. I cleared my schedule for this Joshua." you sigh. "Besides how are you gonna put together a whole exhibit's worth of pieces in two weeks."

"I know baby... but this is important work stuff. You understand, right? We can always plan another trip, but this is a big opportunity for me. My work would be extending all the way into Australia," he places his hand on your shoulder. "Besides I'll probably just use those sketches I've been working on"

"I mean yeah... it's really great Josh, for you. What about me? I cleared my entire schedule for this," you frown.

"I know baby, I'm sorry. I'm sure we can just book two tickets and you can come with me if you want," he suggests.

"I think I'd rather we just go home. You'll be working a whole bunch in Australia anyway," you bite the inside of your cheek.

"There's no time to go back to New York honey. They want me out there in two days. If you want me to book you a flight home, I can do that if you really wanna go back, but I can't go with you. I'm gonna have to leave straight from here. I was hoping you'd come with me."

You frown. "I don't really want to fly alone."

"I mean, you can stay here with mom, until I get back of course. I won't object to it, but I've got to book my flight in the next few hours. So just let me know ASAP," he leaves a quick kiss on your head and stands back up.

"Sorry ma, I'll come visit soon," he hugs his mother and kisses her cheek. "I promise... love you"

His footsteps grown faint as he makes his way upstairs for the night. Your heart breaks a little more. His mother glances at you, she really feels for you.

"I'm getting tired... think I'll go join him," you tell her with a sad smile. "Thank you so much for dinner, I appreciate it."

You give her a light hug before disappearing into the bedroom with Joshua.

_____

He got you pregnant that night. He was much more excited than you were, he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Pulled you onto his lap not long after you walked into the room.

He was quick to strip you and pin you down onto the bed. You were still upset, but the pleasure was a temporary fix for the pain.

Sweaty and passionate lovemaking between the thin sheets of the old bed. His hands were all over you that night. You let the pleasure consume you, allowed it to pull you away from reality.

He told you how much he loved you as he drilled his cock inside of you, even had to cover your mouth with his hand to keep you from being too loud. He whispered dirty words and sweet nothings into your ear and left purple hickies along your skin. He pounded into you over and over again that night, switching positions halfway through.

The bed was old, creaked and shifted every time he thrusted his hips into you. You came twice, once on his fingers and once on his cock.

And when he came, he came inside of you. It wasn't unusual for him to do so, but for some reason your birth control wasn't very effective that time.

You wouldn't know it that night, but you realize that was the best and worse night of your life.

Because as quickly as it came, it went.

You stayed with his mom in LA for the next month while he was in Australia. He didn't call you every day the way he said he would, but that wasn't the least bit shocking. He ended up having to stay another week after the showcase to meet with different people about his work.

While he was sitting in meetings and being interviewed, you were pacing around the bathroom anxiously awaiting the results of the pregnancy test sitting on the edge of the sink.

You didn't tell him until you went back home to New York. You ended up flying alone anyway, Joshua thought it was pointless to fly to LA and then New York when both of you could just go to New York and see each other at home.

He was beyond excited when you did tell him and foolishly got your hopes up about what the baby would mean for the two of you. You'd convinced yourself that having the baby would make Joshua more involved. You thought his excitement would translate into him being more present.

But then you lost the baby two months later and it caused you two to drift more. The doctors told you it was a miracle you were even able to conceive in the first place. They said you were basically infertile and if you were ever able to somehow conceive again, the fetus wouldn't even make it through the first trimester. You fell into a depressive episode, making reckless decisions driven by hurt and pain.

You had to quit modeling and be admitted. The next 9 weeks you got treated and you got better. Although things got better, you'd never say they reached the level of good.

Better is simply and improvement, not necessarily success.

Joshua never saw it that way. He didn't see the way you were still hurting and suffering. He thought you getting treatment and getting better meant that everything was okay. He thought that because you saw a therapist twice a week, that you would just be okay. Because you took two small pills every morning, he thought you were no longer suffering.

It's your own fault partially, you played the role. You hid your hurt well, contributed to his thoughts about you being fine. At first, it seemed like he cared a lot more. But with him constantly asking "Are you Okay?" it was easier for you to just say yes. It was easier for him to believe it too. He threw himself back into his art and didn't put in the extra effort to ensure the well-being of your mental health after that.

It took two years and a very heated argument for him to really see it.

---------------Modern Day ---------------

The bed is empty when you wake up in the morning. It's not a foreign feeling, unfortunately. But with everything that occurred last night, it feels worse than usual.

You're not sure where your relationship stands right now. There's a tightness constricting in your chest and you're dreading the idea of getting out of bed.

After nearly ten minutes of you rolling around in the bed and avoiding it, you finally got yourself out of the bed. You wince when your foot first meet the bedroom floor. A reminder of everything that occurred last night.

After you go into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face, you walk cautiously and quietly through the penthouse. The temperature dropped again and the marble floors are cold on your bare feet.

When you reach the living room, you don't see Joshua anywhere. His blanket and pillow are still on the couch, but you don't see him anywhere.

You let out a breath of relief. You're really not ready to speak with him yet.

You walk into the kitchen, seeing that the glass is still shattered on the ground. You reach down, picking up some of the larger shards.

"Don't worry about it, I'll clean it up," Joshua says from behind you.

You jump at the sound of his voice. You weren't expecting him to come up behind you and startle you. However, you remain silent.

"You need to take your meds, it's past 11. You were asleep for a while," he says and begins picking up the other large shards of glass.

You stand to your feet and nod. You don't look at him, you can't. You simply walk around the island and open on of the cabinets to grab your medicine.

"You have been taking your meds everyday, right?" he asks.

It feels even colder in the kitchen suddenly. The tension in the air hasn't subsided. If anything, it's grown thicker.

"Yes Josh," you say.

Even after all those nights of sleeping alone, Joshua greeted you with a good morning and a kiss. At the very least you could expect some sort of greeting.

But now? Nothing.

"Don't forget to eat something," he reminds you quietly.

You nod. "Right."

You pop a slice of bread into the toaster and wait. It only takes two minutes, but it feels like an eternity. Joshua grabs the dustpan and broom to sweet up the glass.

It's uncomfortable quiet. Your stomach is turning in knots and your leg is bouncing anxiously.

"Where did you just come from? I didn't know where you were," you finally break the unbearable silence.

"On the balcony, needed some fresh air," he says, continuing to sweep up the remaining glass.

"It's thirty degrees outside."

He shrugs, disposing of the glass properly. "Just needed some fresh air. It's not much warmer in here anyway, damn thermostat is broken."

He avoids eye contact with you, stepping away from the kitchen quietly. Your heart rate spikes.

"Joshua..." you start. "We have to talk about-"

You're cut off when your toast pops up.

"Your breakfast is ready," he says shortly and fully leaves the kitchen.

Your eyes follow him. He walks back into the living room, grabbing the blanket he slept under and folding it back up. His footsteps fade as he disappears into the penthouse toward your bedroom.

You sigh and take a few bites out of your toast. You don't have much of an appetite with the way your stomach is churning. You chase the two small pills with a sip of water before walking toward your bedroom.

When you step into the room, Joshua is already in there making up your bed. He's cleaning to distract himself, to avoid you.

" 'Shua," You say quietly, leaning against the door frame.

"Wait," he continues folding the blankets on your bed. "I'm doing something right now."

" 'Shua," you say a little louder.

"Did you wash your dishes? I know you used a glass for the water," he asks.

"Joshua." You say firmly.

He sighs, giving up and sitting down on the bed. He runs his hands from his face up to his hair. You sit down on the bed next to him. In reality it's only a few moments, but it feels like an eternity of silence.

"I'm sorry," he starts.

"Don't apologize... we both said some hurtful, but truthful things last night," you bite the inside of your cheek.

A beat.

"You were right... I did give up on us a long time ago. But it wasn't unprompted, and I want you to understand that. I gave up before you could."

"What?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.

"You work so much... and so hard. I had no idea artists did so much until I met you, but your work has always been your priority. I love that you're passionate about your art, but you'll always put your work before me."

"That's not true," he defends.

"It is."

A beat.

You and Joshua Hong were meant to be, not meant to last. You shared your best and worst moments with him. You spent nearly 6 years creating unforgettable memories and sharing experiences you hold dear to your heart.

Your love was like a candle, it was once lit and burned with fiery passion. But it eventually burned out and faded into nothing but melted wax.

Fire may be pretty to look at, but touch it and you get burned.

"But I love you,"

"You don't.... not anymore"

"Don't try to tell me how I feel."

"Josh-"

"I don't know what it is you're trying to get at or do here, but it's fucked up. If this is you're way of trying to make excuses for falling out of love with me or something, then that’s just wrong Y/n.”

"Joshua! This relationship is not the way it was five years ago and you know it. You couldn't even thank me in your speech last night."

"You told me you were over that. I told you tha-"

"Stop cutting me off and let me speak!" you shout. "You forgot to thank me in your speech while I was standing in front of you with a painting of me displayed in my background. I have become an afterthought in your life and not a priority anymore. You managed to forget about me while looking directly at me... and a painting you did of me. If you loved me, if you really loved me, I would have been the first person you thanked. I wouldn't have slipped your mind Joshua. It may have been a mistake, but it told me everything I needed to know."

He frowns.

"You think you still love me because you love the idea of me. You-you love the way I look on a canvas and in exhibits. You love that even after 5 years of painting me, it still makes you money. But those fucking paintings don't have feelings he way I do," your eyes start to water. "You love the way Angel validates your artwork of me and is constantly working to get your work out there. You would never forget to thank Angel, because she's not just an idea or an afterthought to you. She gets you what you want and I just... don't."

"Oh my gosh how many times do I need to prove to you that I'm not fucking Angel?" he groans and stands up.

"Are you seriously still not listening to me? Not once did I accuse you of fucking her, and that's all you took away?! Fuck's sake Joshua!" You exclaim and stand to your feet. "I'm done."

"What do you mean 'you're done?'"

"It means... I can't do this anymore."

"So what... that's it? You wanna break up because of an argument?"

"IT IS NOT JUST AN ARGUMENT!" You scream. "I don't know how many ways there are for me to say it. I am exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. Last night... you said you weren't the only one who lost the baby. But when was the last time I modeled Joshua? I didn't get that chance to just jump back into my work after the loss. I'm sure it affected you, it was a horrible thing to go through, but I didn't just throw myself back into my work and move on. I am still struggling every day and you don't love me anymore. I have no reason to stay here with you."

The truth is... Joshua knows exactly what you're saying. For the first time, he's really really listening to you. He knows what you're saying is true, but he's having a hard time accepting it.

Joshua has never been good with criticism, being an artist and all.

The room is silent aside from you sniffling as you wipe away your tears. Joshua feels the knots twisting in his stomach and it's making him feel uneasy.

“I’m sorry… I know I should just accept it but I can’t. I’m hearing you, I really am. I just don’t want to let go… I won’t just throw away the last five years between us.”

“We can’t keep doing this Josh… holding onto nothing. There’s nothing that could really fix us at this point.”

“We could do therapy..” he suggests.

“Pay $200 a week just to have someone tell us what we already know? C’mon Josh, you know you don’t have the time for that.”

“I’d make the time.”

“You haven’t for the last few years… let’s not kid ourselves”

“So… you just wanna give up? You don’t want to try anymore?”

“I have been trying Josh. But it’s exhausting and there’s no point if there’s nothing worth holding onto anymore.”

“So… you don’t love me anymore either?”

“What?”

“You don’t love me anymore, do you? It’s not just me, right?”

“Yeah Josh, it’s mutual.”

His heart aches when you say it. The words leave a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.

"Okay," he says finally.

"Okay what?" You sniffle.

“Okay then… we’re done. There’s no point in staying together anymore.”

He runs the palms of his hands from his face to his hair and inhales.

“I hate that is had to come to this,” you say quietly.

“Yeah… me too” his voice breaks. “I can be out of here by tonight… you can keep the penthouse.”

“I couldn’t afford to live here on my own anyway, I’ll probably just uh- go back with my parents” You sniffle.

“You don’t-“

“It’s better that way, really.”

Silence fills the room. There’s so much to process. You really just ended things with the love of your life, your soulmate, your Joshie.

He sits on the floor with his back against the bed. He tilts his head back and sighs. You join him, sitting in an identical position next to him.

It doesn’t even feel real yet.

You’ve spent the last 5 years by his side with your mind filled with thoughts of how your story would unfold.

The aching in your heart hasn’t stopped, but you know this is for the best. It was long overdue, past the expiration date.

Much like a carton of milk, you can only drink it until it expires. Once it expires, it's no longer good and there's no way of restoring it to the way it used to be.

_______________________________________________

#seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #joshua hong #joshua x reader #seventeen joshua #joshua seventeen #svt joshua #joshua svt #joshua smut #joshua angst #kpop

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galpalaven · 3 months

Note

13 oh please please please 13

13. on a falling tear Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (Miz'ri Jhalavar) Word Count: 3200~ Summary: Miz'ri helps Astarion wash the blood from his hair after Cazador. Content Warnings: Cazador Flashbacks Also on AO3!

blood and balsam oil

The world sharpens to a point in the bloody aftermath of the ritual.

His hands shake, still sitting on his knees, half naked on the cold marble floor. The chill of the room seeps into his bones as he becomes painfully aware of every part of his body. The edges of his vision start to darken, ears ringing, chest tight with the ragged, panting breaths he draws in as he stares at the still, bloody corpse on the floor.

He... he did it.

He did it.

Cazador Szarr... is dead.

So, why does he still feel like curling into a ball and sobbing? Wasn’t that brief moment of weakness enough?

Astarion nearly yelps when something warm and soft drapes over his shoulders. He glances around wildly, startled and feeling two inches to the left of his body — only to find his Miz'ri, leaning over him with a careful smile. Her cloak is what's been placed around his shoulders, warm from being worn. It smells like her — the faint aroma of her blood, tainted though it is from the parasites in her brain, wraps itself around him like an extra blanket, briefly drowning out the smell of Cazador. Her hands linger across his shoulders for just a moment before she pulls away entirely, a physical reminder of her everlasting support.

And that reminder of her support — of everyone's support — is what gives him the strength to stand, slipping his mask of composure back on, shaky though his hold on it may be.

She lingers by his side as he gives orders to his siblings. Something about... freeing the spawn in the cells, taking them into the Underdark. It's the least he can do for them, when it's his fault they're there to begin with. As he speaks, he can feel the heat of her against his arm, even where she stands a good foot away. It's grounding, even as all the world narrows to his body and the few feet around it. The stench of death and decay hangs heavy over the crypt, and the more he breathes it in, the tighter his chest gets.

He needs to get out of this accursed place. Now, if possible.

As the group turns to leave, he catches Miz'ri around the shoulders, pulling her close and burying his face in her warm shirt for just a moment. He thinks he mumbles a thank you into her back, but he really couldn't tell if it actually made it past his lips, or if he only thought it.

It doesn't matter either way, he supposes, because even though he pulls away before she can turn and hug him back, she catches one of his hands as he pulls away, squeezing before letting it drop.

"I've got you," she says softly.

It's hard to swallow around the lump in his throat — so he just keeps walking.

She'll understand. He knows she will.

Getting back to the Elfsong is a blur.

They travel through as many back alleys as possible, but the sun is setting, and with the cloak tugged up over his head, no one notices that he's positively drenched in blood. As it dries, it cracks and pulls at his skin, something he grows increasingly more and more aware of as they get closer to their home for the moment.

He needs it off of him.

He needs to get him off of him.

It's been long enough since the murder in Duke Stelmane's private quarters that the room is free to use. No one had taken it for their own yet aside from using the washtub in it for privacy, but tonight he intends to sleep there. He doesn't think he can take the hesitant glances and whispers just yet.

He needs... something.

Something, something, something.

He drifts between hyperawareness of his body and feeling like he’s dreaming, and he can’t decide which is worse. Or better, maybe. Thoughts start in his brain and fall off before they reach their conclusion, and he doesn’t… he doesn’t…

A hand runs up his back, bringing his awareness back to a sharp point. He sucks in a hissing breath between his teeth, shoulders bunched up around his ears — until Miz’ri’s voice reaches him through the fog.

“I’ll draw you a bath in the private quarters if you want?”

Normally, he would have laughed and asked if she even needed to ask, he’s dirty and anxious to be clean again, but all he manages is a stilted, mechanical nod. Her face comes into view as she steps in front of him to meet his eye, and his eyes start to sting again at the sight of the soft smile on her lips. He can only see one of her eyes, the other hidden behind her hair since the incident with the tadpole, but the glittering pink is full of concern as she looks up at him.

Pretty.

He clings to the thought as she cups his cheek running her thumb across the grime before pressing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Astarion leans into her, desperate for the warmth, for the gentle, familiar touch to drive the memories hanging over him like a storm cloud back into the recesses of his mind where they belong. She smiles a little brighter when she notices — lets her touch linger a moment longer — before she slips away to run his bath, leaving him feeling a little colder than before.

The world blurs again, until everything around him becomes nothing but colors and a jumble of unintelligible noises. The colors shift like the brush strokes of an oil painting in firelight, and the sounds of speaking and the raucous merrymaking of the tavern below are nothing more than a murmur in his head, as if someone had stuffed cloth in his ears. He’s sure he looks a mess, sitting in one of the chairs near the hearth in the center of the hostel-style room they’d been given, hunched as he watches the fire, still hugging his lover’s cloak around his shoulders.

Normally, he’d be appalled at everyone seeing him this way. He’d be putting on airs and laughing it off any other time, but it seems that whatever threshold he’d crossed when killing his sire — it’s reset him in a way he can’t even begin to fathom.

And so he sits, until his drow returns to his side.

“The bath’s all hot for you,” she says brushing his hair away from his eyes. His eyelids flutter at the touch, and she repeats the motion as if reading his mind. “Do you want me to help you wash your hair? A scalp massage can do wonders for the nerves.”

He’s shaking his head before he really has a chance to think about it.

“I —“ he starts, and then stops when his voice is nothing but a rasp. Clearing his throat, he does his best to sound normal and not approximately two centimeters away from a breakdown of some kind. “I’ll be fine, darling. I appreciate the offer, though.”

“If you’re sure,” she says, combing her fingers through his hair and grinning a little at the way he must look, leaning after her touch even now.

“I’m sure. You — you will join me in the private room tonight, though, won’t you?” he asks, voice tinged with uncertainty.

The way her face lights up makes his stomach flip. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

He tries to smile in what he hopes is a normal fashion, but the expression feels more like a baring of teeth than a genuine smile, and he thinks she can tell, if the way she lightly brushes the backs of her knuckles across his cheek is anything to go on. The touch nearly has his knees buckling beneath him, stomach flipping and breath catching in his throat. Astarion does his best not to curse out loud as he forces himself to his feet and out of the room, before he loses the will to leave her side at all.

The private quarters are pleasantly warm when he steps into them a few moments later, the air slightly humid with the hot water in the washtub. He drifts to the corner of the room where the bath is, dropping heavily onto the bench near the tub to start unlacing his boots and unbuckling the parts of his armor that survived the magic that tore at his clothes in the dungeon. Even the passing thought throws him right back into the overwhelming feeling of fear and nausea that had washed over him with the tearing of his clothes. Though it had just been his shirt, it had left him feeling naked and exposed — on display like some kind of sick trophy.

Bracing his fists on his knees, he tries to force the feeling back down — to force back the bile clawing it’s way up his throat, leaving fire in its wake. His eyes go in and out of focus as he bounces one leg up and down, until his attention catches on the blood covering his skin. Flecks of it have begun to chip off, having dried in the walk back to the tavern, and —

— hands covered in blood, nails missing, yanked from their roots by a skeletal hand. His hands shake as he uses a cold, dirty rag to clean the dried gore from his skin —

Astarion gasps, gritting his teeth as he reaches over and grabs one of the washcloths by the tub, dunking it in the warm water. The cloth begins to turn red nearly immediately, and it almost surprises him when it doesn’t sting as he wipes the blood from his hands and his lower arms. Eyes unfocused, he returns the cloth to the water, wringing it out and returning it to his skin, wiping at his face this time instead of his arms.

The warmth of the water feels nice, fighting back the throbbing headache that had begun just behind his eyes at some point. He scrubs at his face, taking a little pleasure in the scratchiness of the cloth, the little pricks of pain as he scrubs and scrubs to try and get every last remnant of Cazador the hells off of him. Eventually, the rag isn’t enough, and he drops it back onto the tray, standing up unsteadily to unlace his trousers, kicking his boots off viciously as he goes. Gritting his teeth, he shoves at his pants, ready to —

A memory, sharp with jagged, piercing edges, forces it’s way to the forefront of his mind.

“Take off your clothes.”

Cazador’s voice is a low purr, one hand trailing across Astarion’s shoulders as the vampire circles him. His stomach turns with disgust, though he knows better than to flinch away from his touch. His fingers still ache from the punishment the damned skeleton had inflicted on him last time.

This is… a new request, though, and it makes him nervous.

Gritting his teeth to avoid showing weakness, he slips his shirt over his head, letting it pool on the ground beside him.

“All of them.”

Fuck.

His body responds for him, though his mind screams its protest with every motion, and soon his trousers and undergarments have joined his shirt in a little pile beside him.

“Kneel.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Again, his body responds without his permission, and he falls to his knees on the plush carpet of Cazador’s office. He stares, unseeing, at the heavily polished wooden desk before him as Cazador stalks around the room somewhere behind him.

It’s not long before he steps into Astarion’s line of sight, a sharp, silver knife, humming with magic, in his hand. He uses the tip of the blade to tilt Astarion’s head up, and — sitting naked on his knees in front of this evil, horrible man, unable to say no, unable to run — he’s not sure he’s ever felt smaller than he does in this moment.

“I would tell you not to scream,” Cazador says, “but it will be more fun if you do, I think.”

And with that, he moves behind him once again, bringing the blade down —

“—Astarion!”

The world swims back into focus at the sound of his name. He is no longer on his knees in the Szarr palace. No longer under a spell that holds him still as Cazador carves infernal runes into his skin.

No, he is in a room in the Elfsong Tavern, curled in on himself, clutching a towel to his chest as if he’d been trying to cover himself from prying eyes after he got undressed to get into the bath. Pain shoots through his chest with every ragged breath he drags into his lungs, and — much like he had after killing Cazador — he finds himself feeling the urge to scream again.

“Astarion, my love, can you hear me?”

The voice that woke him grabs his attention again, as something soft gets draped over his shoulders, covering him more completely than the towel he has a death grip on. He tries to answer her — tries to answer his Miz’ri, to nod and lie that he’s alright — but all that comes out is a sob as his scars begin to burn, nerve endings still caught in a memory even as his mind has returned to the present.

“I — I can’t — I can’t breathe,” he gasps, sobbing into the hardwood as he presses his forehead to the ground. “I can’t breathe, Miz’ri, I’m — Am I dying? I can’t —”

Gentle, familiar fingers run up his spine. “You’re having a panic attack, I think.”

He tries to laugh, but through his gasping breaths, it sounds barely different from a sob. “For what? I’m free. I should — I should — I —“

“Trauma isn’t so simple, love,” she says, voice a low, soothing murmur against the roaring of his breathing in his ears. “Your body has finally left survival mode, and now it’s time to feel what you haven’t been allowed to feel.”

He snorts, or he tries to, and her hand makes another gentle pass over his back.

A minute or two must pass in which he just gasps for air like a fish on land — pathetic and desperate, clearly not helping because the room still spins and his ears begin to ring — before she speaks again.

“Can I have one of your hands, love?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that without making a fool of himself, so he just forces his body to uncurl enough that he can shove one hand toward her blindly. She catches his wrist — and guides his palm to the center of her chest, flat against her sternum.

“Can you feel the beating of my heart?” she asks softly. He nods, turning his head a bit to try and look up at her. She smiles at him sadly when their eyes meet, squeezing his wrist. “Focus on it. Match my breathing as best you can. In and out. Slow and even.”

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Her chest rises and falls to a similar, steady, easy rhythm. She takes deeper breaths than she might normally when resting, but the measured length between inhale and exhale is easy to follow. It’s not long before his breathing has calmed, and he feels in control enough to sit up, clutching the blanket around his shoulders as he does.

Exhaustion tugs at his frame as he leans against the side of the tub. It has been a very long day, and he can feel every second of it weighing down on him like stone.

"...can I help you?"

Her voice brings his gaze, which had been fixed unseeingly on the other side of the room, back to her face. She smiles sweetly when their eyes meet, shifting closer to brush some of his hair away from his forehead.

"You helped me," she says, hand making another pass when his eyelids flutter at the touch, "when my scars started to open up after the tadpole incident. I'd only be repaying you that kindness, helping you wash the blood off."

It's not an equivalent transaction, he wants to point out, but the idea is starting to look more and more ideal to him the longer they sit. Her hand smooths over his forehead in a rhythm now as she curls up next to him, and he realizes that perhaps the sweet familiarity of her touch might help keep him grounded in reality and fight away the worst of the memories that try to claw their way back to the surface.

It's that thought that has him nodding, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as she presses a kiss to his temple before helping him up and into the tub (after reactivating one of the warming runes). The warmth of the water makes him groan as he sinks into it, seeping into his muscles and sapping away the aches of the day.

A tiny part of him balks at the idea of needing this much help as Miz'ri starts to run a rag over his arms. That part of him that is terrified of relying on others, of needing anyone for anything, screams at him to pull away, to send her away and finish the bath himself. It's quickly drowned out by a much louder part of him that is melting under his lover's touch, especially as she trails a small line of kisses up his arm when it's free of blood. She repeats this for the rest of his upper torso — kisses for his hands and his arms, for the top of his spine and each shoulder, for the space behind each ear. By the time she turns her attention to his hair, he's smiling softly to himself, eyes closed as her fingers scratch and scrub, massaging the soap into his curls until he has all but melted against her.

It's such a simple thing, helping him bathe. He's not sure why, as she lathers another set of oils into his hair, it's making his throat tight. Not sure why his eyes start to sting with newly unshed tears as her hand smooths over his forehead, brushing any suds away from his eyes in a move so gentle and sweet that any question of her intention — any question of how she might feel about him — is abruptly brought to an end.

As she rinses his hair a final time, he tries to pretend like he isn't crying. Tries to pretend like tears haven't been streaming down his cheeks for a few moments now — but he should have known they wouldn't have escaped her notice. Not with her so close to his face.

He braces himself for the questions, or the comments at least, but all she does is return his head to the pillow of her shoulder (getting her shirt damp, no doubt) as she brushes gently at the tears before pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

"I've got you," she breathes.

As he turns his head to find her lips with his, he realizes that he believes her.

And later tonight, hopefully, he will be able to tell her exactly how much that means to him. How much she means to him.

Whatever comes next, he doesn't want this to end — and hopefully, neither does she.

#kiana answers #my writing #tav x astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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algea · 1 year

Text

Bluebird

song (inspired by): Bluebird by Luca Fogale

pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

prompt: Simon gazes at his significant other and realizes that he is completely in love with her, and when she puts this song on play, his feelings blossom.

warning: British humor, strong language, angst (more of a happy sad), chalk full of fluff

a/n: just remember that my requests for things are always open, and I’ll happily write whatever you want!

————————————————————

“…Simon.” A voice softly called, pulling him out of the trance he was lost in. He blinked and lifted his eyes to hers, recalling that he had been staring at her far too long, mesmerized by her. A soft smile had graced Y/N’s lips, her eyes crinkling in a way that only she could wear.

“Hm?” Simon grunted, his eyebrows drawing together underneath his balaclava.

“You were staring, hon.” Y/N responded, sashaying her way to the other side of the kitchen, searching for an ingredient to go into the dinner she was making. Not that Y/N cared, she basked in his cold, yet loving, stare.

“Sorry, I was lost in thought, love.” Simon murmured, standing up and stalking towards her. He stood behind her as she cooked, placing his arms beside hers, caging her in from behind.

“You’re just so bloody fucking gorgeous that I couldn’t stop looking.” He finished, resting his chin on her head.

“You, mister, are going to be the death of me.” Y/N laughed, turning around and grabbing his shoulders and placing a kiss on the chin of his balaclava. Simon daringly moved his hands to her waist, being careful not to topple over whatever she was brewing up.

“Why do you wear that stupid fucking mask when it’s only you and I? I loathe that mask.” Y/N sighed, brushing her fingers across his cheekbone.

“And why would that be?” Simon asked, his deep, gravelly voice rumbling through the air.

“I can’t see your beautiful face, Simon.” Y/N smirked, softly grabbing the edges of it. Simon only stared down at her, his eyes silently saying ‘I love you.’ She lifted the mask up to his nose, where she placed a kiss to his lips. She slowly pulled the mask farther, until it was hanging limp in her hand.

Not many things really surprised Y/N, come to say. She’s seen most of it all, working as a Ground Operations Specialist. But the thrill she got seeing Simon without a mask was so much more than what she encounters on her job.

“There’s the Simon Riley I know.” Y/N smiled, her other hand softly caressing his jaw. Simon could’ve sworn that if it got any better, her eyes would be making hearts at him right now.

“You makin’ fuckin’ heart eyes at me, love?” Simon joked, though there wasn’t a joking tone to his voice.

“Why yes, I am, how did you know?” Y/N smiled, turning back around and finished cooking the food. She’s always been overly blunt, saying whatever comes to mind, whether good or bad. That’s one of the many things Simon likes about her, that and the fact Y/N doesn’t care whether she’s rude or not.

“How about some music?” Y/N asked softly, setting the plates and food out. As Simon stood there and watched her, he found that the more he watched, the more he wanted to marry her. She would look so perfect as a wife, and maybe even with his children. Y/N pulled out a record, unmarked and unknown, but she set it on the record table nonetheless. As she pushed the needle onto the record, the crackle of white noise began, then the beautiful chords of guitar floated to Simons ears. The breathtaking strikes of the pianos chords sang in accompaniment to the guitar, creating a serene sound.

She moves a ghost, sleepless eyes and weathered bones

She is glass, and stone, and all things in between

Simons lips parted at the words, and he set his eyes on his girlfriend once more. He noticed how the words described her more than perfectly, something only he alone could understand.

And so it seems that she floats amongst the fallen leaves

She is all the places I have ever been

So maybe you’re a bluebird, darlin’

Tearing through the darkness of my days

Simon would never fully let himself admit that Y/N was the light, the joy, that completely crashed his life that evening where he found her captive in Valeria’s house. Her life was slowly coming to a close that night, but luckily Johnny had found her before they got to Valeria. Johnny was the one who helped her get out, carrying Y/N’s broken and struggling body to Ghost.

“Who the bloody fuck is this?” Ghost scoffed, holding the unidentified woman’s body in his hands.

“She’s a Operations Specialist, aye. Surprised she’s still alive, Valeria fucked her up bad, mate.” Soap replied, gazing sadly down at the woman’s body. Simon felt her stir in his arms, and she slowly opened her eyes and blinked.

“Ugh…Where the hell am I…” Y/N started as she looked around. Suddenly being more aware, Y/N smashed her foot into Simons chest in attempt to escape.

“Oi, easy there soldier. We ain’t gon’ hurt you.” Soap said cautiously, taking a step towards Y/N.

“We’re here to arrest Valeria, be fucking grateful we found you.” Simon muttered, throwing the obvious insults at her halfheartedly.

“You don’t think I fucking am? You are some dim witted soldiers, I’ll tell you that.” Y/N laughed, sliding out of Simons hands and standing on the ground.

“Well, on behalf of the 141, we greet you, Colonel.” Soap sighed, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. Y/N’s body went rigid, and she whispered,

“141…? Who exactly are you people?”

“I’m Soap Mactavish, Sergeant.” Soap greeted.

“Ghost. Lieutenant.” Ghost snapped. After quick introductions, they boarded the chopper, Soap sitting next to Alejandro, Y/N next to Ghost. Silence filled the air, and Y/N awkwardly looked around.

“So, Lieutenant, don’t ya have a first name?” Y/N yelled over the chopper. Ghost glanced over at her, studying her face. He found that her nose was broken, lips cracked and busted, various cuts donned her face, and one of her eyes was swollen.

“You don’t need to know.” Simon replied back, shifting his gaze down to her arms, which were littered in bruises, cuts and burns. A few of her fingers were broken and her hands were also slightly swollen. He could guess she had a few broken ribs and internal bruises. God knows what could be wrong physiologically with her now, but it seemed like nothing bothered her nonetheless.

Once they arrived back at the base, Y/N stood to get off the chopper, but Simon refused to let her walk.

“Love, you aren’t gonna be able to walk, let me carry you so you won’t get hurt anymore.” He sighed. Y/N obliged, letting Simon carry her to the infirmary.

“Simon.” He muttered softly to her. “My name is Simon Riley.”

Simon was shook from his flashback as Y/N called his name, sitting down in her chair at the table. He silently moved to sit, making the chair creak under his weight. Her soft gaze settled on his, and he smiled slightly at the attention.

“Y/N, I want to tell you something.” Simon started, placing a hand on his chest to find the box.

“You don’t have to ask, Simon. Please go ahead.” Y/N laughed, placing her hand on his.

“I know this isn’t the ideal place, nor the ideal time,” He started, sliding off the chair and sitting on one knee. He slid the box out of his jacket and opened it up, revealing a gorgeous diamond ring.

“But fuck I love you, marry me please.” Simon whispered. Y/N’s glassy eyes found his and she swooped down to plant a firm kiss to his lips.

“Simon Riley, I’ll marry you.” She cried, placing more kisses to his lips. Simon took the ring and slid it on her finger, smiling into the kiss. Right then he knew he really was the worlds most happy man, and would forever still be.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost #cod mw22 #cod x reader #Spotify

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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

Text

Whumptober 2023

No. 24 Broken Alt Prompt

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (post series/no France era)

Warnings: Broken bones, suggestive/sexual themes

“Daryl!”

You made it to the piping that allowed you to climb down the side of the building. Your group had to scale up on the other side of the iron gate. There was no time to open it and the walkers were right on your heels. With only a narrow, unsturdy ledge to get you all across, you had to move swiftly and yet with care and precision.

The structure started crumbling when half your group had made it but gave way beneath Daryl as he was above the gate. He clipped the gate but luckily fell onto the side clear of the undead. If you could really call anything that had just happened lucky.

The archer was moving at least by the time you reached him, dragging himself away from the rotten fingers grasping at his clothes from through the bars.

“Hey, hey. Don’t move too much. Let me take a look at you.” You dropped your bag as your knees hit the concrete, hands hovering over him frantically. “What hurts?”

“Be easier ta tell ya wha’ don’ hurt.” He carefully lowered himself onto his back, needing a moment to gather his bearings. “Leg.” He finally gritted out. You nodded and turned your body toward his lower extremities. The wound was easy to spot, a dark patch near the middle of his left shin.

“Looks like you landed on something. Broke the skin. Let me see how bad it is and if we should pull it out.”

Daryl rose to his elbows, the rest of the group forming a protective circle around the two of you. When you cut a larger opening in his jeans to access the wound, your face paled.

“Shit.” You whispered, wide eyes staring at the very obvious fracture that had broken through the skin. Daryl’s expression matched your own.

“Please don’ pull tha’ out.” He joked with no real humor in his tone.

“What’re we dealing with?” Aaron asked with a quick glance over his shoulder. Once he spotted your stricken expression, he turned fully and kneeled beside you.

“Broken. Looks like tibia but fibula could be fractured as well.” You weren’t a doctor but living in the apocalypse meant that you had brushed up on your medical knowledge. Sometimes, field medicine was required and it was vital to know the name and importance of parts.

“We jus’ gon’ sit here n’ stare at my leg or we gonna get me up n’ do wha’ we came here fer?” Daryl snapped. He never liked being the center of attention and, with all eyes on him, he was becoming increasingly antsy.

“The only place you’re going is home. Tomi’s gotta set this.” You started to wrap the wound as tight as you could without sacrificing circulation, wincing when Daryl shot forward with a muttered curse. “Sorry.”

“We don’ need ta go back. I can—”

You stopped him with a gentle hand over his mouth, shocked that it actually worked, though his brows did draw inward. There was definitely a scowl behind your palm. “I know you can. That doesn’t mean you should.”

“She’s right, Daryl.”

Knowing when to admit defeat when it came to you, the bowman let himself fall back to lie flat with a muttered “fine.” You smiled fondly and patted the thigh of his uninjured leg.

“Think you can spare anyone to help us get back?” You asked Aaron, chewing your lip. There were so few of you on this mission as it was.

“Don’t need no one else.” Daryl grumbled, twisting to get his good leg under him. “Gimme a hand, woman.”

“You’re gonna hurt yourself worse being a stubborn ass.” You scolded, but grabbed his outstretched hand anyway. With the help of you and his crossbow, he was able to get to his feet. Well… foot. You placed his arm over your shoulders and gave Aaron a shrug. “I guess it’s just us. Good luck. See you at home.”

Daryl mumbled a goodbye and then you were on your way.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” You smiled down at the archer, your fingers smoothing and brushing his long hair away from his face. The two day journey had been rough on his injury, signs of mild infection setting in before you were able to get him back to the Commonwealth. Tomi recommended sedation for setting the bone and cleaning up the wound. Daryl had voiced his displeasure but in the end— after some persuasion from you— he had relented.

“Leg hurts like hell.” The archer grumbled, maneuvering himself a little further up on the pillows. He swatted at your hands when you tried to help him. His lower left leg was in a cast that descended past his ankle and onto his foot. You watched his already pinched expression morph into one of disgust.

“Can’t move your ankle without affecting those bones.” You explained.

“Can’ hunt with one foot.”

“Oh, you’re not doing any hunting, mister.” Your expression softened when his shifted into something approaching mortification. “We’ve got other hunters, Daryl. Think of this as a vacation.” You turned to grab the water glass from the table.

“Fer how long?”

Offering him a drink, you mumbled an inaudible response. He didn’t need to say a word, the flared nostrils and arched brow were enough. “Three or four months.” You winced.

“Ya gotta be shittin’ me!” He snapped, not at all interested in the water you were offering him.

“It was a bad break, Daryl.”

“No shit.” His hands were over his face now, his muscles tense and breathing irregular. You hated to see him like this. Independence was important to Daryl but so was the need to carry his own weight around the community. He was losing both in one fell swoop.

“It won’t be that bad, you know.” Your fingers wrapped around his wrists and he allowed you to lower his arms before he gave you the most pitiful pout you had ever seen. “You’ll see.”

You moved everything downstairs with the help of Carol and Aaron, turning your living room into a bedroom for the time being. Judith and RJ pitched in with cooking and cleaning, under your watchful eye, of course.

Daryl was in a sour mood the day he was released to go home. The crutches were difficult to get used to, his leg ached, and he hated the looks people gave him as he hobbled by. He always felt inferior but those looks, to him, confirmed it.

“Welcome home, Uncle Daryl!” The kids cheered as they threw open the door with Carol right behind them. The corner of his mouth twitched up the slightest bit and he nodded, begrudgingly accepting your help to step up over the threshold. You shared a look with Carol once he had headed through, her hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder.

When Daryl saw the living room, he visibly deflated, shoulders slumping and head lowering. Carol hugged him from the side and tucked his hair behind his ear.

“It’ll be okay.” She said quietly. “Okay, kids! Upstairs for homework! Then wash up for dinner!” Rubbing Daryl’s back for a moment longer, she smiled at you. “I’m going to finish up in the kitchen while you get him settled.”

“Thank you.” You nodded. Daryl maneuvered around to the front of the couch, waiting while you followed so you take the crutches and help him sit down. You were quick to set the equipment aside in favor of helping him get his leg up and stretch out. You grabbed a pillow from the mattress on the floor and placed it against the couch arm so he could lie back. “Comfortable?” You crouched down and rubbed a hand up and down his sternum.

“Mhm.” His expression was hardly convincing. You sighed and stood, bending to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “I’m gonna help Carol with dinner. Call for me if you need anything.” He nodded again, not meeting your eyes. You gave him one last glance before stepping out of the room.

“He’ll be okay, Y/N.”

“I know. I just hate seeing him like this.” You stared back toward the doorway, knowing Daryl was battling inwardly just beyond where you could see. You could only pray he’d settle and allow himself to rest and heal.

A couple of days passed with you and Daryl settling into a routine. He did things around the house that he could. He rinsed and dried dishes you washed, leaning on one crutch or the countertop. He sat with the kids while they did homework and helped where he could. He made sure the kids got out the door on time for school and welcomed them home afterward.

Honestly, anything that kept him out of bed or on the couch, he would try to do. You didn’t stand in his way unless he started showing signs of pain. After two days, it was getting a little better, easier to get by without pain medication around the clock. The constant throb had dulled to an ache.

“You want something for lunch?” You asked, leaning over the back of the couch. Daryl’s eyes opened, his head tilting back to find you smiling down at him.

“M’okay, thanks.”

Your fingers busied themselves combing through his hair and scratching lightly over his scalp. You swore you could hear him start to purr. When his eyes closed, you hopped up to teeter on the back of the couch, pressing your lips to his.

“You know, I can think of a few things you can do that don't require moving from that spot.”

Daryl opened his eyes and laughed as an exhale through his nose. “Oh yeah? S’that?” His smile remained as you comically wiggled back to get your feet onto the floor.

Rounding to stand in front of him, you smiled with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “It might even make you feel better.” You threw your leg over him and sat to straddle his hips. His hands came to rest on your sides, just below your ribs.

“Think s’workin’ already.” Pressing the heel of his good foot into the cushions, he lifted his hips and ground up into you.

You hummed approvingly. His hands were warm under yours while you guided him to the hem of your shirt. “I can’t seem to take this off by myself. Think you could help me out?”

“Don’ know, Sunshine. Seems like a helluva hassle.” You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled forth as he sat up, your shirt pushed up to your collarbone so he could press his mouth to the valley of your breasts. His fingers had just begun to tinker with the clasp of your bra when there came a knock at your door.

You both glared in the direction of the entryway, Daryl growling in annoyance.

“Ignore it.” He huffed, going back to what he was doing.

“Wait, wait!” As much as you hated to put a damper on his good mood, “what if it’s about the kids?” The archer stilled and sat back. His shoulders dropped and he muttered a curse, jerking his chin toward the door.

“G’on.”

You adjusted your shirt and climbed off, shuffling quickly toward the door. When you opened it, you couldn’t stop the bewilderment in your expression. “Can I, um, help you?”

“Hi! I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Elizabeth.” The middle-aged woman shifted her weight from foot to foot, one hand fiddling with the covered baking pan in her arms. “I heard that Mr. Dixon got hurt. I’m real sorry.”

“It’s appreciated but he’s gonna be fine.” You smiled sincerely. “Just taking some time to heal up.”

“I heard.” Elizabeth nodded. “Anyway, back in the spring, when the hospital had the shortage, Mr. Dixon—”

“Please,” you interjected with a soft chuckle, “call him Daryl.”

Elizabeth looked a little uncertain but nodded regardless. “Daryl went out to find the antibiotics my son needed.”

“You’re Peter’s mom.” You remembered what she was talking about. Ezekiel had set up a council meeting to designate a group run. Daryl knew that the kid had been given a death sentence if antibiotics weren’t started within hours. He went out immediately, with only you having the knowledge that he had left. There were only a few places to raid that had previously been marked as too dangerous without a sizable group. He had returned, bloodied and bruised, but with enough antibiotics for several doses. “I hope he’s doing okay now.”

“He’s back to terrorizing his teacher and I. Thanks to Mr. D— I mean, Daryl.”

You felt tears threatening to gather and took a deep breath through you nose before smiling. “I’ll let him know how your kiddo is doing. He’ll be glad to hear it.”

“Oh! Well, I brought this. It’s not much and I had to compromise on some ingredients but it is good.” Elizabeth had no more than peeled back the edge of the towel and your mouth watered.

“Lasagna. Wow! It's been a minute.” Putting out your hands to take the pan, you smiled brightly, excited to tell Daryl. “He’s going to be pretty damn happy.” You chuckled.

“He’s the reason I still have my son. When I heard he was hurt, I just had to do something.” Your heart clenched and there were those damn tears again. “Anyway, please thank him for me and wish him a speedy recovery. Thank you, Mrs. Dixon.”

“Oh, I’m—”

“Have a good day!”

“You…too.” You closed the door with a shrug, taking the pan to the kitchen. You couldn’t seem to dismiss the fluttering in your stomach induced by Elizabeth’s misconception. You placed the dish in the oven to warm later. It’d be a nice dinner for you, Daryl, Carol, and the kids. There wasn’t enough for you all to have much but sharing was something you had all perfected over the years. “Daryl, you’ll never guess who was—”

He was already balanced in his elbow, waiting for you to finish your statement when you looked toward the entryway after another knock.

“The hell could tha’ be?”

You shrugged and returned to the door, pulling it open only to find yet another person with an offering and story of appreciation for Daryl. You had no more than thanked them and put the cookies away when there came another knock.

And another.

You finally found time in between guests to explain things to Daryl. He had stared at you in disbelief, eyes shining, but before you could reassure him, there came another knock. You patted his cheek affectionately and continued your endless journeys between the door and the kitchen.

The kids came home and started to help. Judith assisted RJ with putting away main courses and side dishes. Freezing things that could be and refrigerating what needed it. It was just around dusk when the last knock came. You heard the story and thanked them on Daryl’s behalf, smiling as you closed the door and leaned against it.

When you returned to the kitchen this time, Daryl was in the doorway with his crutches, watching with an unreadable expression as the kids moved around to put the items away.

“Ya were serious then?” He asked quietly.

You snorted. “Not something I’d lie about, Dixon.”

He nodded, his brow creasing. “Don’ help people so they do stuff fer me when shit happens.”

“I know that. So do they.”

He nodded again, this time with a sniff. “Okay.” He positioned his crutches and left for the living room again. You didn’t let him know you had seen the tear fall. You just smiled toward where he had been standing and then continued to help the kids.

After lasagna, you gave Daryl a break and sat with Judith and RJ for homework time, then sent them to bed with promises of a board game over the weekend. By the time you crawled onto the mattress by the fire, finding Daryl already there— you’d let it slide this time that you knew he needed help and probably made his leg hurt— and staring up at the ceiling.

On your side to face him, you rubbed your hand over his bare bicep. “Penny for your thoughts.” His eyes slid to the corner to look at you and then back to the obviously more interesting ceiling.

He cleared his throat. “Jus’, uh… jus’ wonderin’ why them folks went ta all tha’ trouble.”

Your smile was sad this time. “Because you’re important to this community. They care about you.”

“Y’mean they care ‘bout the things I do.”

“No. I don’t.” Sitting up, you turned to sit on your hip. “Why is it so hard to think that people genuinely care about you?”

“Y’know why.” He countered dryly.

You nodded. “You’re right. I do. I just thought that after all these years, you’d gotten past that.” He sighed, lifting an arm to lay it across his eyes. “You’ve done so much for these people, Daryl. You’ve shown what a good man you are. You’ve earned your place here. You’ve become one of them. And they have grown to care about you; about all of us.”

He moved his arm again, resting it on his chest. “Ya really think so, don’tcha?”

“I know so.” You stated matter-of-factly. He hummed, seeming to mull over your words. When he didn’t say anything else, you crawled over, successfully closing the gap between you. “I think you have some things you were supposed to do for me, Mr. Dixon.”

The corner of his mouth raised into a half-smile. “Ya gonna make me lasagna after I do stuff fer ya?”

“Depends on how well you do it.” You had already bent down to press your lips to the side of his neck while your palms caressed his chest and abdomen.

“That sounds almos’ like a challenge, Mrs. Dixon.”

There was a smile against his skin. “Heard that part, huh?”

“Maybe.” His large hands grabbed your hips to guide you onto his lap. “I think I liked the sound of it.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” Your head was tilted while your finger traced shapes over his sternum. He chuckled.

“Not yet. Ain’t no fun if’n ya know it’s comin’.” He reached to brush his knuckles down your jaw. You let your eyes flutter closed and leaned into the touch. “Would ya say ‘yes’?”

You hummed, leaning down to capture his lips, gently working your mouth over his for but a moment. “Ain’t no fun if’n ya know what I’d say.” You had lowered your voice and tried to rasp each word.

“Guess we’ll jus’ hafta be surprised then, huh?” He pushed up your shirt, urging you to remove it. You quickly obliged and tossed it somewhere outside the light of the fire. You unhooked the clasp of your bra and allowed it to join your shirt.

“Guess so.” His hands immediately found your breasts, rolling your hardened nipples between thumb and forefinger. “Now, let me show you how I say thank you.”

He full on laughed, a sound you didn’t hear often enough but cherished just the same; hearty and warm. “Yes, ma’am.”

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