#he can do this over & over again. always bringing their partner close to death to start again another time 😩 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

martiniluvr · 17 days

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18+ minors dni

1,000 follower celebration!! I love u all wow. thank you for all your support, truly. be warned, this is long. enjoy 💫

warnings: nsfw alphabet for dick grayson and jason todd, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷

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A | Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jason is very different after sex. it’s a major act of trust for him, so when it’s done, all he really wants is to be close to you. in other words: he’s a big cuddler. he’ll mumble some things into your skin as you run your fingers through his hair, and after, you usually end up ordering enough food to feed a small family, because that man can eat.

dick is a loverboy at heart. once the dust has settled and you’re both down from your highs, he’s doting on you—bringing you water, a snack, cleaning you up with a damp cloth—with doe eyes and a big old grin. always invites you to have a shower with him afterwards, and you always say yes, because his shoulder rubs are divine.

B | Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

unsurprisingly, jason has some…issues with his body from all the shit it’s been through. that being said, I think he intentionally trains his back and shoulders the most. it’s what makes him look as huge as he does. as for his favourite thing about you, jason todd is an ass man, argue with the wall. he likes something he can grab. hard.

dick grayson knows his ass is fat. he’s not shy about it. but his favourite body part is actually his arms, and how muscular they’ve become over the years. as for you, he loves your hips. they trigger something primal in him; the second you put on a fitted dress, he’s thinking about giving you his children.

C | Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

jason gets nasty. he’ll cum anywhere on your body just for the obscene sight, but he especially loves to cum in your mouth when he’s feeling that extra bit dominant. he doesn’t care if you spit or swallow, it turns him on either way—but, god, he’s proud when you open your mouth to show him it’s all gone.

let’s cut to the chase. dick wants to cum inside you over and over again. he hardly even contemplates doing it anywhere else; that man wants to fill you up and watch you drip. maybe it’s his out-of-control breeding kink, maybe it’s how intimate it feels—whatever the case may be, rest assured dick grayson loves a creampie.

D | Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

voyeurism. jason likes to watch. it happened accidentally once when he walked in on you practicing some self-care, and he’s thought about it ever since. he enjoys the performance aspect of it; it’s a power play, watching you get yourself off, knowing he’s right there but refusing to help you.

this ties in with Q, but dick borders on exhibitionism sometimes. fucking you in his car, in the bathroom at a charity event, or in a changing room—anywhere you might get caught, really—god, it gets him going. it’s the daredevil in him, constantly yearning to test the limits of what he can do.

E | Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think jason had very limited to no experience before his death, and most of what knows today he learned by being with you. ever the fast learner, though, he sure as shit knows what he’s doing now. I think he’s very in-tune with your body and his needs, and it shows in the way he fucks you.

we have to face facts here. dick definitely got around before committing to a serious relationship. despite that, I think he knows what he’s doing thanks to his impeccable observational skills; sometimes you think he knows your body better than you do (but don’t tell him that; it goes straight to his head).

F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)

jason is a sucker for good old-fashioned doggy style, of course, but fuck, does he adore the prone bone position. trapping you under his body, hitting you deep with each thrust, and he gets to watch your ass jiggle at every movement? it borders on religious ecstasy for him.

dick goes feral—feral—for the mating press position. it’s erotic, carnal, and raw, and that’s exactly what he wants when he’s fucking you. he’s also partial to cowgirl, especially when he can tell you want to take control. the view it offers him is enough to have him whining underneath you for more.

G | Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

jason is more on the serious side; sex with him, intense as it may be, is still a big act of vulnerability on his part, so he doesn’t treat it lightly. he will, however, crack a warm smile on those occasions when you make love in the small hours of the morning, when he thinks you can’t see his face clearly.

dick is a tease, and sex with him is fun. he likes to flirt with you while he bends you into compromising positions, and he gets very cocky when you cum. he can’t help but make little quips after the fact, either; “something wrong with your leg, baby?” as your limbs twitch and tremble from your orgasm. jerk.

H | Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

in keeping with his rugged exterior, jason is only doing what he needs to in order to keep things manageable and convenient. he is not dedicating hours to manscaping. much to your elation, that means he keeps his happy trail intact.

dick is a little more meticulous in his grooming, being the “pretty boy” that he is. he prefers keeping himself neatly trimmed, partly to ensure more comfort in his nightwing suit—he’s learned the hard way that the pornstar look is a one-way ticket to chafing when you’re jumping off of buildings.

I | Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

jason really restrains himself from being outwardly intimate. he finds it hard to be that vulnerable, and while he loves the passion between you when you fuck, he’s only really able to tap into the romantic aspect if he’s wholly at ease. that’s not to say it never happens! it definitely does, just give him time.

he may be cocky and unserious when he’s fucking you, but sex with dick is always very openly intimate. he sees the beauty and romance in what you do together, and it’s truly special to him that he gets to witness you like this. sex is absolutely one of the ways he expresses his love and admiration for you.

J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jason only really masturbates when he’s away from you on a mission, and needs to take the edge off. it’s less interesting without you, so he wants it done quick. he imagines you touching yourself as he does it—legs wide and eyes hazy—and that gets him to his peak extremely efficiently.

dick likes to edge himself. I said what I said. he’s thinking about how he’d much rather save his load for your pretty cunt, so he’s bucking his hips and screwing his eyes shut as he forces himself to stop right before his climax, reminding himself how good it’ll feel when he gets to fill you up.

K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)

overstimulation is jason’s go-to; he gets off on dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re hardly able to speak. he also loves forced eye contact, especially when you can barely keep your eyes open. oh, and he has a massive size kink. when you’re as huge as he is, everyone is small by comparison, and he likes how big you make him feel.

say it with me. dick grayson has a breeding kink. the visual aspect of cumming inside you is enough to drive him crazy, but the thought of getting you pregnant…now that makes him rabid. face-sitting is another big one; any variation of pussy-eating drives him wild, but having you sit on his face is his favourite way to do it.

L | Location (favorite places to do the do)

if you’re at home, anywhere is fair game to jason. he’s fucking you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the sofa, against the wall, in the office—anywhere. outside of home, he’s more restrictive, but he has thought about fucking you in the batmobile on the many occasions he’s stolen it.

the bedroom is definitely dick’s favourite place to fuck you; aside from making things feel more romantic, he wants you to be comfortable as he’s bending you into crazy positions. he also loves a shower quickie and car sex, impractical though they may be. don’t worry, he’s an acrobat. it’ll work.

M | Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

is it crazy to say that jason gets turned on when you argue? because he does. a moderate disagreement where you’re getting huffy with him is a surefire way to get bent over the sofa. oh, and if he feels even a little jealousy creeping over him, you’re in for a ride. also, if you nestle into him during the night, you’ll be contending with his hard cock pressed against your lower back until one of you caves.

dick is whipped. whatever you’re doing can get him going. cooking, reading, wearing his clothes—he loves everything you do. but, he’s particularly turned on whenever you dress up for a special occasion. it can be a little inconvenient when you’re running late for an event and he’s groping you over your gown in the limo, but how can you refuse those blue eyes?

N | No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

jason would be very resistant to anything that puts him in a submissive role (this goes for ak!jason too). this includes both sex acts and the use of props/toys that take control away from him; he’s just not into it. he’d also refuse any kind of roleplay, saying it’s unnecessary. he’s a pragmatic guy.

I think dick would really dislike the idea of hurting you. he’s not opposed to spanking, and he’ll even engage in some light breath play (ahem, headlock, anyone?), but he would never take it any further than that. if he bruised you through anything other than hickies, he’d be sick with guilt.

O | Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

it should come as no surprise that jason loves receiving head. there are few sights as enticing as watching you take his cock in your mouth while he instructs you to keep your eyes on him. he’s also very skilled in returning the favour, and his preference is eating you from the back so he can see your pretty ass move each time you squirm.

you know my stance on this. dick is a munch. he’s eating pussy like it’s his last meal before the end of the world, and he’s doing it for him. needless to say, he’s fucking good at it. receiving head is quite literally the last thing on his mind. that being said, when he does remember to let you reciprocate, all he can think about is how pretty you look while doing it.

P | Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

jason can get pretty rough, and he likes to fuck you hard, but he knows how much you can take. sex for him is partially an emotional release. but, he’s good at alternating between destroying you one day and being gentle the next; despite his tough facade, jay enjoys soft, passionate sex as much—if not more—than you do.

dick is kind of a hedonist; once he starts feeling pleasure, he doesn’t want it to end—especially when you start feeling it too. he’s happy to give you fast and rough if it’s what you want, but his preference is sloppy, erotic fucking. the messier you get, the better. although, if he’s got you in a mating press, the roughness seeps back in quickly.

Q | Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while he’ll never say no to a quickie, jason prefers to take his time with you. once he starts, he finds it hard to stop, and he loves to see how much you can take from him before you’re spent. quickies are sporadic with him; he prefers to enjoy your body at his pace.

if he gets the chance to fuck you—hell, even just tease you—dick is going to take it. he loves the thrill and the sense of urgency that comes with quickies. whether it’s a hookup in his car or an impromptu blowjob when he’s supposed to be on patrol, his eyes are lighting up like it’s christmas.

R | Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

jason is not a risk-taker. he needs time to warm to any kind of experimentation, but he’s more likely to try things on you than on himself, like using light restraints on you or dabbling in sensory play. as long as he feels he has some control.

dick is a different story. he’s willing to try most things at least once, and he’s able to laugh it off if something goes south. he’s not opposed to switching (ha) things up and giving you the lead, either; he likes a woman in charge.

S | Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

maybe it’s his extensive training, maybe it’s just who he is; whatever the case may be, jason can go for a long time. but, it’s usually just one round that he draws out so he can really work you to your limit.

dick can handle multiple rounds if you give him time. his recovery consists of burying his face between your legs until he’s ready to go again, which doesn’t take very long once you start convulsing against his tongue.

T | Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

jason wouldn’t even think to use sex toys unless you brought it up, but he’d be open to using them on you if you asked. he’s quick to see the potential in your little pink vibrator when he holds it against your clit while he fucks you, noticing how much easier it is to overstimulate you this way.

ever the experimentalist, dick isn’t opposed to trying out toys in the bedroom. in fact, he’s the one who would show up with fuzzy blue handcuffs (“I got them in my colour!”) to restrain your hands behind your back, so he can devour your cunt without interference from you.

U | Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’d like to tease you more, but jason doesn’t really have the restraint for it. as soon as you’re splayed out in front of him, he wants to take you. when he does tease, though, he likes to touch you everywhere but where you need him most, until you’re begging for him to make you feel good. then, he likes to make you regret it—over and over again.

dick is the world’s biggest tease, and you can look that up. he’s got you grinding on his lap, making out with you until you’re panting, only to say he needs to do some work as he stands up with a smirk. and when he finally gets you naked, he makes you tell him what you need while his fingers hover over your aching pussy, never reaching you.

V | Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

jason isn’t very loud at all, but the sounds he does make range from grunts and groans to the occasional low moan if you tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. he’s a big dirty talker, and he likes to get up in your ear to do it, so he knows you’re listening. he notices the way you shiver at his gravelly voice, and it drives him crazy.

dick is far less concerned about being quiet. he’s moaning, swearing, telling you how pretty you are, even occasionally whining, and he’s not worried about what your neighbours think—in fact, he’s making sure you’re just as vocal as he is, insisting you tell him how you feel. he’s also expressive when he cums, especially when he does it inside you.

W | Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I know this is controversial, but jason would never agree to a threesome. this man is possessive. the mere thought of seeing someone else touch you in front of him is enough to make him see red, so no—he’d end up committing murder (not that it’s a far leap for him on a good day).

dick has a thing for watching you work out, especially when you’re doing yoga in the living room in those skin-tight pants. watching the way your limbs elongate and contract as you bend and stretch does things to him, but he never interrupts; the images stay in his mind for those long missions.

X | X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

jason is a behemoth of a man all over. and I do mean all over. he’s packing. an easy 8 inches (slightly more), thick, with a slight upwards curve and a prominent vein from the base to the tip—which is a mauvy pink, by the way. you’re still shocked you’re able to take him, and he was too the first time.

‘prettiest man alive also has a pretty cock’ would be dick’s headline. just over 6 inches, with enough girth to make you feel full, and a rosy pink tip that matches his lips…you could honestly just stare at it if he’d let you (and he probably would). he fits you like a glove every single time.

Y | Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

jason’s sex drive is pretty consistent; it’s always simmering a little ways below the surface. he’s able to compartmentalise it when he has to, but sex doubles as a form of stress-relief for him, so it happens…often.

dick has an incredibly high sex drive. like jason, he can reel it in when needed, but if it were up to him, you’d fuck every single day, twice even. I also truly believe that he’s regularly plagued by morning wood.

Z | Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s going to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of, but the truth is jason could probably pass out in your arms about 10 minutes after you’re done. take it as a sign of how safe he feels with you as he’s snoring softly into your neck.

he’s definitely tired after sex, but dick is waiting until he notices you dozing off before he closes his eyes. once he’s out, though, good luck waking him up again without an air horn. he’s going to need his full eight hours to recharge.

1K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

Note

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement.

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this.

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime.

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air.

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava.

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after.

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life.

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!”

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately.

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.”

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger.

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets.

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!”

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling.

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!”

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds.

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice.

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?”

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things.

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.”

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.”

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again.

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had.

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision.

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider.

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line?

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.”

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.”

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead.

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough.

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing.

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!”

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out.

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly.

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes.

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment.

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline.

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand.

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth.

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them.

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones.

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment.

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas.

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt.

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh.

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad.

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow.

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond.

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed.

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!”

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door.

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger.

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge.

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide.

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle.

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms.

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused.

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs.

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile.

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience.

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes.

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette.

At the end of the train, only the engine remains.

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man.

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering.

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet.

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time.

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher.

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame.

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion.

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts.

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor.

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air.

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake.

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you.

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.”

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch.

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot.

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple.

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you.

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.”

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up.

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!”

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.”

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse.

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you.

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.”

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves.

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck.

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch.

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.”

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat.

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard.

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up.

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains.

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion.

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now.

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming.

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood.

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh.

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast.

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony.

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly.

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath.

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat.

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice.

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function.

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack.

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist.

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty.

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh.

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction.

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.”

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied.

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you.

But he can’t move.

“Harp!”

And you can’t feel your fingers.

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry.

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross.

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils.

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy.

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze.

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this.

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly.

You can’t break—not like Rorke.

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull.

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless.

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out.

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do.

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you.

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later.

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before.

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.”

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open.

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood.

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth.

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh.

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse.

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes.

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches.

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt.

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

“Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground.

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage.

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!”

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion.

Keegan?

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.”

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree.

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger.

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid.

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed.

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.”

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad.

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.”

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!”

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again.

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head.

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious.

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.”

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him.

“Christ,” he hisses.

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick.

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane.

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge.

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold.

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding.

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan.

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead.

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body.

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still.

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes.

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you.

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion.

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!”

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob.

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on.

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.”

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how.

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind.

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence.

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard.

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had.

Two months.

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet.

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President.

He’d denied all of them.

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety.

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open.

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention.

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none.

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you.

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing.

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?”

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight.

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully.

It’s a moment before he answers you.

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.”

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room.

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared.

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say.

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy.

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you.

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again.

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent.

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks.

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there.

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them.

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it.

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr.

Hesh. You want your Hesh back.

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging.

Home.

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.”

You push yourself into him tighter.

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture.

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love.

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #x female reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #hesh walker x female reader #hesh walker x reader #david hesh walker #hesh walker #cod ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #call of duty ghosts #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #call of duty: ghosts

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cultofdixon · 1 year

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It was worth it

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Impatience is real. Stubbornness as well. Daryl just wished he took the damn thing from you before you decided to let your one brain cell act impulsively • SFW/NSFW - Implied smut / Nudity • TW: Minor Injury

Requested by: Anon

Daryl wanted to test his bike out before going on recruitment runs with Aaron. He trusted his build enough to have to girl test it out with him. Y/N always loved the motorcycle rides they went on back during their prison days so she wasn’t turning this down.

“Yea ready?” The archer watches his girl step out of the house they were given in one of the town house strip.

“Yup! I didn’t really bring much. Think we can find some things while we’re out?”

“If we run into a place, yeah. But thought we’d enjoy a quick ride”

“Oh well. We are in the wrong place…” Y/N smirks swaying in a playful manner making her partner’s face turn best red instantly.

“I hate you…”

“You love me” She smiles bringing herself close and kissing Daryl feeling his arm wrap around her with his hand trailing down. “Mmm…” she hums against his lips before parting. “Maybe I can go for a ride later”

“Mm. If the bike doesn’t take us out out there” Daryl chuckles lightly feeling her lips return to his for one more kiss before finally getting on his bike.

After Abraham let the two out of the community, the ride went smoothly. Daryl did a good job with building this bike and he was enjoying himself that he got to do something he enjoyed in the old world…and with his girl.

The two stopped at a small strip and rummaged through some of the stores as Y/N found herself in a small convenience store. Daryl stood outside lighting himself a cigarette and keeping an eye out for anything while she went through it. He dropped the cig when he heard her scream inside.

“JACKPOT!”

Daryl quickly ran over to Y/N seeing her hold up a jar of peanut butter which made his annoyance show instantly.

“Seriously?”

“Bitch. It’s the creamy kind too. Not the gross crunchy one you found last week”

“The things I do to satisfy my girl and she disses it” Daryl scoffs playfully, helping her stand from her crouching position. “Remind me not to bring yea back anythin’”

“What! Just because I wasn’t happy that one time?!”

“You can’t tell when I’m teasing huh?”

“Oh I can tell…just. In bed” Y/N smirks making her man blush to her words before she exits the building squealing happily.

The archer did one last sweep of the place for anything useful to the rest of their community, watching Y/N struggling to open the jar where she stood beside his bike.

“Wait til we get home, and I’ll open it there”

“I’ll open it. But yeah this deserves the comforts of our home. In bed”

“Not in bed. Why yea eating in the bed?”

“I can be lazy if I want. You ever heard of breakfast in bed?” Y/N questions him watching the confused look return. “Remind me to spoil you one morning. But fine I won’t eat this in bed”

“Come on crazy girl. Let’s go home” Daryl took the jar from her hands seeing that death glare of hers come out. “Turn around. I’ll put it in your bag”

“You better!” She playfully threats listening to him scoff once again, feeling her backpack shift which meant he actually put the jar in her pack. “Thank you”

“Mhm” Daryl zips up her pack before resting his hands on her hips a second as he leaned into her from behind kissing her cheek. “Now come on” he pats her butt in a playfully manner as she did the same to him when he approached his bike. “Seriously?”

“I’m not the only one with a fine butt”

“Stop” Daryl rolls his eyes getting on his bike and feeling the shift when Y/N got on and wrapped her arms around his middle.

Once they returned, the jar of peanut butter was forgotten about given the two returned late and Daryl had about enough of his girl’s flirting. The second he stepped off his bike after Y/N and kicking the kick stand up, Daryl took her face into his hands smashing his lips firmly against hers. She was taken back by the action before wrapping her arms around his neck continuing to kiss her man.

“Mmm—“ Y/N pushes him off gently. “I ain’t strippin’ in the streets, D”

“As much as that would be a show, only I get to see yea naked” Daryl quickly picks her practically running up the small stairs, and kicking the door open.

When he past the threshold, Y/N kicked the door closed before slipping out of his arms to rid herself of her clothing. She slowly backed away from him as every article of clothing of hers fell to the floor. Daryl didn’t know to take her right then and there or grabbing her and carrying her the rest of the way to their bed.

“Like what you see Dixon?”

“Always”

“Then come and get me, sunshine” Y/N smirks using the nickname for her on Daryl which somehow riled him up as he quickly closes the distance picking her up and taking her to bed.

A few hours pass and Y/N stretched some of the soreness of her body out as she got up in the middle of the night. Or morning rather. It was still dark out but her body was telling her to get some water. After a couple rounds with Daryl, she needed much more than just water to recuperate. Maybe a day of sleep. She quietly slipped out of the bed feeling the wobbling in her legs that made her stumble. He was not gentle.

Y/N decided that since he wasn’t shy about leaving his bruising mark on her that it’s only fair for her to wear his shirt and boxers while she went to get water.

“I feel like…I’m missing something” She whispers to herself and then remembered.

The peanut butter.

That’s when Daryl stirred when he heard commotion happening in the other room. He felt the empty space beside him and knew it was just Y/N. Probably getting water…maybe she’ll figure out how to get ice for the claw marks stinging on his back. He suddenly flinched when he heard Y/N curse loudly in the other room.

“The fuck she get into…” He groans getting up and out of the bed, grabbing his sweats from the other night that were still on the floor of the room slipping those on quickly.

The archer enters the room seeing the back of Y/N on the couch as he can hear the satisfied humming from her. She finally got to eat her peanut butter. Since he was up he decided to get himself water and as he reached for a glass he noticed blood on the counter.

Daryl stopped reaching for a glass and checked if it was fresh or dried and it was definitely fresh.

“Hey, did yea make yourself a peanut butter sandwich and nicked yourself or something?”

“No?”

“Then why is there blood…” Daryl turned to his girl seeing her in a huddled position on the couch with her arm holding the jar of peanut butter and not her hand. For obvious bloody reasons. “Oh my god. What the fuck?!”

“What!” Y/N yells back as she scoops another spoonful of peanut butter with her uninjured hand and immediately eating it.

“Why are you so fucking calm?! Your hand is a geyser!” Daryl snaps grabbing a towel off the kitchen counter and walking toward Y/N about to wrap her hand when her whole body retracted. “Hey now, you’re fucking bleeding”

“I am well aware” Y/N hissed when he tried reaching for her hand again. “It’s just a scratch”

“That’s a goddamn flesh wound!”

“And?” She scoffs clearly ignoring the fact that she was bleeding a lot, granted her mind was elsewhere. “Can you hand me those?” She pointed with her foot to the crackers on the coffee table, seeing Daryl’s extremely confused face. “Fine. I’ll grab it”

As Y/N grabbed the crackers from the table after setting the spoon down, she went back to her huddled position on the couch now eating the peanut butter with the unsalted crackers she took from the pantry the other day.

“You’re starting to piss me off”

“Why? I was hungry. Couldn’t open it. Found a way and now we are here” Y/N laughs slightly as she continues to eat like no issue was happening, even if her hand started to sting a bit.

“Y/N. You should go see the doctor”

“I’m sorry, last I checked this is my stab wound. Not OUR” She waved a cracker around before scooping up some peanut butter with it. “Now let me enjoy my peanut butter IN PEACE—-before I get blood on my crackers”

“You are getting blood on your crackers though”

“Huh” She looks at the situation in her lap. “Well at least it’s my blood” and went back to eating.

The next day crawls in and Aaron decided to visit their residence to ask about the ride they went on yesterday. He knocked happily and was met with Y/N in the same attire she was wearing last night. Daryl wears practically only black or dark clothing. Aaron couldn’t see the blood stains. But he did notice the heavy bandage on her hand.

“Oh no what happened?” His worry caught Daryl’s attention as he approached the door to see Y/N give it a good thought before smirking.

“Vigorous love making that involved a bit…” Y/N leaned in a bit. “of knife play” she whispers watching Aaron’s face flush which made her laugh as she made her exit back inside the house. Leaving the two to share a bit of awkward silence.

“Y/N went to stab the lid to her peanut butter jar last night and missed the first time”

“Oh…thank god it wasn’t the other thing”

“Mm. She was lying about the knife play. Not the other thing” Daryl smirks deciding that was the end of that conversation closing the door on Aaron.

Leaving the poor guy traumatized.

#cultofdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction

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snowdropluck204 · 30 days

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Hazbin Hotel x GN! Reader Headcanons

Hi all! So I finished the show recently in the span of a day, after waiting years after the pilot released! Loved it, obviously! So I wanted to start doing some headcanons for the show, since it's all I can really think about... Anyway! Enjoy! Xxx TW: Swearing, murder, death, insanity, typical Hazbin warnings.

How They React to You Being Powerful (And a Bit InSaNe)

Alastor:

I feel like Alastor would be interested, but worried, especially if you just came out of nowhere, but if you were his significant other, I feel like he'd be a bit proud...

~ Alastor had been invited by Vox, over for dinner or a drink, he was curious, he figured it would be an entertaining evening, so he decided to go, and bring you along. ~ As his partner, both in business and personally, you were usually mixed in with Alastor's shadows, always close by, so the Vees weren't all that shocked to see you there with him. ~ Velvette was intrigued by you, wondered about your fashion sense, and Alastor's, Valentino hit on you as soon as he saw you were there, leaving Alastor's eye to twitch slightly in annoyance, Vox considered you an inconvenience, in his way. ~ So when he brought up that you should leave the room so that the 'grown-ups' could talk, you had to hold back your anger, and Alastor. ~ You placed a gentle hand on his chest, keeping him from trying to throttle Vox, until he brought up, "You probably wouldn't understand half the shit we're talking about anyway!" Vox laughed. ~ At that point, your own eyes began to glow, "Oh?" You giggled, "Is that so?" ~ The Vees seemed to realise that they had overstepped, beginning to physically step back. ~ You laughed loudly, "As if moving away will SaVE YOu!" You cackled, lifting your hand, the lights in the room beginning to flicker and then, one by one, they shattered. ~ You skin began to ripple with power, as you motioned for the many mirrors and windows along the walls to shatter inwards, glass and shards flying towards the room's occupants. ~ Once you'd calmed down, Alastor smiled proudly, although the smile was always there, and placed his own hand on your shoulder in comfort, "Incredible display my dear! I think we're done here..." He practically growled, as the two of you turned and left.

Angel Dust:

Angel would obviously be turned on, but would also be incredibly shocked, he knew you as the sweet and innocent lamb that he so loved to tease, seeing you as the dominant, scary, powerful demon was new for him.

~ Angel had left his phone at the hotel, something you knew he'd get upset and stressed about having left, so you, being the amazing you, decided to go to his workplace and bring it to him. ~ You knew that Angel didn't want you to go near that building, mainly because he didn't want you anywhere near Val, but you figured, as long as you went straight to Angel's dressing room and back again, you wouldn't run into him. ~ Angel had told you the night before, complained actually, that he would be working through lunch, so you decided to go then, bringing Angel some snacks for between shoots. ~ Unfortunately, they were having issues with the shoot, so everyone had paused production when you went in to see Angel. ~ Angel Dust looked in shock and fear when he saw you, and his eyes darkened significantly when he noticed the way Val was looking at you. ~ "And who is this?" Valentino purred, slinking over to you, "Lookin for something sweetheart?" ~ You shook your head and began speaking, rather confidently, "Sorry, I was just bringing Angel his phone, I realised he left it at home and just wanted to make sure he had it." You told him. ~ Angel quickly strode over, taking his phone and gently grabbing you by the elbow, he slid his phone into the pocket of his robe, using his second arms to wrap around your waist and try to lead you away from Val, "Sorry 'bout this Val, thank you baby, but you gotta go now," He whispered the last part to you. ~ Val grabbed Angel by the back of his robe, pulling him, and in turn you, back, "Now just wait a minute, Angie baby, your little beauty could be perfect for another production I'm running," He purred, his cigarette smoke curling around your throat, turning into smokey chains. ~ Angel Dust swiped them away, "No." He growled. ~ Val's smirk disappeared, grabbing Angel again, this time by his hair and pulling him away from you. ~ He didn't get far. ~ Instead he was tugged, shadowy fists grabbing Val by the back of his own coat, yanking him painfully backwards, until he let go of Angel and instead, turned to look at you. ~ "You FUckING daRE touCH Him!?" You practically shrieked. ~ Angel watched in mild horror, but mostly arousal as you whaled on Val, he knew he was gonna get it when you've left but if you're around, he wasn't that worried...

Husker:

I feel like Husker would be the only one who would actively be sort of scared if you showed off any kind of power. Especially if he was the one that caused it...

~ When you first came to the Hazbin Hotel, you weren't really interested in redemption or, anything, in particular, just needed a place to stay and figured it would be easy enough. ~ You were surprised to see a place so dead set on redemption, with something that indulged in sin, like the bar... ~ Sitting behind the bar was a demon you had never seen before, he had large wings with the symbols from the suits of a deck of cards decorating the bottom, but he also had big fluffy ears, whiskers and paws, all in all, he was confusing... ~ You walked over to him, "Hi, uh, this is a hotel right? Could I stay here?" You asked timidly, still new to the area, that area being Hell... You didn't want to piss off anyone, you didn't know how powerful they were... ~ The demon looked at you and spoke with a deep, gruff voice, "Look, I don't wanna be dealin with anymore people today, take a hike toots." He grumbled. ~ You rose a brow, "Excuse me?" You asked, quickly getting annoyed, your quick temper was one of the things that landed you here in the first place. ~ The demon sighed, "Jesus are you fucking deaf? I said, beat it bitc-" ~ Before he could finish his sentence, he looked back at you, your eyes had turned pitch black, and you almost seemed to grow in his presence, "What Did YOu jUSt saY to Me!?" You shouted, the words sounding garbled and underwater, but just as powerful. ~ Husker simply stared up at you, eyes wide, "Oh shit..."

Lucifer:

I feel like Lucifer would get overly emotional, whether that emotion is anger or joy is up to the situation entirely... Here's an idea!

~ When Charlie called the two of you, you were incredibly surprised that she wanted your help... ~ Being her father's current partner was probably not that easy for her, but Charlie was taking it extremely well! She knew you weren't there to replace her mother, simply to love her dad, and she liked that. ~ So when they got to the hotel, Charlie was tackled in a hug from her dad and then walked over and get you a warm hug as well, which made you happy. ~ Then Charlie began talking about various different things, her father greeting her over the phone, to which you face-palmed, and then about Adam wanting to move up the extermination and how worried she was about the hotel. ~ You looked at her concerned, "He didn't hurt you did he? Or threaten you at all?" You asked softly, knowing that Lucifer would go off on one if he heard his daughter was in trouble. ~ Charlie shifted on her feet, "Weeeell..." She began. ~ You paused in your questioning, slowly getting more and more worried, before you eyes changed, becoming slit pupils as you got upset. ~ Charlie stepped, "Uh, (y/n)?" She spoke softly, stepping back to avoid the backfire. ~ Lucifer stopped in his search of the hotel and his interrogating Alastor to look around, "Love?" He asked tentatively, seeing you, looking almost feral. ~ He practically rushed over to check on you, "What's going on?" He asked. ~ "That son of a bitch, angel trash, he's begging for a FucKINg AsS WhooPINg!" You practically snarled, becoming unhinged with each word. ~ Lucifer whispered over to Charlie, "What happened?" He was incredibly confused. ~ Charlie winced a bit, "I kind of told them that Adam had threatened me... A little... And then this happened!" She told her dad. ~ Lucifer looked at you lovingly, as you went outside and began trashing things, not wanting to destroy anything inside the hotel that Charlie was so fond of. ~ You went full bear mode for his daughter, there was a huge list of why he loved you, this was one of the top reasons.

I hope these were okay! If anyone has any requests, send me things! I love getting them! Bye for now my lovelies! Xxx

#hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #angel dust #husker hazbin hotel #x reader #cute #love #fanfiction #romance #comfort #open requests #gn reader #headcanons #lucifer morningstar

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ilguna · 1 year

Text

☼ attention (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you can't let her flirt with Finnick, even though you know she doesn't even stand a chance.

warnings; swearing, prostitution mention

wc; 1.6k

–

Annie’s testing your patience, and it’s beginning to run real thin.

You’re not sure what’s going through her mind right now to make her think that it’s okay to flirt with her mentor, but obviously there’s something a little fucked up in her head if she think she holds even a sliver of a chance with Finnick.

You let it slide for the first few days, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. There’s been plenty of tributes you’ve seen before that unintentionally flirt with people, and it’s because their natural instinct is to flatter to get something out of it. You even thought that she might have been stupid, because there have also been other times where you thought you had a competent tribute and they turned around and surprised you.

However, no matter how many hints you drop, she can’t seem to pick them up. It’s either that, or she’s ignoring them on purpose to see how long you can go like this before you snap. And you’re getting close.

Each time you try to tell Finnick to stop feeding into her delusional mental state and scoot back a little bit, he tells you that you need to stop worrying and nitpicking his actions. He doesn’t seem to understand that he has a hand in this too by not diffusing the situation.

You can’t even recall the amount of times that Finnick’s told you that there’s no competition between you and her. You’re his girlfriend, and you have been for a couple of years now. There’s no chance that he would want to go after a tribute, anyway, especially when there’s a fifty-fifty chance that they’ll just die in the arena.

The thing is, you know that he would never leave you for Annie, you’re not worried about that. The problem is that she doesn’t know that, and she’s embarrassing herself more everyday by thinking she’s got a footing on him. When in reality, she’s not going anywhere, and she will never go anywhere.

You honestly thought that Finnick would be uncomfortable and ask her to stop himself. You always knew he was an unbothered person, but this is bringing it to a whole new level.

You wish you could not care like he does.

The good news is that after tomorrow, you’ll never have to deal with her again, unless she wins the Games. And until then, you just have to continue to bite your tongue and pretend like you’re listening to what Finnick’s suggesting, instead of picturing your fingers around her neck, strangling her to death.

“Do you know what my dress will be?” She asks, biting her lip. She doesn’t give Finnick a chance to respond, lifting her shoulders to her chin, where she squishes her cheek against it, “What if I give Caesar a look like this?”

She pauses, lip jutting out to pout at Finnick.

He stares at her for a long second, eyes squinted, clearly thinking, and it’s not about the god-awful pose that she’s doing. If you were mean and horrendously evil, you’d suggest she go through with that pose, but Caesar’s a little questionable at times, and that would be too much for you to watch on stage. Even if it is for three minutes.

“No, I don’t know what they’re going to put you in.” Finnick’s face is slightly twisted, “And that’s a bad angle for you to go for.”

“Oh?” Her shoulders drop, “Why’s that?”

She’s playing the dumb angle again. You feel like smashing your face through the table, but you know that if you start, you won’t stop until you knock yourself out. It’ll save you the nightmare of sitting and watching this unfold from the sidelines.

You were helping him coach at first, but when it was clear that she was absorbing his words and not yours, you got up and sat over here, at the dining table. You'd go and help the escort with her tribute partner if you could, if only she didn’t insist on having her sessions be one-on-one.

“Because you’re not that type of person.” He deadpans, finally sitting back in his seat.

She doesn’t move from where she’s leaned forward. She’s wearing an actual shirt today, instead of that tank top bullshit that she’d been putting on to purposely lean over shit to see if Finnick would look. When she went to train yesterday, you took all of the tank tops out of her closet and drawers and threatened the avoxes if they even thought about restocking them.

They know you didn’t mean it, but the edge in your voice must’ve been a giveaway that you were on your final straw. She may think that you can’t control anything, and you’re just a little mentor, but you’re about to make her life a living hell in the arena if she doesn’t cut it out.

“What type of person am I?” She asks.

“Not a very smart one.” You murmur, rubbing down your face.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He says, “What did you say that your parents do?”

“My father’s a fisher, but my mom used to be a model for some of the designers. She says I take after her, with my body and all.” She smiles, hands running down her thighs.

You almost let out a laugh, because it really is funny.

However, you’re about a minute away from making a scene, especially if Finnick doesn’t set some boundaries. He must hear your thoughts, because you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker in your direction, like he knows you’re getting upset.

“Okay, let’s drop the whole flirtatious idea.” Finnick waves his hand.

“Why?” Annie frowns, “Isn’t that how you got your sponsors?”

You shake your head, letting out a noise. You’re drawing a line here, because you’re not going to do this anymore. When you check the time, it seems like it’s nearing when the escort said you should take a break and switch, anyway. Which you’re going to do.

“Okay, we’re breaking for lunch.” You slap your hand on the table, making Annie jump at the sudden noise.

“But—” Annie looks at you for the first time in twenty minutes.

“Finnick, come here.” You motion with your finger.

He gives you a look, clearly not happy that you’re cutting her time short. You can’t give a fuck. In fact, you hope it sabotages her in the end. You can stomach her trying to stab at you from the sidelines. She can show her boobs, she can bat her eyelashes and play stupid all she wants.

When she starts suggesting that Finnick did the same to get sponsors is when it starts to become too much to handle. Finnick never acted like that, he was just a boy when their perverted thoughts started rolling in. And he hasn’t been able to escape them since.

You can’t expect her to know this, it’s private information. It doesn’t mean you’ll let her think that’s the case.

Finnick comes up the steps, Annie doesn’t move from her spot on the couch. You wait until he’s within arm’s reach before you yank him closer, throwing an arm over the back of his neck to pull him down to your height, before carefully pressing your lips on his.

You can feel him smirk on your lips, clearly entertained by the idea of doing this in front of Annie to prove your point, yet again. Finnick is yours, he always has been, and he doesn’t have a plan of ever changing that, and neither do you. She doesn’t seem to get that, but hopefully this will make it clearer to her.

The first thing that Finnick does when he pulls away, is give you this massive eye roll, as if he hasn’t done the same thing before. You two will go out to bars, or the festivals, or shopping, and when one guy has his eye on you for too long, it’s like he can’t take his lips off of you.

The second you do it, you’re jealous and overreacting.

“I love you.” You say.

“I love you too.” He tells you loudly, making a face at you when he does it, because his back is turned to Annie. She can’t see a single thing that’s happening between you two from this angle.

“I know.” You say, removing your arm from his neck, “You want to go tell them that it’s lunch time?”

“Sure.” He kisses you again, and immediately moves to walk past you to head in the escort’s direction.

You swing around, open palm ready as you take a full swing at Finnick’s ass, a smile coming to your face at the sound that fills the air. Finnick glares at you over his shoulder, you let out a laugh, turning to take a look at Annie on the couch.

Her face is a beet red, you don’t think you’ve seen her this color yet. It doesn’t matter, you won this round, there’s no coming back from this. And the best part is, she’ll be tortured for the next two hours or so because she’ll have to learn how to walk in heels and act like a proper lady. Your escort isn’t nice by any means about it.

For good measure, you grin at Annie, “I’d say his lips are my favorite part about his body, but I’ve seen under the belt, so.”

“Oh.” Annie squeaks.

“Yeah, but his ass is still pretty nice.” You snort, turning to walk away from her, shaking your head.

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evankinard · 1 year

Text

Not to make this 1000 times worse for everyone but actually, 614 and 615 were the episodes for both Buck and Eddie mutually rejecting each other and the other's place in their lives by implying that they are lacking in the area that is the other's love language. Lemme see if I can hold my pieces together long enough to explain.

614 with Eddie rejecting Buck was much more subtle and didn't show a reaction from Buck beyond general jealousy because I fully believe that Buck doesn't know he's in love with Eddie, because he never even allowed himself to consider it as an option. He is too petrified of people leaving and too incapable of accepting that he can be loved to ever put himself in a position to hope for something that has the potential to devastate him so thoroughly. But whether he knows he's in love with Eddie or not, over the past 5 seasons he has thrown himself completely and utterly head-first into being there for Eddie and Christopher, being their best friend and their safe place. He exists as a part of their lives that no one but Shannon has ever even come close to occupying. Buck doesn't do grand declarations like Eddie does, but he shows his love through quality time and acts of service and all of that boils down to making sure the Diaz boys are never, ever alone. And yet, just last episode Eddie decided that he wants to start dating because he doesn't want to be "alone" anymore. Eddie is scared of dying alone when Buck has proven time and time again that there is no mess, battlefield, or locked door that could keep him from Eddie if he's ever in danger. So if Eddie is still feeling alone, still scared of dying alone, then maybe the kind of partnership and presence Buck brings to their lives simply isn't what Eddie is looking for, at least in a romantic sense. Even if he isn't aware of his feelings yet, even subconsciously Buck would take that as a door closing in his face before he even had the chance to knock. And so continues the pattern of Eddie jumping back into the dating game and Buck diving in seconds after him.

Now, of course, Eddie isn't saying that because Buck isn't enough. Buck is everything he wants or needs in a partner, but that scares him because Eddie is aware of his feelings and that makes him so acutely aware of the fact that Buck will find someone else to settle down with and start his own family with any day now, and when that happens Eddie really will be well and truly alone. He can't break his own heart, he needs to start being proactive because he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life alone after Buck has moved on.

And in 615, when Buck says that Natalia really sees him, he's discounting the way Eddie has always unspokenly expressed his love for him. Because maybe Eddie hasn't ever used those exact words before, but every one of his major declarations, including "there's no one in this world I trust with my son more than you" (THE TO BE SEEN, TO BE FOUND SCENE?? HELLO???), "I love him enough to never stop trying and I know you do too", "I forgive you", "I know", "It's in my will if I die you become Christopher's legal guardian", and especially "you act like you're expendable, but you're wrong", have been just another way of Eddie telling him I see you for all that you are and I love you for it. The expandability line is a particularly unsubtle standout because it's absolutely paralleled with both Taylor and Margaret telling Buck "you think you're invincible but you're wrong," and there Eddie was again, paired against Buck's mom and his girlfriend, two of the people who should know him and love him the best and yet just don't. And oh shit I'm realizing this just as I'm typing this but Eddie is yet again being paralleled against Buck's mom and his girlfriend (the girlfriend now being Natalia). In 6x10 when Margaret calls him a "miracle baby" and the way Natalia gushes about his death - Buck's death and his birth, two of the most traumatic things that have ever happened to him and Buck is someone who so desperately wants everything to be okay, wants the trauma to have some grand meaning, so he takes the out and takes the win and he lets them let him hide behind the superficial positive bullshit. But Eddie, Eddie sees Buck and Eddie knows him and loves him enough that he can tell just how not okay all of this is, not just for Buck but for all the rest of the people who love him as well, and he doesn't want him to hide away from it because Buck shouldn't have to pretend to be unchanged but he should acknowledge the way he's changed. Eddie is seeing Buck more than Buck can handle being seen right now and Buck is unconsciously rejecting it by placing preference over the way Natalia sees him. Except to an Eddie who is already convinced Buck doesn't feel the same, who is so scared of being alone after Buck has moved on, this feels like just another way he won't be enough for Buck and the time when he'll really well and truly be alone is more and more drawing near. There's even something to be said about the fact that we see Eddie visibly realize just how much Buck has been affected as he's talking - the fact that he's realizing this so late may be making him even more sure of his inadequacy.

#this has so many run on sentences but i just had to word vomit or id explode after last night #911 spoilers #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 fox #weewoo brainrot

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nogenderbee · 6 months

Note

Could I request Diluc, Kaeya, Childe and Ayato with an s/o who has amazing good fortune and luck?

Sure! I did these in oneshot format because I thought it'll be a bit more interesting ^^ Well hope you like it dear anon!

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕃𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕞 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Ayato x lucky!reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bleachtheidiot

You visited Diluc in Angel's Share to classically ramble about your day and adventures. He seemed to expect you by now before as soon as you say down, your favorite juice was right under your nose and when you looked at your partner, you noticed his eyes softening. It was like alternative of a smile since he can't let other read: Venti, Kaeya or Rosaria see him like that and risk getting teased to death.

But going back to current time... there was almost no one else close to bar so it was basically just the two of you.

"So how was it? I heard you accepted one of more dangerous missions today."

He gave you the strict look and you knew just by that that he was worried for the whole day even if he didn't wanted to admit it!

"Yeah, but it was easy! My luck never disappoints me~"

"That's great and I don't wish it to be otherwise but you should stop relying on it so much. It's just luck. What it won't be on your side one time?"

"Oh stop worrying so much! I'm all safe and sound!"

"And I couldn't be more glad for that..."

He was gently caressing your hand by now. It may seem like normal gesture but you could see he's being a bit mean because he cares about you. Maybe next time you should take some extra stuff just to make him less stressed text time?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You and Kaeya were just hanging around on Mondstadt's festival. There was game based on luck so of course he encouraged you to try it! And naturally, you win every single one of them~ Eventually it ended with hosts stopping you from playing because you'd win all prizes in this tempo...

"See? I told you it's worth checking out!"

"Did you had something to do with it again?"

"What are you assuming me of? But just maybe I made a bet with host that you won't loose a single round! I'm treating you to dinner tonight, my dear~"

You should've expected it honestly... he will use every opportunity to show how amazing luck his partner has after all. But you can't really complain since he's treating you to dinner!

But he doesn't do it just to use you or so, it's more like showing everyone your amazing talent. And you can see it by the way he always compliments you before even suggesting bets or anything like that.

"Another bet? Really?"

"Well yes but you know it's not me who suggested them... they were just a bit too confident that you can't have those sort or luck."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Childe brings you everywhere with him. And it's even worse if you know about him being part of the Fatui... he'll always bring you to negotiations, competitions, fights and so on.

Since that one time when you both were just shopping in Liyue Harbor and he won over 3 negatiations with you on his side, he literally started calling you "his lucky charm".

That's how you ended up watching him fight on the sides, like today. It doesn't matter if it'll be whole boss or few slimes, he'd always tell you to give him some of your luck with that grin on his face.

And when he comes back after his win, he'll be a bit flirty, saying how it's all thanks to your luck even tho you both know very well it's thanks to his fighting skills.

"Thanks for cheering for me there! I couldn't have done this without your help~"

"C'mon... these slimes were nothing for you... you said it yourself plenty of time."

"But it could've been your luck this time! You won't mind accompanying me for some time, right?"

"Aren't you just trying to show off by now?"

He definitely does try to only impress you... and you're sure of it by the way he sends you that little grin of his symbolizing he's planning something.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You came to Ayato rambling about how lucky you got with winning a prize on some festival. He was genuinely happy to see you smile like that and the way you were so sure it's because you're lucky person is making him adore you even more.

"I guess I just have incredible luck! No one won this one before me and it's the one I liked the most anyway!"

"Of course. I'm so proud of you, my love."

It's not immidietly noticible but he doesn't really believe in so called "luck". He's sure it's a simple coincidence but that sparkle in your eyes just makes him go with your thoughts to not accidentally ruin this day for you.

"Well then, why won't we celebrate your another lucky day by going out for dinner?"

"Well I can't say no to that!"

He softly smiled at your reaction. He liked to spoil you in the first place but he adores how childish you could be sometimes.

He'd always listen to you rambling about your newest achievements and how it's all thanks to your luck with a smile. He's saying that he's proud of you and acts as if he's sure that's how it is, but in reality he thinks it was just coincidence. As much as he doesn't want you to ALWAYS rely on your luck, he can't just tell you what he thinks in the face, you're simply too pure in his eyes.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

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tonowarii · 1 year

Text

Young and Dumb, with a Broken Arm

Pairing: Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan x GN! Human! Reader

Requested?: Yes

Summary: A tale of you and Lo'ak's shenanigans, but this time, it ended up with you supporting a broken arm.

Word count: 2.0k

Warning/s: graphic description of injury, slight angst bc bro its lo'ak, swearing, hurt/comfort, but fluff towards the end!

Note: I truly believe this was supposed to be just a funny little one shot but I spilled a little bit of angst onto this one 😶

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

"I bet you can't climb a tree faster than me."

"I bet you can't jump down from this branch on your feet."

"I bet you—"

It has always been a game of bets and pranks between you and Lo’ak growing up.

You two were considered partners in crime, not seeing the otber without one following close by.

You two were always up to shenanigans that ended up Jake scolding Lo’ak around two to three times a week.

Lo’ak would get scolded on about bringing you in to his reckless ideas, putting you in danger, while you watched to the side as Lo’ak suffered Jake’s wrath.

You didn’t have anyone to scold you, technically, your adopted parents were back in the lab and they often had little to none news of what you were doing out and about with the Sully family.

Yet there was no stopping the two of you.

You had also grown to play pranks on each other, one time you had Lo’ak’s bow super glued to its place that when he went to grab it, and when it wasn’t budging, he pulled on it with all his force that he fell straight onto his ass. After that scenario leaving his butt sore, he could hear you laughing from the outside.

He retaliated by hiding your quiver of your own handmade arrows.

It took you a whole week of pestering Lo’ak and when he finally had enough, he retrieved them from behind his bed. Which earned him a smack on the (lower) back from you.

Now at present day, you were bound to doing something stupid again.

“Look, trust me, mom taught dad this one.”

Lo’ak says, looking out off the edge of the cliff towards the huge green leaves that sprung from the huge trees on opposite sides.

“Yeah, that looks like a quick death to me.” You reply, stepping to look out of the edge yourself.

Lo’ak huffs, placing his bow behind him. He looked like he was getting ready to jump.

“When have my calculations ever been wrong?” Lo’ak looks down to ask you, a smirk forming on his face.

“Well…” You say in thought, looking up.

“Shut up, that was one time.” He spoke.

You laughed.

“Come on, are you really living if you’re not trying this out? Or are you just being a wuss?” Lo’ak teased. He surely knows how to get on your nerves.

“Oh, you’re on, forest boy.” You accept.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Lo’ak cheered. He then gets himself ready, adjusting his bow behind him and backing away to gain momentum.

“But if you die, I’m taking your toruk stuff toy.” You say to him.

“Pfft, watch me, human.” He rolls his eyes at you. Then he breathes out before running and jumping of the edge, his body now facing the ground as he fell.

You ran over to the edge and watched, watching how Lo’ak gracefully switched between leaf to leaf, slowing down his fall as he successfully plops to the ground on his feet.

You knit your brows as Lo’ak yelped, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through him.

To be honest, you hadn’t done this before.

“(Y/N)! Come on!” Lo’ak shouts at you from below. “Just like what I did!”

Oh, the things you’d do for this boy.

You didn’t have your bow with you today, so you just braced yourself, backing up the same as Lo’ak did.

Eywa, if I fall to my death, please reincarnate me into anything that can haunt Lo’ak for the rest of his life

You prayed with a slight chuckle.

Or even reincarnate me into an avatar, that sounds cool.

“(Y/N)! Did you finally back out?” Lo’ak’s voice stopped your thoughts.

“Like hell I did!” You shout back at him.

Breathing out, you ran with all your might and jumped.

You did what you saw, and at first, you were successful after a few leaves.

But then everything went downhill on the bottom half.

You concentrated on moving your body from side to side that you had failed to notice a looped vine on one of the leaves, that when you landed on it, your feet had fit the exact loop.

Your foot got stuck, making you lose your progress as you panicked, failing to reach the opposite leaf, making you almost hover a few feet up from the ground.

And that’s when the vine snapped.

Your eyes widened, thinking first to prevent your mask from taking the fall as your body was quickly reaching the ground.

“Shit! (Y/N)!!” You hear Lo’ak scream as you flipped to your side, hoping the mask doesn’t break.

And you hit the ground hard. With a cracking sound.

“Fuck, fuck!” Lo’ak swore, running over to you, flipping you onto your back as you had your eyes closed.

Lo’ak, in a panic, lifted you into his arms, immediately going to check if there was any damage to your mask as his hands, almost two times bigger than the size of your face, traced over your mask.

It looks like there was no damage, but he could hear your faint breathing.

Then he takes a glance at your arm and it was almost the most terrifying thing he has ever seen.

And he was a hundred percent sure your arm, or even a regular na’vi’s arm, should not bend that way. “Shit.” He mutters, huge blue hand going over to lift your arm to find your forearm falling limp, almost like jelly.

Then you stirred, making Lo’ak’s eyes widened. “Can you hear me? (Y/N), (Y/N) look at me!” He says, shaking you.

The first thing you registered was Lo’ak who was hovering above you.

Then came the searing pain from your arm.

Lo’ak watched as you stared at him, then in seconds your face contorted into pain as you cried out loud.

Lo’ak felt a pang in his heart, making himself want to cry, almost feeling your pain, but he knows he can't afford to act this way.

“Hold on, (Y/N), alright? Stay with me.” Lo’ak says as he stands up, carrying you in his arms. You continued crying, making Lo’ak frown as he quickly found his way to an opening, calling out to his ikran.

Once it arrived, Lo’ak wasted no time making tsahelyu as he carried you in front of him.

“Go, go!” He screamed at his banshee, who scurried to take flight.

Lo’ak could still hear your cries as he bites his lip, not wanting to look down at your face because he knew it would only pain him more. His heart pounded in his chest; he wanted you to be okay.

Please be okay.

Reaching High Camp, Lo’ak carefully gets off his banshee and he once again carries your small body.

“Norm, Norm!” Lo’ak called once he finds the human figure of Norm talking to another scientist.

Norm turns, his face paling once he realized Lo’ak was carrying you, your bent arm in full view.

“Holy shit, come on, bring her in here!” Norm shouted, earning a few looks from the other villagers.

Norm opens up the door towards the shack, wasting no time to grab the necessary kits to use.

“Lay them down there!” Norm commanded. You had fallen unconscious again.

Lo’ak followed, not minding that he was running out of breath being in the shack as the oxygen was not capable with his body.

He places you down carefully, removing your mask so you could be seen clearly.

“(Y/N), c’mon wake up.” He whispers, seeing your tear stained cheeks makes him let out a shaky breath.

“Lo’ak, I’m sorry bud but you’re going to have to give us some space.” Norm said.

“But I’m—” Lo’ak gasps out, eyes scanning to find a mask made for the na’vi inside the shack. Once he had his hands on it, he breathes through his mask before placing it down.

“I’m not leaving.” Lo’ak said, stubborn as always.

Norm sighed but he let the boy stay. “Sure, kid, just keep out of the way, yeah?”

Lo’ak nods, finding a spot for himself in the corner where he could see you being monitored by Norm, and then he was joined by Max.

He could hear them talking and scanning your vitals, but he only thing he focused on was the rise and fall of your own chest.

A few good ten minutes had passed when the door opened, and it was the last thing Lo’ak needed to see.

His dad.

“I heard what happened.” Jake entered, carefully going over to Norm and Max.

“They took quite the fall… but their vitals are stable now, except for their broken arm which I’ll estimate would heal about two weeks or so.” Max said.

Jake nods, looking at you on the table, brows knitted in worry.

Then his eyes cast over to the corner to find Lo’ak looking at you, wearing the same worried look.

Jake bites his lip, of course, how could he have not known?

He spares his son the lecturing this time, figuring that your health mattered the most to him.

But that wasn’t stopping him from comforting his son.

Jake carefully trudges over to where Lo’ak was.

“Hey, kid.” Jake said, kneeling down so they were almost face to face.

“Dad- dad I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-“ Lo’ak begins explaining, his voice cracking in the process.

Jake lets Lo’ak lean his head on his shoulder as Jake sighed. “It was an accident, I know. They’ll be okay.”

“But dad- It was my fault—”

Jake shakes his head. “I don’t think they’ll blame you for it, kid, the two of you are quite the troublemakers.” Jake said, trying to ease his son.

Lo’ak then lifts his head, eyes darting towards your form, seeing your arm now had a bandage around it, a cast, he thinks its called.

Jake breathes in the oxygen from his own mask before patting Lo’ak on the back. “I don’t blame you and neither do they. Just make sure they’re okay, yeah?”

Lo’ak nods, feeling an instant relief provided by you and his father. As Jake left, Lo’ak stands up, slowly making his way toward you.

“They’ll be alright, I think its best giving them a couple of hours to rest.” Norm says. “Thank you.” Lo’ak said.

Norm nods at him before walking out with Max to leave the two of you alone.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

Then as if on cue, you stirred again, your eyes shut as you tried to move.

Your eyes slowly blinked open. “Wha-“

“We’re back in High Camp,” Lo’ak quickly said, he then assists you in sitting up, then his hand delicately ghosts over your cast covered arm.

“I bought you here… Norm and Max helped fix you up but they said your arm would take about three weeks to heal.” Lo’ak said in a low voice.

You looked at him as he was looking at your arm. Then you glance back at him. “Well, that’s a bummer.”

Lo’ak was caught off guard by your reaction as he turned his head to face you.

“What?” You looked at him, only then you realized how big his face actually was compared to yours.

“I just broke your arm… that’s not “a bummer” that’s like… worse than bummer.” Lo’ak said.

You laugh. “Why? Did you personally come to me and broke my arm in half with your bare hands? No, no you didn’t. It’s not your fault. And have you forgotten? We grew up literally almost befriending death because of our stupid bets and pranks.”

Lo’ak finds himself smiling, remembering quite the few bets that almost had the same outcome as this. “I suppose so… whatever you say.”

“But you’re still a skxawng for not catching me back there.” Your voice turned serious and Lo’ak’s face looked like it was drained of its color.

You laugh out loud again, gaining the courage to lean yourself against him, feeling his bare skin on yours felt something to be remembered.

Lo’ak, upon the contact of your head on his chest, had his tail swaying behind him in content.

He sneakily wraps an arm around your smaller form, his hand resting beside your thigh.

“This time I’ll be sure to catch you.”

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phighterss · 1 month

Text

★ Subspace Relationship Headcanons ★

tags: subspace/reader, general relationship headcanons, sfw

★ Subspace, in general, is a very prideful demon, he’s proud of his achievements. his inventions, his experiments, and his region.

★ When you become his S/O, you better bet that list just got longer.

★ He adores you with all of his being. I’m not joking, he would do anything for you. Make an invention for you? Sure. Kill somebody who ruined your day in a painful and merciless manner? Of course! Subspace worships the very ground you stand on and he isn’t afraid to make it known through his words and actions.

★ Subspace yaps nonstop about you to his coworkers and when his coworkers aren’t around, he’ll just talk to his Biografts, gleefully kicking his feet and giggling while writing down logs for his experiments (that he will definitely show you later, without a doubt.)

★ If you’re away for a while, he will lend you Zeta and insist they come with. Subspace wants to make sure you’re okay at all times, so who’s more qualified for the job of protecting you, than his more reliable Biograft of all time?

★ Whenever Subspace is off-duty, expect him to spend the whole day cuddled up close to your side or going out on a date with you. When I say this man loves spending time with you, I mean it. He wants to spend every waking moment with you by his side and has even tried to convince you to drop by while he’s on-duty so you can be together while he’s working (he’s that desperate.)

★ Subspace, as we all know, is a batshit crazy mad scientist. He is not afraid to kill someone who harasses you or even so much as looks at you the wrong way. Attempting to convince him not to hurt somebody is often futile. He is very violent and in his rage-filled moments, he is hard to snap out of it.

★ He loves to participates in phights with you, same team or not. If you are on the same team, expect him to be the one at your side protecting/assisting you at all times. When on the opposite team, he will go extra soft and easy on you, regardless of your strength. Subspace loves you to death and he can’t bring himself to hurt you too much with his poison. Oh, he couldn’t bear to see you hurt, especially not by his own hand!

★ After phights, please praise him. Subspace is a sucker for being praised and a stroke to the ego is just enough to make him fall in love with you all over again. He wants to be treated like he’s on a pedestal, so when his partner decides to compliment him, for even the most innocent of things, he melts instantly.

★ Subspace has definitely made inventions with you in mind. So if you ever voice your complaints about anything, like a defective watch, broken electronics, or an old toothbrush, on his days off, expect him to bring home a few little nifty gifts he was cooking up after he finished up his experiments and Biograft enhancements.

★ You can’t convince me otherwise that Subspace is a creep. He would probably follow you around without you knowing or send one of his Biografts on over to watch you. He just wants to know your safe at all times, and obsessively thinks about what would happen if he isn’t there to protect you and ends up overthinking it to the point where he kind of stalks you.

★ He’s a huge flirt with you. He doesn’t care where he does it, who’s watching, or if you’re in the middle of a phight. Subspace wants to vocalize his deep admiration for you and thinks that flushed pigmentation on your pretty face is to die for.

★ He’s very touchy. Always has his hands on you at all times. One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close to him, or your hand in his. Any sort of physical contact is a huge yes for him.

★ Very much into PDA. Not afraid to show you off to public and make everyone envious that the prettiest demon in the entirety of the four regions combined is all his!

★ As much as he likes showing you off, he despises when anybody tries to make advancements on you or shows even slight interest in you. It makes him want to kidnap them and preform whatever cruel experiments he’s cooking up. Extremely possessive.

★ If I had to rate him a number from 1-10, i’d have to say i’d give him a 7. Can offer you all the affection in the world and more, but can be extremely unstable and violent towards others.

★ Conclusion: We love and worship Subspace here, guys!!!

#✦ subspace’s writings #phighting x reader #subspace x reader

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bluegalaxygirl · 2 months

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Nightmares (Zosan X Reader)

Headcannon/story: How Zoro, Sanji and Reader help each other with nightmares, how they deal with it themselves and what they have nightmares about.

Warning: Past Abuse, Abandonment, Blood, Violence, bad language and Death.

Reader is GN, Zoro X Sanji X Reader, Poly relationship, established relationship.

----- Sanji -----

^ The cook is hard to wake up so it usually takes a nudge or sudden unusual noise to wake him up, he doesn't open his eyes but waits to either hear the noise again or feel what ever hit him, it's normally you who makes a noise while Zoro will kick or move his arm hitting one or both of his partners. When it happens again he can tell right away what is going on so opens his eyes and sits up a little to look over his partners.

^ He'll place a firm hand on their cheek using his thumb to rub under their eye giving them comfort but also trying to ground them, his first instinct is to wake them up, he's gentle when doing this whispering for them to wake up while lightly rubbing their cheek, if they don't wake up he'll resort to slightly staking their shoulder.

^ When his partner wakes up he smiles at them letting them know everything is ok, "Hay, it's ok, your awake now", "What ever happened it isn't real", "Your here with me, your safe". Once his partner is calm he'll ask if they need anything, water, food, blanket, cuddles, kisses ect and will happily get it for them before sitting with them for as long as they need until their ready to go back to sleep.

^ If his partner is on the other side of the bed where he can't reach due to someone being in the middle, he'll get up and move around the bed before kneeling down to be face to face with them. He'll still try and wake them up, but he doesn't want to wake up his other partner. He'll get in beside them only if they ask if not he'll make sure there ok and have everything they need before going back to his side of the bed.

^ Dealing with his own nightmares has always been hard for him but Sanji has always had someone to go too, Zeff, Nami, Robin, Usopp, You and Zoro are the main people throughout his life that he can turn too and talk with about his nightmares. He doesn't let his feelings fester or his thoughts build up, he needs to talk to someone about it all and his crew and partners are happy to listen.

^ Waking up from a nightmare he always has this heavy feeling on his chest and the walls around him seems too close, so he heads outside, he's learned breathing exercises over the years that have helped him calm down after a nightmare, but he still struggles with the tight feeling around his body.

^ If he doesn't calm down quick enough for his liking he'll smoke, usually after the first cigarette he's good to go back to bed, he'll go back as if nothing happened not wanting to wake anyone, but he will snuggle up too who ever is closer seeking comfort, if he feels like he can move without waking either of you then he'll sneak his way in between his two partners.

^ His nightmares hardly change, they always bring him back to being locked in that dark cell as a child, the feeling of claustrophobia creeping in. He's alone, the metal bars blocking any escape and that heavy feeling of a metal mask on his face. Before he met the straw hat crew there was never anyone on the other side, just him calling out to his farther to let him out.

^ After joining the crew things didn't change much in his dreams, there'd still be no one around to help him but waking up to the crew around him made him feel a lot better. It surprised him at first when Zoro comforted him through a nightmare, the swordsman's voice cut through the darkness shedding light around him. After that the dark cell became a bit lighter and more bearable even without Zoro's comforting words.

^ When the three of you got together and started sleeping in the same bed his nightmares started to change, it was slow at first, two figures on the other side of the bars too far away to make out anything but over time they started to get closer until they were right in front of the bars. You and Zoro would sit on the outside of the bars but refused to look at him or even talk to him, every time his hand would reach through the bars to touch his partner they would vanish like a mirage.

-----

The cold night air outside his room did nothing to help calm his nerves, that heavy feeling on his chest still stayed despite doing his breathing exercises and having a cigarette, it made him panic thinking this feeling was never going to go away. Putting out his cigarette Sanji leans against the railing looking across the deck of the sunny, his back to the bedroom door, its dark only the light from the crows nest, where Usopp is keeping watch, and the full moon letting him see. The shadows seem to move as if they have a life of their own causing anxiety to well up inside him, his body shivers from the cold but also the fear of something watching him, quickly grabbing another cigarette the cook places it between his lips and pulls out his lighter trying to light it. Each flick of the flame lights up something in the corner of his eyes making his head spin, his stomach churn and his chest tighten until a hand is placed on top of his pushing the lighter away. In shock his eyes quickly meet your tired ones "Hay, it's ok" You whisper in a calming voice taking the cigarette out of his mouth and placing it on the side along with his lighter before wrapping a fluffy blanket around his shoulders. His body relaxes when seeing you, a smile forms on his face at how cute you look with your messy bed head and tired yet kind eyes looking into his "You're freezing, Do you want me to get you some tea?" You ask taking your hand off him since you know he gets claustrophobic after a nightmare and most of the time can't stand to be touched but to your surprise Sanji launches himself at you wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head in your neck.

Sanji holds you tight unwilling to let you go "No don't go" He begs but relaxes when your arms wrap around him and your hand strokes his hair the feeling in his chest starts to fade away at your light and calming touch "It's ok, i'm here. I won't leave you. I'm worried though, your cold" You sigh placing a kiss on his head while pulling the fluffy blanket around him more, the cook sighs into your neck starting to pull away a little but not releasing his hold on your waist. "Lets go back to bed" His horse voice whispers letting you guide him back inside, Zoro sits up rubbing his head seeing the two of you walk in, he knows right away what's happened so pulls the covers back and pats the spot next to him. Sanji give him a small smile climbing onto bed his back facing the swordsman who moves to spoon the cook while you get in and pull the covers over the three of you. "Better?" Zoro asks kissing Sanji's shoulder a few times, the cook nods taking your hand and holding it closes to his chest. You lay facing the blonde placing a kiss on his forehead feeling it starting to get warmer now that he has the two of you, a fluffy blanket and a duvet keeping him warm "We've got you hun, your not alone, try and get some more sleep" You whisper squeezing the cooks hand, Zoro nods in agreement while letting out a hum resting his forehead against Sanji's shoulder. The cook sighs feeling the weight on his chest and anxiety disappear leaving only warmth behind, closing his eyes Sanji fully relaxes into his partners embrace letting sleep take over him again.

----- Zoro -----

^ The swordsman is a light sleeper but his mind knows what is ok to ignore and what isn't, for you it's a shaky breath or whimper while for Sanji it's a groan of pain or a whine that will wake him up. He doesn't like to be woken up so his first instinct is to get annoyed and groan turning to see who woke him up but when seeing your or Sanji's face crunched up and body tense he sighs relaxing his body and wrapping his arm around who ever is having the nightmare.

^ He'll hold his partner close and stroke their hair not wanting to wake them up but hopes that his hold and warm touch will make that nightmare go away. if it does go away he won't let go, he'll wait until his partner is relaxed and breathing normal again before going back to sleep.

^ If it continues despite his touches he'll whisper into his partners ear, "It's ok, your safe", "I've got you", "No ones gonna hurt you", "You'll always be safe in my arms" ect. If his partner wakes up during this he'll still hold them and sooth them but will tell them to go back to sleep and tell them its just a dream.

^ If his partner is on the other side of the bed he won't want to move, so he'll move over who ever is in the way (Somehow without waking them) to lay in between his two partners pulling both of them into him but will mostly focus on the one who's having a nightmare.

^ Dealing with his own nightmares by himself was easy for him, or, so he let himself and others think. He'd mainly wake up with a sharp intake of breath staying completely still as his eyes scan the room for any danger, when he see's nothing he sighs to himself before going back to sleep.

^ He tells himself that its stupid for him to fear a dream and that he should just forget about it and move on. Its easier said than done, and he ends up just shoving it to the back of his head where it builds up leading to more nightmares and late nights where he can't sleep because of his racing mind and then finally it overflows.

^ When it does anyone and everyone know about it, he's overly grumpy, snappy and mean, he trains and drinks way more than normal and much to Sanji's dismay eats less. Everyone worries about him but when ever anyone asks he just snaps at them telling who ever it is to leave them alone, you know its bad when he even snaps at Chopper.

^ What he dreams about are his worst fears, before meeting Luffy and joining the crew it was about failing Kuina and never becoming the worlds the greatest swordsman. It made him train more and get stronger, those dreams where few and far between, but they would mostly happen around the time of her passing.

^ After joining the straw hats it was the same dreams as before but slowly members of the crew would join, they'd all achieve their goals, and he would be the odd one out, standing behind them as they stood tall blocking out the sun that they were looking at.

^ Those dreams changed drastically after the three of you got together and after the events of Sabaody, he'd dream about joining the crew again after two years only to find out that either one or both of you where in fact killed and not saved like the rest or that you refused to come back but there's one dream that keeps coming, one that scares him more than anything in the world.

-----

The area around him is dark, there's no ceiling or walls just black, the floor is black too but there's a thin layer of water covering the floor, his footsteps echo as he runs at an enemy swinging his sword trying to it them as they back up and try to dodge his attack "Please, stop" The voice calls out one he doesn't recognize, but he doesn't stop, this person a threat and needs to be stopped. Zoro lands a few slices on her person arms and legs making them scream out in pain before piercing their stomach with his blade, the air around him goes quiet until drops of blood hit the water and the person falls to their knees gripping into the blade to stop him from pulling it out. A large smile grows on the swordsman's face as a chuckle leaves his lips, soon it turns into booming laughter as he throws his head back revealed that its finally over, that the enemy is down. "Z-Zo-ro" Your voice weakly calls out stopping his laughter in a instant, slowly looking down the enemy that was once there is gone replaced by You, his sword piercing your stomach as blood seems out of your mouth, your eyes look up at him in pain. Falling to his knee's Zoro quickly gets go of his sword grabbing your shoulder to stop your body from falling over "Baby, i'm so sorry" The swordsman pants his hands shaking while his heart breaks, how did this happen? Why did he hurt you? Your wheezing breaths get heavier and heavier as you struggle to breath "Zo-ro" You let out before your eyes close and your body goes limp falling frontwards into Zoro's chest where he wraps his arms around you feeling your lifeless body in his arms.

Zoro jolts awake panting as a hand rubs his cheek, he can't move his body but his eyes look around for any danger soon stopping on you and your small smile, "There you are, see your back in your own bed on the sunny" You whisper in a calm and sweet voice that helps him relax and gain control over his body again, the swordsman moves to wrap his arms around you and bury his head in your chest hearing your heartbeat as your hands rub his shoulders and back trying to calm him down. "It's ok, its over now" You whisper to him as Zoro sighs into you hearing your heart beating, your alive, he didn't kill you. "You need anything?" Sanji asks making Zoro look up from your chest seeing the cook looking over your shoulder at him, the blondes hand running through his green hair massaging his scalp. Unable to form words at the moment Zoro shakes his head while reaching a hand up to cup Sanji's face making sure he's actually here and this isn't another dream. "Go back to sleep, hunk" Sanji whisper with a smile while taking the swordsman's hand thats on his cheek and kissing it before laying back down, keeping Zoro's hand in his. You place a kiss on the swordsman's forehead continuing to lightly rub his shoulders and back feeling his muscles relax and his breathing even out, Zoro sighs into you nuzzles into your chest while letting his eyes close, his senses consumed by your heart beat and Sanji's fingers caressing his knuckles letting his mind relax and forget about the dream, so he can fall back into a peaceful sleep.

----- You -----

^ Its hit or miss weather you wake up or not, sometimes your in too deep of a sleep to notice your partners distress while other times your away at the slights sound from them. You mostly wake up groggy but as soon as their discomfort hits your ears your wide awake and already turning to the person who needs you.

^ You'll move closer to your partner while pulling them into you, if their back is to you then you'll spoon them, kissing their shoulder, if their facing you then you'll kiss their forehead while rubbing their back. Either way you'll whisper to them trying to ground them "I'm right hun, your in my arms", "Your on the sunny, in your bed, your safe", "I'll keep you safe and warm, nothing can hurt you here".

^ If they wake up you have different ways of dealing with the two, for Sanji you loosen your grip while for Zoro you tighten it, you'll reassure them, let them know where they are, what time it is ect, so they don't think their still in that dream world. You'll do what ever you can for them but you mainly want them to relax and calm down so will rub their shoulders and back to get their muscles to relax while whispering reassuring words to them.

^ If your partner is on the other side of the bed you'll get out and head round to then, running your hand over their arm and letting them know its just you and telling them what your going to do. You'll pull back the covers and slide in next to them pulling your partners back into your chest spooning them while trying to sooth them.

^ Your encouraged by Chopper and Robin to share your nightmares since sometimes they can lead to you becoming overly anxious and sick, taking their advice you talk with Sanji and Zoro about your nightmares but if they end up being something you can't figure out then you go to Robin who thinks outside the box.

^ Your nightmares leave you feeling sick with worry and drained of energy and yet you can't always go back to sleep, sometimes once your up, your up and there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it. On the plus side during those days you take a nap with Zoro, and he can't complain about it (He only complains about it because he thinks your pouting face is cute).

^ When you wake up from a nightmare you hate to wake one of your partners up so you don't, you'll roll over and do breathing exercises while pulling a pillow to your chest. There are time when you've cried which will wake one of both of your partners, you feel guilty for waking them no matter how many times they tell you it's ok.

^ The nightmares are mainly about being laughed at, pushed aside and being lied too, the context changes all the time but it away's revolves around one of the main three. The people change all the time but their based on whom you've met or seen in the last month or so.

^ Your crew are hardly ever in the dreams maybe it's because you trust them so much and know they won't do that stuff to you, when someone new joins the crew however its different, their usually the focus until you get to know them more and actually bond with them.

^ When you joined Sanji's and Zoro's relationship and slept in the same bed those nightmares are hardly ever around, your brain can rest easy with the two laying next to you. Although when they do come their worse than ever and now involve your partners, they'll pretend not to know who you are while some pretty girls and guys hang off their warm or kiss them while waving you off wanting you to go away.

-----

Flinching your eyes shoot open only seeing the dark wall of your bedroom as your body tenses, your hands cling onto what ever they could grab onto unwilling to let go, the covers are off you making your skin cold and your body shiver. Tears well up in your eyes from the nightmare you just had but you refuse to cry, at least not out loud, you don't want to wake Sanji and Zoro who are sleeping behind you, tearing one of your hands away from the edge of your mattress you bring it to you clips covering your mouth to stop any kind of sound leaving. Warm tears trickle out of your eyes making you shiver again as your cold skin starts to warm up, your legs move up without you telling them to do so leaving you in a fetal position wanting to curl into yourself for comfort. With uneven breaths you let yourself cry while trying to hold back any kind of noise, you just need to let it out and hopefully fall back asleep all of this can be taken care of in the morning. The covers suddenly surround you and an arm is places over you pulling your back into Zoro's chest as Sanji appears in front of you crouching down to wipe the tears from your face and stroking your cheek "It's ok, just let it out" The swordsman sighs placing a kiss on your shoulder while his arm tightens around you hoping to bring you some kind of comfort, Sanji takes the hand thats covering your mouth and pulls it away holding it tightly in his and placing a kiss on it both giving you permission to cry. Letting it out you gasp for air while tears spill out of your eyes, the two offer words of reassurance while kissing your hand and shoulder waiting patiently until your done and calm enough to think.

Sanji wipes your tears away with is thumbs while cupping your face "There we go love, its all over now. I'll get you some water" The cook smiles while standing slowly letting you go before walking into the bathroom with a glass to get you some water, Zoro kisses your shoulder again before sitting up a little to look down on you "You want to talk about it?" He asks moving some hair out of your face his eyes locking with yours "In the morning" You whisper earning a smile off the swordsman who leans down to kiss your forehead, Sanji comes back and helps you sit up a bit to drink your water, one your done he grabs a wet cloth and wipes your face getting rid of the tried salty tears "Do you need anything?" The cook asks putting the stuff on the side to give you his full attention, looking him over you think for a second before nodding, patting the spot next to you the two gets the message right away so Zoro moves over pulling you across with him as Sanji pulls the covers back and gets in laying down to face you. The swordsman spoons you but places his hand on the cooks side bringing him in closer to sandwich you in between them, the blonde wraps his arm around you and places it on Zoro's arm while placing a kiss on your head "This better love?" He asks with a small chuckle making a smile grow on your face as you nod snuggling into the two feeling their warmth and love fill your heart and mind "Get some sleep baby" Zoro whispers behind you kissing the back of your head, closing your eyes you manage to go back to sleep as your two lover hold you close keeping those bad thoughts and dreams away.

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amyispxnk · 6 months

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Just Stay

Summary: Every time, staying was so easy. It was natural. Then you couldn't.

A/N: there's a bit of confusing writing in some places - it's 2am and I've been writing this for almost 2 hours straight, spare me. I hope you guys like this because it genuinely took so much effort. Pls show some love.

A/N #2: after letting this simmer for a bit im feeling like i hate it and it's really stupid and umm yeah so yeah! I physically cringe every time I remember this exists

Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: alcohol, drug mention, brief very light smut, pet names, language, smoking cigarettes, translated Spanish that may well be incorrect (let me know if there are any mistakes please), violence and death, guns, fluff, angst, unwanted attraction from a guy (nothing like SA but it’s just kinda uncomfy and he kisses her but she didn’t want him to NOT JAVI)

Used a prompt from @luvmake “things said between kisses”

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°~°

You groaned as you shut the door to your apartment behind you, tossing your keys on the table by the door and shrugging your jacket off, walking over to your fridge to find something to take your mind off things.

Work was stressful, but of course it was. You were a DEA agent working to take down Pablo fucking Escobar. Of course it was stressful.

The only thing that lessened the burden was your partner, Javier Peña. It was a rocky start for the two of you, him being very closed-off and already having a reputation which made you not want to get involved with him at all. But you got to know him after a while and here you were 2 years later, being able to call yourself his friend.

You groaned again when you realised you had absolutely no alcohol in your fridge or anywhere in your living space. Then your mind went back to him, Javier did live next door.. and when does Javier not have alcohol on him?

After listening out for the all-too-familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and not hearing anything (you didn't want a repeat of the last time you showed up unannounced) you figured it was safe to go over.

You made sure the door was locked behind you - you can never be too safe, even when you're going next door for just five minutes - you quickly padded over to his apartment, knocking on the door.

When he opened it, he was shirtless. Of course he was, it's Javi. You clenched your teeth together as you fought to not look at his chest and spoke.

"I'm out of alcohol." You stated, at which he raised an eyebrow.

"What do you want me to do about it?" He questioned as if he had no clue what you were getting at.

"Let me have some of yours."

He stayed unmoving.

"Pleeeeeeease, Javier." You pouted, clasping your hands together dramatically before he chuckled softly and opened the door further to let you in.

Once he'd closed it behind you, you looked around. Sure you'd been to his apartment before, but you always liked to analyse things. Maybe it was from being an agent, but you had always had this little trait.

You noticed a movie was playing on the TV as you walked into his kitchen, not being able to tell what it actually was since it was paused at an awkward frame.

"You watching a sex movie, Javier?" You teased, leaning back to look at him as you shut the cabinet.

"Yeah, totally." He said, rolling his eyes before sitting down on the couch.

You held the whiskey bottle in your hands as you stood there for a moment. He didn't tell you to leave at any point, so maybe he wouldn't mind if you just..

You fell down onto the couch beside him, crossing your legs beneath you and bringing the glass of whiskey to your lips.

He still didn't say anything, just glanced at you quickly before shrugging to himself and continuing to watch the movie.

2 hours later, this is a long fucking movie, the ending credits rolled and you might've fallen asleep. It wasn't your fault he had such terrible movie taste that might've also been in complicated Spanish that your fuzzy, whiskey-filled brain didn't want to translate.

The third time he'd said your name you bolted upright.

"Who's it? What happened? Javier? Javier!" You spoke quickly, realising where you were and what you were doing when you looked back at him.

"'s just me. Calm down. Maybe we'll take some of this away." He murmured, picking up the whiskey bottle and taking it with your glass back to the kitchen.

When he came back, you had already drifted off again and he sighed before shaking you awake.

"Stop fucking waking me up." You murmured, cosying back up on the couch for the third time.

"You can't sleep over, missus."

"Why, got a special lady coming over?" You teased with a wiggle of your eyebrows.

"Dios Mio, you're insufferable." He muttered under his breath. "Just stay then, okay? I don't even care."

"Thank you Javiiii." You grinned at him as he walked away to his room.

"You're welcome querida.” He answered before shutting the door and crumpling on his sheets. That was the longest you two had been that close to each other and your touch was doing a lot of things to him that he didn’t want to admit.

His brows furrowed as he sighed, turning the lamp off and willing himself to sleep.

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Your nails dug into his skin so hard you probably drew blood before he stilled inside of you, spilling into the condom with a final thrust.

He stayed there for a moment and appreciated your figure, eyes squeezed shut and your skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, chest rising with your heavy breaths and your arms having moved from his to being thrown above your head, hair all over the place on your face.

The oversensitivity started getting to both of you and he reluctantly pulled out, disposing of the condom before bringing a cloth over to you and cleaning you up gently before doing the same for himself and getting rid of that too.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress and lit a cigarette, puffing out the smoke before turning back to face you.

You were propped up on your forearms with a lazy smile on your face, totally fucked-out. It had taken so long for you two to take the plunge, but now you had finally done it and it was incredible, you were insatiable, always coming back for more. He definitely lived up to that reputation.

You reached for the cigarette and he gave it to you. After taking a long drag, you flopped back down onto his bed and handed it back to him.

“I don’t really wanna get up, y’know.” You said slowly after a few seconds of silent smoking. You had never done a sleep-over with him - after you started fucking - and thought that you might be crossing a line with the implication of doing so in your words.

He debated your words in his mind. He didn’t like getting attached, he didn’t let the informants stay over, and they didn’t really care. It was their job.

But you were different. He knew you, worked with you, and you had fucked enough times for there to be someting more brewing between the two of you.

He stubbed out the cigarette and lay down beside you, brushing some hair out of your face before pulling the blanket back on top of you both and turning around.

“Just stay, then.”

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You were pressed up against a wall, panting heavily as you quickly reloaded your gun and dared a look around the corner. Shouts and gunfire filled your ears, your head pounded and your eyes stung.

You ran from the corner down the hallway and into a room, killing another one of the men. It was noone important, and it was getting fucking annoying by this point. How many people had to die, how many did you have to kill until you would just get an actual lead? A few years ago, this would’ve killed you inside. You were weaker mentally and probably would’ve resigned, not wanting to steal the lives of so many for such futile results.

You walked outside of the house and leaned back against the wall, eyebrows knitted together as you tipped your head back and exhaled deeply. Everyone who was in that building 20 minutes ago was either dead or had slipped away. The person you were looking for had slipped away.

“Todos en la sala principal, ¡date prisa! (everyone in the main room, hurry up!)" Your leader’s voice sounded from inside and you pushed yourself off of the wall, turning the corner and immediately falling to the floor as a gunshot rang through the air.

Fuck, fuck, fucking shit.

Clearly, you had missed one of them and his dumb plan was to pick all of you off by himself instead of just running away and thanking God for letting him escape.

You fired a shot at your attacker, getting him in the arm and causing him to cry out in pain before shooting again and watching his lifeless body hit the path.

You dropped your gun as you shuffled over behind a crate and your eyes pressed together as the pain started to get to you. After looking down and assessing the wound, you confirmed it was nothing fatal having entered and exited just your calf. You pushed yourself up from the floor as someone else rushed down the alleyway, making you scramble for your gun again until you realised who it was.

“Shit! It’s just me! What happened?” Javier shouted to you as he came to a halt in front of you, crouching down and checking the wound.

“Some guy was still here, I was coming back in and then he shot me.” You pointed in the general direction of where you remembered his body now lay. “Over there.”

He nodded before quickly pulling you up on your feet, then noticing how your knees buckled when you tried to stand straight on your own.

He gave you his arm and you held onto him as you walked back to the rest of the group, returning to the office shortly after where they patched you up and told you that you weren’t allowed on the field for a week to make sure you didn’t put too much strain on the muscle and injure it more severely.

You were getting your coat from your office when he knocked on your door, poking his head in.

“You leaving?” He asked as he stepped inside, taking his hands out of the pockets in his leather jacket.

“Yeah. Finished everything before 3 in the morning for once.” You joked, earning a small laugh from him.

“I just happen to be leaving too. Want me to uh- bring you back?”

He knew you didn’t have a car, arguing that the apartment block was only a 30 minute walk away so why waste the money if you barely left the town, and it worried him enough without your being injured.

To be honest, you were on edge recently. Things had been getting more dangerous, more gruesome, more exhausting. You were getting more sloppy too, having more close calls than you would’ve liked to, having less time to take care of yourself. So, his invitation was more than welcome.

“Sure, yeah.” You accepted and stood up, walking over to him and taking the hand he offered you. Probably for stability, you thought, but you wouldn’t mind just holding hands with him anyway. Fuck, you felt like a stupid kid with a crush. You couldn’t let yourself get distracted by love either.

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

You made it home and smiled as your cat ran up to you, rubbing her head against your legs and purring. You crouched down - with a little more difficulty than normal, obviously - and scratched behind her ears affectionately before getting back up with Javier’s help and taking your shoes and coat off. He was about to walk in with his shoes on before you quickly stopped him and tutted disapprovingly.

“I don’t like how you Americans wear shoes inside the house. Off.” You scolded, before walking over to the living room slowly.

He shook his head with a smile before taking his shoes off and following behind you, leaning back against the wall as he waited for you to do something.

“They said I gotta clean the dressing, or change it, or something. I dunno. Gave me a little instruction thingie. So- I’m gonna go do that..” You trailed off at the end.

“You want me to stay?” He questioned as he crossed his arms in front of him, t-shirt stretching deliciously over his arms, making your mind replay the memories of him doing very lewd things with them to you and dampening a spot in your panties just at the thought of it. Probably wasn’t a good idea to fuck with a gunshot wound that was barely 12 hours old though; you quickly blinked a few times to get your thoughts back in order and wet your lips before nodding at him. Yes, you did want him to stay. He offered such a sense of security and protection for you even before the stakes got higher, before Pablo’s men started literally bombing places, killing everyone and anyone, and before you got shot. You needed him, and you were realising that it wasn’t just in a sexual way anymore. It scared you and you almost took the non-verbal yes back until he walked up to you and pulled you out of your thoughts again, looking down at you and staring for a moment, as if arguing with himself in his mind. One side finally won when he bent down and kissed you on the forehead gently, pulling back and murmuring an okay to you before you spoke up again.

“Just stay, make yourself comfy. You can take my bed if you want-” He stopped you before you could finish.

“I’m not taking your bed, querida. Either I’ll join you in it or you can just stay there alone. I don’t mind the couch or anything.” He suggested.

“You can join me in it.” You told him before making your way to the bathroom to sort out your wound, thinking about the entire day.

Another unsuccessful raid, then you got shot, now Javi’s staying in your apartment for the night and it wasn’t because you had sex.

Yeah, it was scary.

And it was scary for him too when you clung to him in the night in your sleep, scary when his hand instinctively reached out to stroke your hair soothingly, scary when he almost leaned forward and kissed you before he could stop himself.

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You had to have been in this damn office for the past 3 days straight, working on report after report and chasing lead after lead. People were enjoying the holiday season as it neared vacation time for schools, Christmas ads and music were starting to play and the streets were decorated with so much red and green it made you sick.

The clock on the wall glared at you from across the room as you squinted at it, trying to read it as your eyes drooped like they had been doing for the past hour.

You finally deciphered it and realised it was 2:45AM. Okay, you’d been here for just over a day, but still.

Javier was also still in the building, you heard him walking around and he’d even come in to check on you - bother you - a few times, the latest one being just half an hour ago.

Now he was knocking on your door again and didn’t wait for you to reply before walking inside.

“Got some unfortunate news.” He said, the smirk on his face saying otherwise.

“What.” You demanded, head falling back on your chair as you prepared for literally anything to come out of this man’s mouth.

“We’re snowed in.”

“We’re what.” Your eyes widened. You were this close to finishing your work for the day, night, 2 days, whatever it was, and here he was telling you that you couldn’t actually leave.

“Yeah.” He sighed, coming to sit on your desk, fiddling with the little objects and pens littered around it. “It’s fucking crazy. We never get snow like this here. And because of that, there’s no way to get rid of it when there’s an obscene amount of it.”

You groaned as your head moved from the chair to face plant on the table with a huff of annoyance, him laughing at your state before his expression softened when he realised how tired you looked, then remembered that you were here when he arrived 9 hours ago and you were still here, and you were probably there before he came.

“You can go to sleep, y’know.”

“I have too much work left, Javi. If I leave it then it’ll just get piled up and I’ll have to stay here for-” You paused to work out the amount of hours you’d been in this office. “For 25 hours, again.”

His eyebrows shot up at the number. “25 hours? Jesus Christ, hermosa, please go to sleep. I’ll do the work for you, okay?” He offered, watching as your eyes already started to close.

“Seriously? Thank you.” You yawned. “Where would I sleep though? I can probably find a shovel or something around here and head home, they wouldn’t be that unprepared…”

“No, just stay. There’s a couch in the breakroom. I’ll go find you a blanket or something. ‘S fucking cold.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” You smiled, getting up and trudging out of the room and down the hallway to the room and slumping down on the couch.

He came back 5 minutes later with a blanket and laid you down before gently draping it over you.

“Here. You all good?”

“Yeah, thank you, you’re my favourite babysitter Javi.” You joked with a lazy smile, watching his eyes crinkle as he grinned back at you. He had a really nice smile, you mused internally, watching it grow when you realised you’d said that out loud.

“Thanks.” He smirked, before leaning down and kissing you on the forehead. That’s as close as you two got to kissing each other and you wouldn’t go any further for now.

“Don’t let me sleep for too long, okay?” You told him before your eyes drooped shut and you lay down completely.

“Te amo. (I love you)" You mumbled, half-awake, before blacking out completely as exhaustion overtook you.

Well shit.

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“Listen, I just think you’ve been too stressed lately, Javs. Gotta loosen up a little, no?” He could hear your grin through the phone. You chewed on the end of your pencil, thankful that he couldn’t see your face right now because the nervousness was evident on it and you’d be surprised if he couldn’t hear it anyway.

“Don’t have time to loosen up, queirda.” He countered, the sound of his pen scribbling something furiously onto the paper echoing through the phone. Working again.

“You sure about that? I thought you’ve been loosening up with me quite a bit.” You smirked, making him roll his eyes again.

“Fine. I’ll come to your stupid party thing.”

“Thank you.”

“Whatever.”

You hung up the phone before looking for an outfit to wear, settling on a tight black dress that came to your mid-thighs, a cropped denim jacket and some black heels. The party was tomorrow but you liked to have it planned for sure, trying on the outfit and scrolling through makeup looks for half an hour until you got tired, showering then falling asleep.

The party came around and you looked good. If you hadn’t thought it yourself, the other people there made it evident enough - your friends had given you an appreciative whistle and a rush of compliments as you walked over to them, you felt a few stares on you as you walked, and Javier made his appreciation of the outfit known to you as well.

“Don’t you look good.” He said as his eyes roved over your features, lingering on your tits for a moment longer before they came back up to your eyes again.

“You like the outfit or you want to take it off me?” You teased, hugging him before walking with him to get drinks and then going back to your friends.

When he noticed that there was not just one friend who might not even come as you told him on the phone as a way to get him to accompany you, his smirk turned into a scowl and he glared at you.

“Don’t be pissed, Javi! I just wanted you to loosen. Up.” You nudged his shoulder and introduced him to your friends.

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

After a drink or two, he had loosened up a little, until someone who had had more than a drink or two came over to your group and whistled at you. You turned to face him and.. He definitely wasn’t unattractive. But he wasn’t as attractive as the guy who you came here with.

Javier had just gone to get more drinks and the timing was so bad it was funny. The guy was trying to chat you up and you considered it for a second. You and Javi weren’t anything official, just friends with sometimes benefits really, and you weren’t seeing anyone else of course, so what harm could be done with a little flirting? You were just entertaining this guy for a bit, you weren’t actually going to do anything.

Apparently this guy thought you wanted to do something more though, getting closer and closer to you and even trying to kiss you once - you quickly turned around and pretended your phone buzzed, reaching inside your bag for it and praying he wouldn’t try that again.

The world just seemed to hate you though, because Javi was a few feet away when he did try that again, and you didn’t react quickly enough this time.

His lips slammed against yours, and that’s when you saw him watching you, completely rooted to the floor. Then he turned away, storming out and slamming the door to the bar shut behind him. You pushed the guy off of you so quickly he almost fell over and ran after Javier, chasing him as best you could in the heels whilst calling out to him.

“Javi! Javi, wait!” You shouted as you cupped your hands around your mouth, cursing when he didn’t stop.

“Javier, fucking wait!” The use of his full name got his attention for a second, and he was about to start walking away again when your hand gripped his forearm tightly.

“What is your problem?” You gritted. “You seriously made me chase after you in these fucking heels!” You exclaimed as you gestured to the ridiculously uncomfortable shoes.

His jaw was clenched as he looked down to them, then back up at you.

“I don’t get you. You lied to make me come here so I could loosen up a little, and I thought maybe you actually wanted to hang out with me as well. I thought that was a part of it. But then you- you’re kissing another guy? You’ve never even kissed me, and how long have we known each other? How many times have we fucked? How much have I done for you, and how much have you done for me, but the closest we’ve come to anything like that was a kiss on the fucking forehead?” He seethed, aggressive gaze burning straight through you.

He wanted to tell you he loved you. Don’t you know how much I fucking love you? Can you not see it? I know you feel it too. You said it yourself.

He hadn’t told you about what you said that day it snowed yet.

“Javi..” You began after a minute. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me. I didn’t want him to.” You admitted, and suddenly his mind cleared. Maybe it was because he had one too many drinks, but he jumped to conclusions. He got too protective of you and you weren’t even his.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He murmured.

There was a moment of silence until you spoke up again in a smaller voice. He’d never seen you look so timid in your life.

“You want to kiss me?” You asked, recalling what he’d said before.

“I- yeah.” He sighed, looking down. No use trying to avoid it now.

You tilted his face upwards before cupping his cheek, leaning in, and kissing him. His eyes widened slightly before he reciprocated it eagerly, one hand curling around your waist and pulling you closer as the other rested on the back of your neck, suffocating you with the kisses and his body. You’d seen so much of each other before and this was the final thing left for you to do. Now you had finally gone and done it.

When you broke from the kiss, you were both panting as his forehead rested against yours.

“Do that again, please.” You said as a grin creeped onto your face, making him let out a low chuckle before obliging your request.

That night, you didn’t have to ask him to stay. He just did.

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You had never been so angry in your entire life, you reckoned. You paced around the room, running a hand through your hair before stopping to look at him again.

"Los Pepes? Really, Javier? Really?!" You said in a raised voice. Of course he had gotten involved with Los Pepes. And now he was getting fired for it.

You had started dating only a few months ago and it was actually going pretty well. He was a really good partner, always did his best to communicate, bought you things, treated you well, had a really big cock.. And you loved him, you really did.

But this was really bad.

"It's not my fucking fault! They helped enough, didn't they?"

"They're brutal murderers!" You shouted before turning away again. "I fucking knew it. I knew there was something wrong. You've been all skittish lately, Los Pepes have been coming up so much in our reports.. I just never thought you'd do something like that." You sighed, looking up from the floor to meet his gaze and feeling your eyes well up with tears as it came crashing down on you that he was going to leave.

"I'm sorry, querida, I can't-" -stay.

"Did you even think about me when you did all this shit? Did you think about us? I thought I was actually important to you, but clearly not." You scoffed bitterly.

"Baby you are important to me-" He began, reaching for your hand.

You batted it away before immediately taking it back and squeezing his hand tight before you felt the tears fall.

"Then why did you do it? We would've- we would've gotten them eventually! It would have just taken a little longer, but this wouldn't have happened! Javier, I can't-" Your entire body shuddered as you sobbed in front of him, and it was like somebody was stabbing him in the heart, twisting the knife around before pulling it out along with his heart with which he loved you so much.

"Please. Please, just stay. We can figure something out. I'll fix it, you can't leave me. I can't do it. Javier." You pleaded, sniffling as you grasped his hand tightly. You didn't want to let go. Of him. Of this. You had liked him for so long and it finally came together and he pulled this shit and now it was all over.

"I can't."

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Thank you so much for reading. Wow that was long. I hope you liked it, and I hope it made sense and it was as good as it was in my head. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open. 💞

#javier peña #javier peña angst #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #amyispxnk fics

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eveningserenityyy · 4 months

Text

Home for The Holidays | Oneshot

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x reader

Word Count: 4268

Summary: Upon bringing you back home with him and his family for the holidays, Luke realises that he misses having you all to himself.

A/N: Merry Christmas! Decided to do something for ~slutmas~, and I do hope you enjoy! The editing isn't as heavy with this one, but I really like how it turned out.

Coming home for the holidays is perhaps the best part of college, now able to relax with family and the perfect aesthetic of the christmas season as school is but a small worry in the back of one's mind; meant to be ignored and dealt with at a later time when the tidings end with the 25th.

Luke had brought you home with him to spend this Christmas with his family, all of whom were perfectly amiable and so very welcoming towards you. A response any partner is lucky to receive.

Your friend Han had tagged along too, being Leia’s guest as well. It made for quite the amusing holiday season, for Han was by no means the favourite of the Skywalker patriarch. Anakin, their father, gave him a hard time even for the simple act of breathing; nevertheless, Han made a great effort to impress the man that he hoped would become his father-in-law in the near-ish future.

You got off lucky, more than Han, at least. Anakin was a very protective father, weary of the partners of BOTH his kids. He made that quite clear the first time he had met you, but your advantage was in the fact that you made a far better first impression than Han ever did.

…That particular incident of Han’s misfortunes gets passed around quite a bit, as often as Anakin can mention it at least. No mere words could truly explain the extent to which this first meeting had gone so poorly, for you simply had to be there; all that shall be said is Han offended his mother, broke two chairs, and almost caused the death of the beloved family dog, Artoo, in less than ten minutes.

Furthermore, you found yourself to be having a wonderful time, perfectly fit for the season. Padme was generous with each of you, making sure that you felt welcomed and loved by the family. You baked cookies with her, helped with the tree (the whole family did, really, but you did almost pull a muscle collecting the boxes of ornaments from the basement), and she even took you around town to enjoy the beautiful Christmas lights as you bonded.

You adored how much she loved both her children, always gushing about her son to you, or showing you terribly embarrassing photos of Luke. Anakin was certainly rough around the edges on the other hand, but you too adored how much he cared about his kids just the same, the only difference being the intensity of it. Yet, despite this you had your moments with the father as well; and at one point had even made him laugh, which is quite the win in your book.

Luke was ecstatic that things, for the most part, were going so great. He absolutely adored and cherished how his family took to you, treating you like one of their own as you fit right in. He hoped many more christmas’ and other such holidays like this were to come, with you by his side each and every time.

He found himself unable to look away every time you smiled, or laughed at one of his dad’s terrible jokes. He was wholeheartedly in love with you, not at all regretting his bringing you home with him for even one second. This was, in all honesty, the perfect christmas- he had you to thank for making it all the more merry.

He got you under the mistletoe any chance he could, watching your cheeks deepen their rosy tint as you got utterly and completely flustered, especially when a member of his family was close by.

And when you were helping bake some holiday goods, he always “innocently” made sure to come up from behind you, rubbing against you as he pushed by. At first, it had been a mere accident on his part, but you suspected that it no longer could be when he kept doing it over and over again, leaving you able to feel him growing hard as you put on a poker face. He always came up with little excuses, such as how he forgot a cookie cutter, or needed a glass of water despite the fact that he never actually got one- it made your cheeks ridiculously rosy, constantly blushing every time you felt him against you as his mother asked if you were feeling feverish…

Oh, you were feeling something, but not the kind of feelings you could confide in her about. Ahem. Just imagine what Anakin would think of all the things you wish to do to his son…actually, dont.

He was getting more handsy as the days went by, forgetting that his family is constantly around the corner. He didn't even think about it at times, only driven by the need to touch and hold you close without considering the consequences.

The cons of staying with his family had begun to bother him, never really getting a moment alone with you as of late. As Anakin didn’t like Han, you weren’t even allowed to sleep in the same room- he had to bunk with Han, and you with Leia.

None of you were exactly fond of this, and even Padme fought against it before the horrors of pregnancy and a stagnant college career was planted in her mind. She very much wanted her children to be successful, therefore that was enough to cause her to agree with her husband.

…okay, there's also the fact that she could understand the uh, the needs her children had…but as long as you’re safe, then for the love of everything keep it out of her house- that was also something she needed to be respected, but would never say when her husband is close by. He just didn't want it. Period. He would rather strangle himself with the tinsel than have such a conversation.

Poor Luke was aching to touch you, missing the privacy you had in a dorm room this past week. He found himself constantly having to hide how hard he was, his pants getting tight every time he even so much as looked at you. It was embarrassing, always sitting with a pillow in his lap when you all huddled together to watch a Christmas classic.

It's just the way he was; easily turned on (By you, specifically- he was head over heels for you, truth be told), and terribly needy for your attention and delicate touch. He had to stop himself from dropping to his knees and begging for you to touch him as he usually would when he got aroused, this not being the time nor the place for that.

You observed how flustered he got himself, how bad he was fighting away the thoughts…and perhaps it was mean, but you couldn’t help but tease him just a little for it.

It started with brushing a hand against his bulge, or hungrily making out with him in the car before abruptly pulling away as he whined and tried to pull you back into his lap, or kissing his neck in a quiet hallway; which, for the record, you knew quite well would set him off like crazy. Your lips on his throat could have his knees buckling any second, hell- the mere scent of your perfume had him locking himself in a bathroom to stroke the desires away, silencing the noises he couldn’t help but make when he thought of you.

The poor boy was just burning up because of you, so close to fucking you on the family dining table no matter who walked in- okay, i mean…he cared a little about that, but still. Point is that he is so terribly desperate, to the point his brain is heavily fogged and clouded with images of you at all times, images where you adorn the prettiest lingerie as your fingertips trace along his skin, exciting him immensely as he bucks his hips into you…

That's why when he heard the family was going out for some snowmen building competitions, he made damn sure to fool his family into thinking that he was sick, and insisting that you go to the pharmacy and come back whilst his family went without you two.

You genuinely thought he was ill, therefore thought not much of it. Padme was, of course, concerned but relented after Luke argued he didn’t need his mommy to take care of him constantly and that she deserved to go enjoy herself. She laughed, going along with it as she hugged him goodbye.

Han, on the other hand, shot him a look of envy yet said nothing more. He only cared about impressing Anakin, therefore thankfully kept his mouth shut. At this point, there was no room for acting like a little shit- this was, in their horny minds, a time of war. They stood in solidarity with one another.

As soon as you got back and walked through the door, he pounced on you once you’d rid yourself of your winter layers. He pressed you hard against the wall, lips on yours and tongue locked with your own as you let out an involuntary moan at the surprise sensations. The vibrations of your aroused moans were enough to make his erection almost painful.

His grip on you was firm, hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt and feeling every inch of your flesh as he so ravenously felt you beneath his finger tips. You were like his perfect little paradise, providing everything he could ever need and love.

“Luke…luke…” You breathed out, pushing back against him. “You-youre…sick.”

He shook his head, breathing just as heavy as his pupils grew like the grinch’s heart. “I lied, star, I lied, okay? Please, please I need you so bad- will you let me, please?”

Oh, his begging was all you needed to hear. He pleads to have you melted your heart, and you just wanted to wrap him up with a pretty red bow like the cutest christmas present one could ask for. You felt your lips curve into a smile as you nodded, giving him the very answer he desired as you violently tugged you upstairs and to his childhood bedroom.

He couldn't wait a second longer as he shut the door behind himself, violently slamming shut as he immediately began to unbuckle his belt, letting his pants drop to the floor as he tugged his christmas sweater over his head, messing with the golden brown locks on his head. You loved how he had seemed so pristine one moment with his hair neat and brushed back, to messy and ravenous the very next.

His hands were on you without you getting a second more to undress yourself, almost ripping your blouse from your body as he then pushed you onto his bed, allowing giggles to slip from between your lips as he tugged the pants off from your legs.

There was so much he wanted to do to you, but so little time, it was almost unfair. He couldn’t spend all the time in the world admiring you as he usually would, needing to be quick with you instead- he loved to kiss every inch of your flesh, playing with your breasts and eating you out for hours before he could even think of being inside of you.

Shivers ran throughout your skin as you gazed at him, watching as his eyes were glossed with love and lust as he looked over you, noticing how your bra and panties matched; a bright red bow on the front of your panties that made him feel like he was about to unwrap the best christmas present ever received by man. He could feel himself throbbing, craving nothing more than to be inside you while you moan for him.

Yet you had other plans, immediately sitting up and tugging at the waistband of his boxers. You couldn’t take the sight of him like this much longer, knowing how bad he needed to be touched. His eyes said it all, and the way his mouth hung open when he looked at you. “Did I do this to you? Oh Luke…let me make it better, hm?”

“Please…” It was as if that was all he could say, all he knew as he begged and begged again. His lips were in a perfect pout, and you would have kissed them if it wasn’t for the idea of placing them somewhere more useful.

He wanted to treat you, but the feeling of you tugging the fabric that felt so tight against his cock broke him completely. He felt like a mess, and he certainly was; but a beautiful one in your eyes.

In a second his boxers were wrapped around his ankles as your hand came to grip the base of his cock, hard and ready for you as precum leaked from the rosy tip. He was sure he might just cum right there, already letting out a strangled hum of a moan the moment you touched him.

You gave him a few pumps, nice and slow as you felt the pulsing of his veins against your palm, every inch of him begging for more. You thus ran up and along to caress his tip, a whimper falling from his lips as he pouted all over again. He was so sweet, sweet and pretty as he surrendered to you.

“-Need your mouth, oh star…please. It feels so good…” His voice was shaky, needing you more than anything right now. You couldn’t believe the state that had overcome him in only a week of being denied you.

You adored how he begged for you like this, feeling so wanted and as if you held so much power over him all at once. You could feel the arousal pooling in your panties as you listened to the noises he revealed all because of you.

You licked a stripe up his length before you pressed your lips to the tip, placing a gentle kiss as he shivered under your touch. You couldn’t just let him wait any longer when he needed you so badly, feeling terrible for torturing him in a season so full of love and giving.

You wrapped your lips around his head, pursing your lips to gently suck the sensitive pink head as he whimpered, fighting off the urge to thrust into your perfect mouth. Your eyes met his own as your lashes framed them so beautifully, and he thought you to appear so delicate as you pleased him like this.

As you took more of him into the velvety warmth of your wet mouth, caressing the length of his cock with your tongue and suctioning your cheeks to suck him off better as you gave a light bop of your head, he was already so very close to drifting off into ecstasy. Every stroke of your tongue had him moaning your name, craving more as his hands slipped into your hair and began to grip either side of your head, carefully guiding you to take him further until tears brimmed your eyes due to his head thrusting against the back of your throat; his mouth hung open as unintelligible noises symphonized from within him, unravelling into a true mess of a man.

He had no time to warn you as the waves of pleasure were released upon him, causing his legs to shake rather violently as he came in your mouth. Fortunately, you already found yourself quite familiar with the telltale signs, having felt the coming of his orgasm as you happily swallowed what he gave you. You took great pride in making him feel so good, such raw pleasure- you enjoyed when he lost himself in it just a little, his grip becoming firmer in time as a desire for more was spoken through moans, knowing it was okay to do so with you.

He was panting as you pulled back, his cock still hard with arousal and need as you looked up at him with the sweetest glossy eyes. You were highly aroused yourself, almost considering grinding into the mattress beneath you as you watched him calm down from the high you’d caused. He thus dropped down next to you at the edge of the bed, looking at you with nothing but love and affection, a hand on your cheek. “I’m- i’m sorry…I didn’t…didn’t mean to do that so soon.”

You placed a hand on his thigh, caressing it as he sighed so heavenly. “Don’t be sorry when you know I like making you feel good too.”

“C’mere…” He murmured, placing his fingers upon your chin as he guided you towards him, pulling you onto his lap as you gave a light gasp at the surprise of it.

He pressed a kiss to your lips that was so sweet and perfectly gentle for the few moments in which it lasted, still breathless as he so suddenly turned the two of you around in order for you to be on your back beneath him and he above you. He grinded himself against your dripping cunt, causing you to moan aloud as his pupils grew again. “Need to be inside you, pretty star…will you let me fuck you?”

The request itself melted you into a little muddle, nodding aggressively to encourage him as a smile tugged at your lips. “I’ve wanted that since we got here.”

You both chuckled, faces pink with lust as he stopped himself from ripping your panties off, instead tracing a finger over the rim in adoration before gently prying them off your legs. It felt like he was unwrapping a perfect present, just as he suspected. He noticed how wet they were, the slick of your arousal dripping from between your thighs as he removed them.

He lined himself up between your legs, caressing your waist as he did so. He slid his tip through your slit, rubbing up against your cit as you found yourself to be the one whining this time, wanting more of him- needing more.

It wasn’t solely Luke who had been desperate. Both of you had deeply yearned for each other, already quite unable to keep your hands off of each other for more than a day as it is- and even that is impressive.

Neither one of you had time for teasing, that being quite clear as his head penetrated your entrance, causing both of you to moan in unison as he buried himself inside of you after having dreamt of it for what felt like so terribly long. His cock dragged along your walls as he drifted further inside you with ease due to the pool of arousal that he’d been the reason for.

A great fog clouded your mind as he was finally buried as far as he could go, filling you to the brim as he took this moment to relax and catch up to his very much needed breaths. He was so wound up from the past week, so eager to please both you and himself that he forgot he needed to breathe too.

You gripped the toned muscles of his upper arms, keeping him close as you pulled him flush against you. Him now acting almost as a weighted blanket. “Stay like this for a minute for me, if that's okay.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He nodded, pressing a sweet kiss to your neck as you enjoyed the feeling of him inside of you, a feeling you had missed. He could barely speak when he was revelling in the feeling of you squeezing his cock.

“I love your family but…maker…it's so hard.” As you confessed, it did not take much time for you to realise how that sounded, beginning to giggle as he did just the same.

“I mean-”

“I know, I know what you mean.” He had the cutest grin on his face as he lifted himself up just enough to press another kiss to the tip of your nose, resting his arm next to your head as he swiped a piece of hair away from your face. “I missed having you all to myself.”

He felt you clench around him as he spoke such words, holding back a grunt as he was reminded of the effect he has on you when he's being so sweet on you. “Then fuck me before they get home, hm?”

That was your signal for him to pry himself off of your chest, of which he did quite swiftly as his hands flew to your waist, holding you down firmly with care. He began to pull out, feeling the warmth of your walls around him as he pushed himself back, starting slow and steady before warming up to more.

Immediately did you throw your head back against the mattress, a muffled moan struggling to sneak past your lips as your brows furrowed together. He never took his eyes off of your face, enjoying how he affected you with just one thrust inside your cunt. You were too deprived to be less affected.

It's funny how he was supposed to be the needy one, yet here you are, impaled on his cock as desire fills your head.

Although, it does indeed affect him just as much. His previous pleads with you for pleasure are now happily satisfied by more moans of his own as his cock drifts in and out of your pussy, picking up the pace with every thrust he takes each one faster than the last. Soon enough, he finds himself snapping his hips into your own, his thighs beginning to shake as he tries his best not to cum yet; his lips are in a pout as he finds himself whimpering all over again, denying himself to make sure you get to cum before him.

You're writhing beneath him, the head of his cock pounding into you at the perfect angle as his name passes your lips over and over again. You can feel the heat build within you as your walls clench around him, looking up to catch a glimpse of him when your eyes capture him mid moan, his lips quivering and all.

“C-cum with me, honey…” You bring a hand to his face, pulling him down towards you as you connect with his lips. The kiss is sloppy and open mouthed as he nods, each of you erupting with sounds of pleasure as the floodgates of ecstasy begin to unleash itself.

At once, do your orgasms hit in unison, feeling his cum fill you up in strings as the warmth coats itself inside you. Your lips meet his neck as he lurches upwards on account of his release, still pounding his cock into you until the waves come to a calm halt.

You wrap your arms around him as he collapses over you, panting as one after such a climax. It takes a moment for either one of you to say anything, for you find yourselves content with the comforting silence, your breaths the only thing to be heard at this moment in time.

You love these moments, the intimacy together; whether that be before, after, or during. You like to listen to the change of his breaths, wondering what he may be thinking as he calms himself down from the high each of you were just on.

And he likes to do just the same, of course. He could never have this with anyone else, nothing so special as what he has with you, and those breaths of which stem from a session of love making remind him of how absolutely lucky he is to have found you.

Finally, when you do eventually speak, it's to make a joke as your hot breath hits his flesh. “One hell of a christmas present.”

He snorts, feeling his lips curve against the flesh of your neck as you say it. He only then stands up, pulling out of you as his release leaks out of you and onto the fabric of the bed. With that, he pulls you up and into his arms and onto your feet before him, holding your chin with his fingertips. “You’re already mine.”

You blush, shaking your head as you attempt to hide in his chest. Of course, only Luke could make things romantic when you have his cum dripping down your legs.

You thus chuckle a moment later, finding peace in a moment such as this once again, despite the fact that your legs may give out any second now. You pull yourself back to look at him, taking his hands in your own as you press a gentle and warm kiss to his knuckles. “I love you, Luke. Your family, just…everything.”

“I love you too.” He says back, your words remaining in the back of his mind as he pictures you as a permanent member to the Skywalker clan. “Now come on, we should get cleaned up before my parents come back- i’ll never hear the end of it if they, you know…”

You hold back from commenting on how such a sight would cause Anakin to replace all the presents with coal, knowing it would cause Luke to cringe at the very thought.

Once each of you are showered and dressed, now safely wrapped within blankets in each other's arms with hot cocoa and a steady fire, you truly do think it to be one of the best christmas’ you've ever had.

You kiss his cheek, causing him to erupt with butterflies in the same way he did when you each had your first kiss. “Merry Christmas, Luke.”

“Merry Christmas, starlight.”

#luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker smut #christmas smut #one shot #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #luke skywalker #fluff

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blindmagdalena · 1 year

Text

Say It (Ch3)

18+ 6.3k homelander x f!reader. comeplay, lite blood, mirror sex, penetrative sex, fingering, lite dacryphilia, praise kink, instances of sublander, overstim, dirty talk, angst. read ch 1 + 2 here, or on AO3. There is an undeniable primal violence to love. It can bring out the very best in us as easily as it can bring out the very worst. In the wake of Homelander's constant, oppressive brand of love, you have uncovered aspects of yourself that would have been better left buried.

You’re not sure how to describe the relationship you have with Homelander. In the beginning, you felt like an object to him. Something to squeeze and use when he needed relief. Ever since that incident in the not-so-empty hall, however, the dynamic between you has been markedly different. You practically live with him now, spending most of your days sequestered in his penthouse like Rapunzel in her tower.

Now, you’re closer to his… partner? Girlfriend? None of the words feel right for what happens between the two of you. He showers you with gifts, with love and attention. Anything you ask, he provides. In turn, he confesses things to you that would turn America upside down. He has burdened you so heavily with his sins that you feel the weight of them upon your shoulders as if they’re yours. Sometimes, when he tells you what his hands have done, you can feel the blood warm and wet on your own hands.

Tonight, you’re at his side at a private Vought evening affair. Your first public appearance. He introduces you to people as his date, but doesn’t elaborate any further, deflecting effortlessly when people ask for details. It makes you two the talk of the evening. Homelander is America’s most eligible bachelor, and you’re no one at all by comparison. So, naturally, the second Homelander leaves you alone to get some air on the large patio balcony, you’re approached.

“Hey, this seat taken?” The man asks, smiling down at you. He has his hand perched on the back of both the bar stool next to you as well as the back of your chair, his arm close enough that you can smell the spice of his cologne. It sets off alarm bells in your mind, but you know that the people here are important people. You haven’t met this man. For all you know, he’s significant to Vought in some way. You’re not just here as yourself; you’re here as Homelander’s date. What you say and do will reflect on him. You must take too long to respond, because the man clicks his tongue. “If it is–” “No, it isn’t,” you say, glancing towards the balcony doors. They’re closed. No sign of him. The evening is chilly, and only the two of you seem foolish enough to lounge outside. You look back at the man. “Go ahead,” you say, turning back to the counter overlooking the city, where you have both hands cupped around the drink you finished a few minutes ago. There’s a beat of dense silence before the man offers, “Can I treat you to a refill?” You blink, looking over at him. “It’s an open bar.”

That causes him to bark out a laugh. “Okay, touché. Can I go order you another, then?” “Is there something about me that screams ‘help, I’ve finished my drink and I’m too stupid to order another’?” You ask, frowning. Is he trying to flirt with you? He must have seen you with Homelander. The man has been showing you off on his arm for the majority of the night. He’s either oblivious, or an idiot. Regardless, you know how this could end. He needs to leave you alone. Unperturbed, the man laughs again, more surprised this time. He gives a soft whistle, pulling you from your thoughts. “Damn, you’re sharp. Most women would have just taken the drink by now,” he says, obviously trying to be playful. He throws in a wink for good measure. “C’mon, lemme order you a drink.”

It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes, remembering that you’re trying to be civil while you dissuade him from a potentially gruesome death. “They were probably afraid of saying no to you. Do you always badger women into accepting drinks from you?” The man turns in his seat, his knees nearly brushing the side of your thigh. He leans forward slightly. “Are you always this mean, or am I special?” He asks. The only thing sharper than his expensive looking suit is the line of his predatory smile. There was a time when a man like this would intimidate you, but you know something he doesn’t. There’s a much bigger shark in the water. You wonder if that shark is watching. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what could make you special in a room full of superheroes?” You ask, rapidly losing the thin veneer of politeness you intended to uphold. The man watches you in a way that’s all too familiar to you. You’re not a person to him, he hasn’t even asked your name. You’re just a conquest to be won, an opposing force to be subjugated. Looks like you’ve hit a nerve. You can see it in the way his smile frays at the edges. Men like him are so predictable.

“Is that why you’re here with mister America himself?” Ah. There it is. “Does it make you feel real special? Real above the rest of us mere mortals?” The man asks with a slow building derision dripping from each word. He never loses that smile, but it’s beginning to look more like the gesture you know it is: he’s bearing his teeth at you. It’s funny how easy it is to reduce men to this now that you’ve seen what the worst of it can look like. This man doesn’t scare you. He can’t touch you. You are above him. You lean in. “Which answer will ensure you stop talking to me?” “You can leave any time,” he says, as if you’re the one who invaded his space in the first place. “Unless you’re looking for something.” You startle when he puts his hand on your knee, sliding up to your thigh. “That boy scout not fuck you right?” The motherfucker looks so pleased with himself. How long has he been waiting to say that? You feel your skin itch, your blood turning hot beneath it. His hand feels a scalding, noxious thing on your leg, even through the fabric of your dress. You feel sick, paralyzed with the magnitude of your own anger welling up in the back of your throat like bile. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, the drums of war to come.

Like something wild, with fangs and claws, you very nearly pounce him. The only thing that stops you is a sudden weight on the back of your neck, a Titanous grip that keeps you firmly in place. Homelander’s shadow falls over you both, and by the time the man realizes it, he snatches his hand away from your leg too little too late. You have no idea how long Homelander's been watching. “Hey, babe,” he greets you, his tone falsely jovial. You’re not sure if he’s jumping to conclusions, or if he heard the exchange. He’s wearing a broad, manic kind of smile, his hand sliding from your neck to your shoulder, the weight of it a strange comfort. You reach up instinctively to cover it with your own, sinking in against his side.

Better the devil you know.

“Hey, I know you,” Homelander continues, pointing to the man sitting next to you, his eyes narrowing in recognition. “You’re Jeff, aren’t you? Yeahh, yeah, Jeffery Brimham. You’re the new CFO over at Superplastic, huh?” Jeff, whose skin has broken into a fine sheen of sweat in the time that Homelander has been speaking, stands up with a smile that is no longer predatory, but placating. Although he is taller than Homelander, his body language makes him seem so… small. The immediate change in his mannerisms grates on you like nails clawing down a chalkboard. His spine is so rigid, you’re overwhelmed by the visceral urge to snap it.

”Yes, yes I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jeff says. He has the nerve to shoot you a glance, begging you with his eyes. Please, his expression screams, his smile tense and polite while your teeth gnash behind your lips. I was only messing around. He gestures to you. “I was just getting acquainted with your lovely date here.” “You don’t say!” Homelander goes on, that smile only growing more disconcerting. Without missing a beat, he asks, “What’s her name?” Jeff’s smile falters. “Ah, I… I hadn’t had the chance to–” “Weeell, I just think if you’re acquainting yourself, you oughta ask someone’s name first, right, Jeffery?” He prompts, grin never lessening, though you think Jeff is beginning to see it for what it is. A threat. “But hey, maybe that’s just my inner boy scout talking.”

The color drains from Jeff’s face in an impressive sweep. It satisfies something in your churning gut. Instead of the dread you normally feel when Homelander begins menacing someone in your presence, you feel the white hot stab of conviction lance through you. He’s a fucking liar, and he expected to get away with it. It’s not surprising: how many women has he pulled this little power trip on? A dozen? A hundred? What would he have done to your drink if you had let him get you one? Homelander would never let that happen, but no one else has Homelander.

Only you do. Only you have his protection… and his violence.

It’s satisfying to watch Jeff be so thoroughly emasculated by Homelander’s mere presence, but ultimately, you know it’s a hollow victory. You may walk away from this encounter vindicated, but what happens to the woman after you? Jeff doesn’t seem the kind of man to have his ego gutted, and come out of it a better, more humble man. No, he’ll find someone like you, but even more vulnerable. He’ll order them a drink, he’ll frighten them, and he’ll hurt them the way you know he was imagining hurting you.

All because he wanted to take Homelander’s squeeze down a peg. Prove himself a social equal.

This man is dangerous. He doesn’t deserve an ounce of what he has.

Standing from your chair, you lean in towards Homelander, and whisper at a volume you know only he will hear, “I want you to kill him.”

The shift in Homelander’s posture is immediate, drawn tight as a bow. He looks sharply at you, both brows lifted, but it is not a look of surprise. It’s one of intrigue. He’s calling your bluff with nothing more than a stare, waiting for what he thinks to be an inevitable surge of doubt and regret in the wake of your statement.

You stare back, meeting him with nothing but clean, numb resolution. After a beat, his expression shifts from intrigue to that familiar good natured showmanship, putting his attention back on Jeff.

“Here’s the thing, Jeffery,” Homelander says suddenly, cutting off the nonsensical mixture of excuse and apology Jeff had been sputtering. He claps a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. “Cockroaches. The city’s full of ‘em, you know? And I, well, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t have time in the day to squash every little roach I see. But my girl?” He gestures to you without taking his eyes off the man. “She hates ‘em. Caaan’t fuckin stand them scuttling around. So you know what I do when my girl sees a cockroach, Jeffery?” Jeff, sweating profusely, offers a strained guess: “You squash them?” “Yeah,” Homelander says, voice warm and low in his throat. “I squash them. Goodbye, Jeffery,” he says. Before Jeff can so much as suck in a breath, Homelander closes his hand over the man’s mouth, snaps his neck, and tosses him over the edge of the balcony. By the time the body hits the ground, a broken neck will be the least of the mortician's concerns.

You throw your hands up over your mouth, stifling your gasp. Though it all happened in an instant, you witnessed every microsecond of it. The fear in his eyes, Homelander’s gloves sinking into the skin of his face, and the resounding crack of his bones. His death was instantaneous, and you saw it in his eyes.

You caused it.

Nausea sweeps through you in a wave. You gag behind your palm, turning away from the balcony.

“Sshhhhh,” Homelander hushes, catching you in his arms. “Heyy, it’s alright. Deep breaths. Hahah, look at you,” he purrs, nestling you against his chest. He rubs your back in slow, soothing sweeps. “Wow! Did not see that one coming. You must have–”

You kiss him. It’s clumsy, your teeth knock against his, but you just need him to stop talking. Your heart is racing a thousand miles a minute, and half of you wants to throw up while the other half of you is enraptured in warped exhilaration.

For the first time in your relationship, Homelander’s power truly feels like yours.

“Take me home,” you say against his lips, giving his collar an urgent tug. Your heart hammers painfully in your chest. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Homelander lifts you into his arms with surprisingly swift obedience, and stranger than that, without comment. Instead, he’s watching you with an intensity you can’t put a name to. He’s fixated on you, and even as he lifts up into the air with you, you cannot bring yourself to look away from him, either.

He flies you up, up, up, well beyond the horror of what was just committed. The wind roars in your ears and prickles your eyes, but you know it’s not the reason they water. Tears stream down your cheeks, an awful sickly feeling settling in your gut. When Homelander lands on his balcony, you catch your reflection in his glass doors.

Murderer, you think. Your tears run black with mascara, staining your face, as if to mock your grief.

What right do you have to grief?

Homelander steps inside, the glass door falling shut behind him. The wave of heat from the penthouse gives you goosebumps, a sharp contrast to the frigid night air. He sets you down, but doesn’t let you get far. He pulls you in with two gloved hands on either side of your face, pulling you in for an oddly chaste kiss. “God, that was–that was fucking incredible,” he exhales, followed by a giddy little laugh. He swipes at your tears with his thumbs. “Hey, hey, don’t cry, babe. Not for that fucking bottomfeeder. He was garbage, alright? I heard the bullshit he was feeding you, and I heard you throw it right back in his face,” he purrs, kissing you again, each press of his lips a little firmer, a little hungrier.

“He didn’t deserve to die,” you reply dully, hands pressed to his chest. You’re worried you’ll collapse without the support.

Homelander scoffs at that. “Please. Of course he did. These guys are all the same: sick little slime puppies stuffed into suits, oozing noxious snail trails everywhere they go. Trust me, that guy had it coming,” he says, kissing your forehead, your cheek. His lips brush the shell of your ear when he says, “His pocket was full of roofies.”

His words hit your system like a shock of ice.

“What?” You had a gut feeling about it, but to hear it confirmed… “He did?”

“Ohh yeah. Definitely not his first rodeo,” he says, drawing back to look at you. He’s smiling broadly, and as you take in his expression, you finally pinpoint that look in his eyes: it’s pride. Since the beginning, you have always assumed Homelander has a fascination with horrifying you, that he enjoys getting a rise out of you. You don’t expect comfort when you cry. You expect him to fuck you.

Instead, he’s openly admiring you. Brushing away your tears with gentle, persistent swipes of his gloved fingers. He kisses your forehead again. When he pulls back, you can’t help but ask him, “Why are you so happy about this?”

His brows pinch briefly, and his lips part on a slightly baffled little smile, like you’re asking him something you should already know the answer to. “Because, you silly goose,” he begins, kissing you again. “It turns out that you’re just… like… me,” he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. “And it means you’re never, ever gonna leave me.”

With that, he draws you into a tight embrace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You can feel his contented smile against your skin. Your mind is alight with a static-like buzz so intense, you swear it’s vibrating your teeth.

He’s right. With one simple sentence, you’ve finally given yourself over to his mania. The phantom blood you have felt on your hands is now a real thing. Wielding Homelander like a weapon, you killed a man, and somehow… you’ve never been more relieved. The knot in your chest slowly begins to unravel itself, and for the first time in months, you take a breath that actually fills your lungs.

There is a weight gone from your shoulders that you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying. As if you have been holding a bow drawn tight for months on end, you have released it, and your muscles can finally relax.

You don’t have to hold onto it anymore. That heavy, aching thing inside your chest that tangled around your heart and made each beat of it painful. You have feared succumbing for so long, and yet now that you have, you can relinquish the white knuckle grip you’d had on your own morality. The bubble has popped, and the blood is real.

The blood is real.

Homelander pulls back to look at you, still stroking you, soothing you as he might a frightened beast. Your breathing is sharp and irregular, and he doesn’t have to tell you that your heart is racing. It thunders in your ears. He cups your face in his hands, and you tilt your head back to meet his gaze. His own eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted. He’s watching you, palpable anticipation in his gaze, though for what you cannot say. Part of you wonders if, now that you’ve surprised him, he’s just waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You brace your hands on his chest. “Take off your clothes.” Your voice is quiet but firm.

His pupils dilate. With a twitch at the corner of his mouth, he takes his hands from your face, and slips off both of his gloves, dropping them to the ground. Your throat feels dry. You swallow, watching him peel open the flap of his suit top, revealing the fitted undershirt beneath. He shrugs out of it, and the padded bulk of it falls to the ground with a thump. One by one, he toes out of his boots, maintaining eye contact with you all the while.

His pants are next, heralded by the familiar metallic snap of his belt coming undone, followed by the hiss of his zipper. He pushes his pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, his cock bouncing free, already full and heavy. You take a step back, causing him to tilt his head curiously. You continue backwards, towards the bed, beckoning him with a finger. With that same fixated obedience, he follows you, taking his undershirt off on the way.

You’ve always thought him beautiful in the same way a forming hurricane or an encroaching thunderstorm is. You feel compelled to watch, to witness the creation of something incredible, even knowing full well it could destroy you. Perhaps the only thing more intoxicating is the notion of leashing such a disaster, and feeling it hum at your fingertips.

The back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, and you sit slowly. Your whole body is thrumming, your heartbeat pulsing between your thighs. You want him, and you have all the proof in the world that he wants you. Terrifyingly so. You think he might devour you, tear you apart to your barest threads, if not for the fact he would lose you in the process.

Homelander stops barely a foot away from you. In his eyes, you see that same prickling anticipation. Your gaze drifts down over the scape of his chest, where swirls of thick dark hair betray his natural coloring. He’s broad, but nowhere near as bulky as the suit would lead folks to believe. He’s lean, his musculature cut as cleanly as polished marble. His hips curve into the perfect V, which guides the eye directly to the heavy swell of his cock.

You’ve never taken this much time to simply look at him. Every so often, you see the muscles in his stomach flex. His hands curl in and out of fists. He’s either growing impatient, or insecure. There was a time you never would have thought a man like the Homelander could be insecure, but you know better now. You know the way his eyes turn glassy when he fucks you, and how desperate he is to hear you say that you want him. That you love him.

Glancing up at him, you see that his breaths have deepened. He licks his lips when you look at him. His brows furrow slightly with his unspoken uncertainty. He cannot read your expression. When you look beyond him, to the mirror above your heads, you’re not certain you recognize yourself at all anymore. Tears have streaked mascara down your cheeks in sharp black lines, and darkened the circles beneath your eyes. There is a sharpness to you now that you’re not sure you’ve ever seen before. It’s like looking into the eyes of a strange animal wearing your face.

“Get down on your knees,” you tell him. His nostrils flare. You see the bob of his throat as he swallows, and then slowly, he sinks down onto his knees in front of you. Less than ten minutes ago, you watched him snap a man’s neck with the flick of his wrist because you told him to. Now, he continues to move how and when you tell him to.

Have you always had this power over him, or is this new? You wonder if, like so much else in your life, you were just too afraid to even realize it, let alone seize it.

You slide forward, perched on the edge of the bed, and lift your dress slowly up over your thighs. Homelander watches, transfixed by your every movement. His breath catches watching you slip your hand into your underwear, the way your knuckles press out against the thin cotton as you curl them, teasing yourself with the tips of your fingers. You massage a slow circle through your own slick, watching the tension build in his body.

With a breathy little noise, you push your fingers inside. Homelander’s eyes flicker up briefly to meet yours, swallowed by the black of his pupils, feral and hungry. His attention quickly drops back to your hand. He tilts his head very slightly, subconsciously angling to listen to the symphony of your fingers rocking in and out of your wet pussy. His nostrils flare on a slow inhale. His eyelids flutter briefly, as if the smell of you is intoxicating him.

“What does it smell like?” You ask, emboldened by his subservience.

“Heaven,” comes his answer, the word a rasp that falls readily from his tongue. He sounds parched.

“Do you want to taste it?” You press a third finger in, rocking your hips against your hand.

“Yes,” he answers just as quickly, just as needy.

Pulling your hand out, you push off your underwear. It falls to the ground, and you bring your fingers to his lips. He looks at you just before opening his mouth, tongue curling slightly, an invitation. You press all three into his mouth, barely getting the first knuckles past his lips before he’s closing down on them, sucking them deeper into his mouth with an obscene noise. He works his tongue between them, greedily licking every bit of wetness from your fingers.

Simultaneously, you slip down off of the bed, and into his lap, straddling him on your knees. His hands move instantly to your thighs, pushing your dress back up when it threatens to cover them again. His hands are impossibly warm, fingertips sinking into the beginning swell of your ass.

Reaching between your bodies, you curl your fingers around his shaft, and hold him steady. He lets out an answering moan around your fingers, blinking his eyes open. He’s flushed, eyes glazed over with the depth of his arousal. Holding his gaze, you lower yourself until the head of his cock presses to your cunt with a wet noise. You feel his teeth graze your fingers precariously, another moan muffled by them rocking in and out of his mouth. He pants fervently through his nose, brows tightly pinched.

You sink down just enough to feel the head of his cock begin to breach you before you lift back up, and then drop back to precisely the same level. You do this again and again, tormenting him with the soaking wet kiss of your pussy, each press louder than the last. He gives a pitchy noise wrung from the back of his throat, dull fingernails biting crescent dents into your soft skin.

And then, all at once, you drop your weight down and envelop him fully, gasping at the shocking, abrupt fullness of him inside you. Homelander makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl, and a sudden sharp pain has you yanking your fingers out of his mouth, leaving a trail of blood dripping from his lips. “Ah, f-fuck, fuck, m’sorry,” he rasps, licking his lips of the crimson spill. “Sorry.”

You stare at the blood dripping down your fingers. Numbly, you wipe them on your dress. Homelander, through the haze of pleasure and desire, looks distantly confused by your response–or rather lack thereof–but he does not protest when you kiss him, licking the taste of your own blood and slick from his mouth.

Heedless of the blood you smear, you cup the sides of his face and begin to grind against him, adjusting to the aching fullness. He’s so wholly at your mercy that you can’t be bothered by the too-full hurt of your cunt or the sting of your bitten fingers. You focus instead on the way he huffs, expression knotted up like you’re the one who has wounded him.

“Fuck me,” you tell him breathlessly. Instantly, he snaps his hips up, shocking a fractured moan from you. He takes hold of your thighs and yanks you up, lifting off of his knees into the air. Your stomach flips with the feeling of weightlessness that hits before he lands back on his feet, hitching your legs around his waist. He sinks even deeper into you in this position. Homelander’s breaths are ragged, his strength barely contained while he bounces you on his cock. He doesn’t so much as break a sweat. You weigh nothing to him: the entirety of his exertion comes from trying not to break you.

“B-bed,” you tell him, unable to help but stutter with the way his cock is pounding into your cervix. He listens regardless, though he barely even stops fucking you to lay you on the bed. Beyond him, you lock eyes with yourself in the mirror above the bed. You watch yourself push your hands into his hair, staining his golden locks with your blood. You watch the muscles in his back ripple with every thrust. He’s holding you with fervency, one hand locked on your thigh while the other cradles the back of your neck.

The way he fucks you is animalistic, deep thrusts with little rhythm to them. You give his hair a sharp yank, and he lifts to meet your gaze, his own eyes bleary, clouded with lust.

“You love me?” You ask, your grip in his hair tight. You cannot hurt him, but you never wanted to. You’ve realized something much more important. You can control him.

“Yes,” he hisses through his teeth, voice thin. His thrusts grow more erratic, the thrum of his body like an engine against yours, practically vibrating with the tension of restraint trembling in his inhuman muscles. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Say it,” you moan, arching your back.

“I love you,” he whines, the threads of control he has over himself snapping one by one. “Hhh, ah, I love you, I fffucking love you,” he chokes out, fucking you with a force you know will leave you bruised. You don’t care. You need it. You deserve it.

“I love you, too,” you keen, screwing your eyes tightly shut.

With that, Homelander loses it completely, slamming in one, two, three more times before he stills, burying himself as deeply as he can into you, holding you against him in a vice grip while he spills load after load of come into you. The sheer heat of it never fails to shock you, the flood of it so hot that it scorches.

Panting against your neck, Homelander gives a handful more gentle thrusts, shuddering through the aftermath of his release. He kisses your skin, nosing his way to your ear, your jaw, peppering kisses all the way to your lips. You kiss him back, albeit weakly, before the shock of his fingers pressing on your clit wrings a gasp out of you.

“You didn’t finish,” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles, firm enough to make your breath tremble. Your cunt quivers around his spent cock, and you both moan. He knows you so thoroughly, knows precisely how to move his fingers to take you apart piece by piece. You feel overly sensitive, already tender from the force of his thrusts, and despite how good it is, you whimper. The noise is just the beginning of the sob building in your throat, tears prickling hotly at your eyes.

Homelander pulls back at the sound of it, his brows furrowing. “Hey, hey, sshhhh,” he soothes, bringing his hand up to touch your face instead. His acknowledgement does nothing but bring your mind fully to the surge of emotion, and you begin to cry in earnest. “Sshhh. Don’t cry,” he whispers, kissing your cheeks, brushing away the salty streaks of your tears with his lips.

“I killed him,” you sob, taking in a ragged breath. “Oh my god, I killed him. I killed a person,” you keen, trying to twist away from the warmth of Homelander’s lips, the mint of his breath, but he holds you firmly in place.

“He would’a done worse to you,” Homelander reasons. You know he means this as a comfort. “You, and a whole lotta girls like you,” he says, continuing to kiss away your tears. He licks his lips. “You didn’t kill a person. You put down a sick dog.” You can feel his smile when he presses his lips to your jaw, your cheek, your forehead, like he simply can’t help himself. His pleasure is palpable. “You saved people.”

He kisses your mouth, and you don’t fight him. You close your eyes against the flow of your tears, and slip both hands into his hair, grabbing a tight hold of it. You kiss him hard, craving the same relentlessness he had fucked you with, but his lips remain infuriatingly soft against yours. You buck your hips just to feel the dull ache of your bruising, but he stops you short with a hand on your hip, pins you to the bed.

“Stop punishing yourself,” he says against your lips, tenderly kissing the corner of your mouth. “I’ll give you what you deserve.”

Your breath catches at the slip of his fingers back at your clit, coaxing a reluctant, trembling moan from you. He trails kisses down your neck, down to the neckline of your dress. As he descends, his cock gently falls from inside you. You feel the absence like an ice cold wound, a painful loss that drips from you. He doesn’t leave you longing, however. Pushing your dress up over your waist, he nestles himself between your legs, and slips his fingers into your leaking pussy, pushing them in with a wet squelch.

In the mirror above, you focus intently on the back of his head between your thighs. You’re not ready to look back into the eyes of your alien reflection. Instead, you let yourself focus on the slide of his fingers, and the sparks he ignites inside you when he crooks them just so. You exhale a shaky, pleased sigh.

“That’s it,” he coos, stroking your thigh with his other hand. “Let it go, pretty girl. Gonna make you feel so fucking good, you’re not even gonna remember who you are.” You wonder if he realizes the gravity of the appeal in what he’s saying, or if it’s simply his bravado speaking. Is this arrogance, or does he recognize the look of someone who hates what they see in the mirror well enough to know exactly what to say?

All logical thought falls away at the first hot, breathy swipe of his tongue. Your hips jerk, but yet again, he keeps you pinned. His fingers rock leisurely in and out of the creamy wet mess he’s made of your cunt, scissoring slowly on every outward pull. He swirls his tongue in figure-eights on your clit before eventually sucking it between his lips. You make a noise halfway between a moan and a sob, throat tight.

You focus on the noise his fingers make fucking in and out of you, on the subtle way he hums while he devours not only you, but the dripping mess of his own come. His tongue occasionally dips down when his fingers pull back, and you can feel him licking at your cunt, lapping up his and your juices from between his fingers, insatiable for your combined taste.

“Ffffffuck,” he sighs, nuzzling at your clit, slurping and even gently nipping at you. “Taste like an angel. Like heaven.”

The devil was an angel once, you suppose. Was this corruption just as inevitable?

Homelander pushes three fingers in deep, and you reward him with a full, throaty moan.

“Good girl,” he purrs, pumping his fingers slowly and deliberately. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t’cha, sweetheart? When you do, I want you to scream my name, alright? Scream it like it’s the only one you know,” he says, his voice frayed at the edges. He sounds far too riled up for a man who only just came inside you.

He only stops speaking to drag his tongue over your clit, or suck on it. He murmurs an endless litany of praise and filth into the space between your thighs, holding you steady as you tremble. There’s a pressure building within you so intense, the muscles in your stomach contract uncontrollably. It’s too much, the slow drag of his fingers sweet as sugar against the tender, convulsing walls of your cunt. You slip your hands into his hair, and though you can feel yourself babbling, you’re completely unaware of what you’re saying. You might be begging, or for all you know, reciting the pledge of allegiance. You don’t know, you don’t care. You’re wholly consumed by the warm, wet slide of his tongue, the rumble of his words against your skin, and the sinuous pull of his fingers.

Climax hits you like an earthquake, an immeasurable force that rips up through the very core of you, and when it does, you do as you were told, and you scream Homelander’s name.

The waves of pleasure that follow are indescribable. You’re battered relentlessly by pulse after pulse of tingling sensation, goosebumps prickling over every inch of your body. Your body jumps in time with each throb, and the only thing that keeps you from curling in on yourself is Homelander’s hand pressed to your stomach, holding you down while he continues to lick leisurely at your throbbing clit.

You’re crying again, fat tears rolling down from your eyes into your hairline. It isn’t grief, at least not exclusively. You feel like you’ve been untethered from reality, and every single sensation is simply spilling out of you in every way possible. Your breaths are quivering, gasped beasts all their own. “Stop,” you manage to plead, voice hoarse. “Please, Homel-lander, please–” Homelander hushes you gently, lifting from between your legs. His eyes are dark, his mouth shiny with your slick. He strokes soothing lines up and down your inner thigh while, with his other hand, he furiously jerks his cock. “S’alright, sweetheart. Look at me. That’s it, so fuckin’ pretty. Nngh, fuck. There’s my sweet girl. So… fucking… good… for me…” With one last grunt, he comes again, painting your used up pussy with the mess of it, earning a tired little jolt out of you before you settle back down.

Sucking in a deep breath, he blows it out slowly, sinking down onto the bed next to you, slipping his arm underneath you. You feel like a ragdoll as he pulls your body against his, loose-limbed and exhausted beyond measure. His chest is warm against your cheek, the circle of his arms more of a comfort than ever before. You sniffle, eyes bleary and tired, and curl both of your arms around his middle, embracing him as tightly as your feeble strength allows.

You aren’t sure there are words enough to describe the leaden weight of your bones. Your entire body is tingling like you’ve been electrified, buzzing with static from head to toe. Your mind, however, is blissfully empty. You easily lose yourself to the cadence of Homelander’s breaths, and the gentle way he strokes your hair.

“I love you,” you whisper. It’s a far cry from the power play of earlier. Now, you seek only validation. Assurance.

Homelander hums a warm chuckle, toying with your hair. “And I love you. I always knew, you know.” “Knew what?” You ask, blinking slow and heavy, your grasp on consciousness already leaving you. “I always knew you were perfect for me.”

What happened tonight, what you did, will have to be confronted eventually, but it won’t be tonight. Instead, you close your eyes, and as you have a dozen times before, you simply nod in response, and let Homelander soothe you into a deep, deep sleep.

#I SHOULD NOT POST THIS SO LATE #but here we are can you believe it #homelander x reader #homelander x you #my writing #smut #homelander fanfiction #say it

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angel-of-the-moons · 5 months

Text

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Pet death, grief

A/N: Yeah I cried writing this btw. I love cats so much and like this shit hurted :'D

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool

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Chapter 8:

Everybody Loves Cats!

It was a full day after Puck made her miraculous reappearance, and you were delighted for her sweet fluffy company. She was such a cuddly little bed partner, and whenever the stress of the day became too much, she knew exactly what you needed.

She would roll over and show her belly, stick her tongue out at you with her eyes as large as saucers, or do… that weird thing cats do where they’re chill one second and just hurl themselves off into who-knows-what and it never failed to make you smile and cheer you up. Puck was more than content to receive chin scratches and some of her chicken-flavored dreamies that she went nuts for.

Oh, and her mouse stuffed with catnip. She adored that little thing. She would carry it around and make little noises with it (when she wasn’t sitting in the windows chirping at birds) and bat it around like she was playing her own private sports-game. Ah, cats.

They always had a way of making you feel close to your parents; your dad in particular. He always had cats around, as long as you can remember. You remember seeing his eyes light up when he would bring home a fresh little stray after he brought them home.

Your father had a particular soft spot for elderly cats. As a little girl, you once asked him, “Daddy, why don’t you ever get kittens? They like to play! Old kitties just sleep.”

You remember him smiling as he pet one of the said elderly cats, Cleo, he named her. She was a large, fluffy monstrosity who seemed to eat up snuggles like you saw squirrels eat acorns.

He gave you a look that had infinite depths of patience for your little girl questions; and chuckled. “Well, honey. You have to think of it from their point of view.”

Cleo stretched her paws up to his shoulder and bumped her head against his jaw with a tone-deaf purr.

“A lot of people abandon their older pets in favor of new ones.” He held up a finger as he educated you. “For example, say one family wanted to gift their son or daughter a cat for Christmas, but they already had one. That cat was older, couldn’t keep up, and had no teeth and the child just didn’t engage with that cat as much as they used to. So… they take their old cat to a shelter and leave them so they can get a newer or younger cat. Just to do it again when the same situation arises… or worse.”

“What could be badder than that?” You asked, already feeling sad for the metaphorical cat your dad was speaking about.

“Some people are extra mean to their pets.” Your father sighed, stroking Cleo’s fur as she turned in his lap, rubbing her whole body against his belly as he twisted his desk chair to fully face you. “Some people, who are like that, will take their kitties and just… leave them somewhere. So they get lost and can’t find their way home.”

“That’s so mean!” You whined, already feeling tears of frustration at such a mean thought. Were people really that mean to their kitties? And their puppies?

Your dad nods with a soft hum, smiling softly as Cleo leans into your face, sniffing you. Her creamy orange fur begging to be touched, you give in and sink your short, pudgy fingers into her soft fur, giggling when she made a loud “mrrp” noise and leaned into your touch.

“Someone did the same thing to Cleo, y’know?” He says to you quietly. “They were mean. They taped her up in a box and just left her by a dumpster.”

You gasped, offended; because Cleo was a good kitty! Why would anyone do that to Cleo? Yeah she was silly and didn’t play very much, but she was nice! She liked kisses, and even stranger, she liked to hop in the shower with your dad! Kitties don’t normally like water!

“But why?” You ask, your tiny voice squeaking with emotion as Cleo happily cuddled into your awkward pets.

“I don’t know. Maybe they got a new cat and didn’t want her. Or maybe the partner of somebody didn’t want her around. Or… they’re just not a nice person, honey. We just don’t know.” He sighed deeply, looking down at you with a saddened expression. He hated having to explain others’ cruelty to you. You shouldn't be so exposed to these things, but… it was better than lying to you. And that hurt him worse.

“But. It worked out in Cleo’s favor.” He smiled again at you as you leaned into his lap, tipping your head forward with a giggle as Cleo headbutted you softly, rubbing her fluffy cheek on yours.

“She’s got us, she’s got a belly full of food, and a nice cuddly home.”

“Is that why we have Chester, too?” You asked him.

Your dad nodded, looking over at the black cat who slept soundly in the windowsill, his fur almost glowing orange as the sun’s rays hit him. He wasn’t as old as Cleo, but he was getting up there in kitty years. “Yeah. We especially love black cats, okay? They’re very special because people are mean to them, too.”

You frowned up at him. “But why?”

“Some people consider them bad luck, or evil. So people hurt them… or just abandon them, like Cleo. Somebody left Chester in his carrier outside the pound. They were…” His mouth twisted as he tried to think of a way to explain what was going to happen to one of his furry companions. You were so young, you shouldn’t have to grasp the concept of death, but he had to find a way to explain it.

“They were going to put him to sleep if nobody adopted him.”

“But why? He can sleep by himselfs.” You retort.

You dad rests his hand on the top of your head, a pained smile on his face at your innocence.

“Putting an animals to sleep means…” He sighed. “They go to sleep forever. They don’t get to wake up again.”

“But don’t they get hungry? Chester always wakes up when he’s hungry…”

“They don’t feel anything anymore. They just get sleepy, fall asleep… and don’t wake up.” Cleo hopped onto your father’s desk, casually batting his mouse off the pad so she could sit on it for whatever reason as your father scooped you up and pulled you into his lap.

“But why?” You ask again.

Oh, the endless who’s, what’s, and why’s of a learning mind. He loved talking to you, but it was hard to, on this subject.

“Do you remember when your grandma passed away? When we had to put her in the casket and in the ground?” He slowly asked.

“Yeah…” You frowned, clinging to his shirt. You barely remembered it. You were little when it happened. Sure, you weren’t that much older, now. You were a whole eight years old, now. Grandma passed away when you were four.

“You remember how I told you she couldn’t come back?”

“Yeah…”

“It’s like that. Only for pets. And it’s not… it’s not natural.”

“But why do they have to do it? Why can’t they find homes?” You ask, looking up at him with watery eyes.

That almost happened to Chester? Chester was your best friend, he snuggled you to sleep every night, gave you kisses with his scratchy tongue, would sit on the bathroom counter when you took a bath… and would sometimes help you sneak snacks when you weren’t supposed to.

“Some places can’t afford to take care of an animal for a long time. Or, if the animal is very sick and won’t get better, it’s the more humane option instead of just leaving them in a cage.” He says gently, rubbing your back. “Or… if they’re old. Like Chester and Cleo.”

“I don’t like that.” You say stubbornly.

“I know, baby.” He chuckles softly. “So, now do you understand? Why we love old kitties?”

“Yeah! Just cuz they don’t do the flippies that the kittens do doesn’t make ‘em boring.” You pout. “And they don’t bite.”

“Some of them do.” Your dad reminds you with a chuckle.

You watch as Cleo licks her paws, a rather happy and content look on her face as her fluffy tail flicks around. Suddenly, another question pops into your head.

“Daddy, why do you like kitties so much?” You ask, reaching out to scratch Cleo on her chin, earning a happy noise from her.

“Well, it’s just… in the family, kiddo. My mom always had cats, my grandma always had cats… your great auntie, Ellen, she has cats.” He chuckled. “I don’t know why so much as I just do. Always have. And now, I adopt older cats so they can live their old fluffy lives in peace.”

“Yeah… okay.” You say, satisfied with that answer.

“And remember what I said, Lil’ Bit?” Your father asked, pulling a book from the edge of his desk. On the cover of this book, there were pictures of a thing that looked like an alligator, there was a kitty, and pictures of different kinds of fish on it. You can make out a few words, "Myths and Beliefs".

He flipped the pages until it opened to a page with pictures of different kinds of cats, including…

“Daddy!” You gasp, pointing at the book. “That’s a kitty mummy!”

Your father chuckles. “Yeah, the ancient Egyptians believed cats to be protectors and good luck charms. They would even dress their cats in jewelry. The reason that cat was mummified was probably because their owner wanted their pet to come with them to the afterlife.” His finger scans the page to a highlighted passage.

“Some of them believed that their gods could inhabit cats and other animals to check in on humans.”

“That’s weird.” You pout stubbornly, not understanding.

Your father, ever the patient man, laughed softly as he kissed the crown of your head. “Maybe so. But I like to think that owners loved their pets so much, that their pets are probably happy and waiting for them to meet them in the afterlife later.”

“...So will I see Cleo one day?” You asked.

The moment the words left your mouth, your father felt his heart lurch in his chest. He certainly didn’t expect that question to come out of your mouth. The weight of it almost knocked him out of his chair, if it weren't for your weight grounding him, he would have. He couldn’t even fathom being in a world without you, he didn’t dare imagine what it would be like to lose you.

But… he couldn’t leave your question unanswered.

“Yeah. One day, in a very long time. I’m sure Cleo, when she’s there, will be waiting for more scratches. Chester too. So remember, even if they pass away… you’ll see them again. It’ll just take a while.”

“What are my two favorite scholars discussing today?” Your mother’s voice rang out as she kicked the snow off her boots and set them in front of the fireplace to dry.

You slid off your dad’s lap and ran to your mom as she put her coat on the peg by the door. She turned and caught you mid-leap and spun you around, planting ice-cold kisses all over your face, leaving her bright red lipstick marks in their wake.

“So! What were you two talking about?” She hummed, walking over to your dad as she balanced you on her hip.

Your father adjusted his glasses and set the book down, leaning up to give your mother a sweet kiss.

“Oh, you know. Just about cats and the afterlife.” He grinned.

“Oh, but of course!” Your mother snorted. “A totally normal and reasonable topic for a child to learn about at eight years old.”

“Mommy!” You say, tugging her sweater impatiently.

“Yes, my love?” Your mother smiled down at you, her smeared lipstick at the corner of her lips. The rest of it was currently on you and four father’s faces and lips.

“Did you know that ‘gyptians mummied kitties?” You say, bouncing as you explained. “Oh! And–and that they gave ‘em fancy necklaces?”

“Why, yes. I did know about that. But why don’t you give me a refresher course while your dad and I start making dinner?” She hummed.

“Okay!” You chirped, hopping back down onto the floor, stopping to pet Chester as he slowly sidled up next to you, his sleek black tail wrapping around your small leg as he looked up at you, giving you a very slow blink.

“And daddy said I can see Chester and Cleo one day in the aff–after–afterlife, too!” You stumble the words out innocently as Chester walks with you into the kitchen.

“Oh… did he, now.” Your mother said, squinting as she slowly turned her head to look at your father.

You didn’t hear the rough swallow he made, but he definitely flushed and tugged at his shirt collar awkwardly.

“Ah.. well… you see...”

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You sighed nostalgically as the memory finished playing out. You gently held the book in your hands as you remembered that day. It was the very same book your father had read to you that day. Newer, and less-used of course, but it was still the same one.

God, you remembered how sad you were when Cleo died. You were only ten years old when she passed. You’d come home from school to your dad, his eyes red and puffy, holding onto you tight as your mother spoke to you softly, telling you that Cleo had “left”. You knew what that meant. You remember telling your dad what he told you, about seeing them again one day, and that seemed to make him smile at last.

But when Chester died? Oh, how that broke your heart. You had just turned sixteen, three days after your birthday, to be precise. You were sitting in your bed, legs crossed as you read your textbooks and jotted down notes for your schoolwork.

You didn’t think twice when Chester curled up next to you, purring as he closed his eyes.

You were so engrossed in your work, that you didn’t notice when he stopped purring. You only realized something was amiss when you reached down to pet him, only to find him still. Deathly still... but still warm.

You panicked and tried to wake him up, before shouting for your parents. Nothing could have been done. Chester decided to spend his last breaths snuggling you in your bed, his favorite cuddle spot. He wanted you to know that he loved you that much.

You were beside yourself for months. Until one day, on your walk home, you found a little cat. Small, but not a kitten; she was very malnourished and flea-infested. Solid black, just like Chester.

She was snuggled up tight against an old mailbox, shivering and wet from the rain, meowing in such a heartbreaking tone. You scooped her up on instinct and whisked her home.

You’d named her Nibbles. On account that she liked to nibble on people’s shoelaces.

You had Nibbles for several more years, until she passed away from feline leukemia, just before you moved to London. You loved her well, and she was with you when you lost your parents, comforting you when you were at your lowest.

You swallowed the lump in your chest and sucked in a breath as you put the book back into place on the shelf. You didn’t even notice your eyes were filling with tears until your vision blurred, and when you blinked, fat tears rolled down your cheeks.

Puck sat at your feet, a paw on your shoe and meowed up at you questioningly.

You sniffed hard and scooped up the furry little critter, nuzzling into her fur as you tried to push the feelings of grief away.

Puck leaned up and licked your salty tears, her tongue scraping your skin in a comforting way as she purred unusually loudly.

It takes a few minutes and you finally smile, kissing Puck on her tiny furry forehead. “I needed that. Thanks, you fluffy little terrorist.”

Puck purred happily and hopped out of your arms, satisfied at her job well-done and scampered off to the front of the store as the front door’s bell rang.

You take a deep breath and make sure your face is clean of any evidence of your tears and headed up front to see a young man, looking around curiously.

“Hi! Welcome to Here Today Books!” You chirp, “What can I help you with, today?”

“Um…” He says awkwardly. “I’m looking for a book.”

You can’t help but chuckle, hands on your hips. “That checks out!” You joke playfully.

“Oh! I… right.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. Aw, was he blushing? “I’m… I’m studying and, uhm…”

“Well, I have plenty of textbooks on a myriad of subjects. You looking for anything in particular?” You ask him politely.

He nods twice, “Yeah, um. It’s… for a history course. My professor told us to pick a civilization to write an essay on. And, it’s kind of hard to find the books on the subject I need because of the topics…”

You smile politely and wait for him to finish. Something about this young man told you he was painfully shy, and didn’t like much social interaction. Not unlike Marc, but he carried himself with a few degrees more of anxiety and social awkwardness than Steven did.

“Er…” He floundered.

“Let me guess… it’s ancient Egypt, isn’t it?” You grin.

“H-How’d you know?” He said, blinking at you.

“I have a friend who’s obsessed with it. I know quite a bit about it, myself. Is there a specific topic in particular you want to start with?”

He nods eagerly, “Yeah! Uh, I wouldn’t mind stuff on their myths, legends, and religions, if you got them?”

“Sure! I’ll just be a minute. Go on ahead and wait up front by the counter, for me.” You hum, turning to disappear into the depths of your shop.

He didn’t go stand by the counter, he just awkwardly stared at Puck, who looked at him from her cozy sweater-nest, looking at him through slitted pupils as the tip of her tail thrashed.

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You came back to see the man looking through random clearance books and upon noticing you, he smiled widely.

“Are those it?” He asked, gesturing to the two books in your arms.

“Yep!” You chirp, walking behind the counter. “Will these work?”

He slowly walks up to the counter, eyeing Puck nervously. “Uh–yeah. Definitely.”

“Perfect… that’ll be… ten pounds.” You say, typing it all in on the register.

The young man fishes out the notes and all too quickly shoves them into your waiting hand. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Puck, whose fur was beginning to bristle as she stared at the man.

“Okie dokie. Come back anytime. I got plenty of books like this just gathering dust.” You chuckle, putting his “new” books into a canvas bag and handing it over to him.

His sleeve rolled up and you noticed a mark on his forearm. It was strange, but not the strangest you’ve ever seen. It looked almost like a–

Your thoughts were interrupted when Puck lunged at him, hissing and spitting, swiping her paws at him with claws fully out and open, her tail puffed out and stiff.

You gasp in shock. “Puck! Bad girl!”

You panic; trying to reach for Puck as the man frantically pulls away, now sporting a red scratch to the back of his hand.

“I’m so sorry! She’s not normally… She never does this!” You apologize profusely, afraid of the ramifications a complaint could bring should he report this little “incident”. Sure, it was minor, but if he was the type to make a big something out of nothing…

“It–It’s okay.” He says quickly, stepping away. “Cats don’t normally l-like me, for some reason…”

Puck thrashed in your arms, leaving small welts in your arms as she growled lowly in her little chest, staring at the man, her usually sweet and docile eyes full of malice.

“Puck!” You wince, trying to calm her down. “Stop! What’s gotten into you?”

The man scurries out of your shop finally, and Puck starts to calm down in your arms.

It takes a few minutes until the black ball of rage begins to settle, and you set her back onto the counter.

Her ears pin back and her eyes get large as she looks up at you, seemingly full of guilt at what she’d unintentionally done to you.

Her little nose touches the scratches she left on your arms and you sigh; “They’re just scratches, Puck… I know you didn’t mean it.”

You rub her chin to help ease her poor feelings at scratching her human. “Okay, okay… I forgive you. But no dreamies for you tonight, missy!”

Puck leaps off the counter, slinking off into the shadows of your shop and you're left with throbbing injuries to tend to with your tiny first-aid kit. You just couldn’t figure out why Puck was so upset about that guy. He mentioned cats didn’t like him, but why? You’ve never met a cat that didn’t like you.

What was his deal?

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Elsewhere, in their flat, Marc winced and dropped his glass of water, the ceramic shattering on the floor, making Layla jump.

“Gah! Marc! What’s wrong?” She asked him, carefully avoiding the broken glass as she moved closer.

“My fucking…” He groaned, looking down at his arms. He was wearing a simple cotton t-shirt today, so it left his thick forearms fully visible. “My arms! I don’t know!”

And Layla certainly saw the thin red marks up and down his arms. She clamped her jaw shut.

Oh, she knew all right. He just wasn’t ready to know.

Not yet, as Taweret told her.

Not yet.

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Chapter 9: Link

#a rose under the moon #moon knight #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #soulmate au #layla el faouly

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