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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)

love ur works, hal ❤

A Good Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV

A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3

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

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details.

Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost.

A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch.

The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter.

Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow.

Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace.

His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better.

It had been a long few months.

Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days.

Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.

There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth.

Hell, he really must be tired.

“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough.

A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home.

He was just Simon to you.

Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks.

Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.

As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before.

“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face.

Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.

How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly?

Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful.

But he was a stiff man; a stoic one.

He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.”

Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow.

Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech.

“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?”

You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office.

There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer.

All of it is uneventful.

He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three.

One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.

Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.

Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.”

The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top.

‘Save for Simon.’

The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?

He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly.

With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet.

The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine.

“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen.

Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.

“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”

Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.

“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.”

“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.”

Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home.

He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”

She’s warm.

His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily.

“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second.

“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.”

A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper.

By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points.

Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.

Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened.

The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.

—

When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.

This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.

“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?”

The lie comes easily.

“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression.

“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…”

He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception.

Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two.

It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it.

“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision.

“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?”

“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?”

“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”

You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe?

Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul.

You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.

The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away.

Coated in fear and lies.

Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up.

You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt.

Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life.

With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce

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kaisers-house-of-desires · 10 months

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Can I request korekiyo shinguji x male reader that acts like riddle rosehearts?

Can the kinks be toy use and bondage ♡´･ᴗ･`♡?

Sorry I don't really have a story plot but m!reader is the bottom, and they are still part of the killing game

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

Welcome, patron! Thank you for being the first request in Kaiser’s House of Desires! No need to worry of a plot, just enjoy yourself as I deliver your request~

Title: Taming the Prince

Characters: Top!Korekiyo Shinguji x Bottom!m!reader

Contains: Toy usage(vibrator, cock ring, sybian), bondage, begging, slight degradation, some praise, orgasm denial, despair DR

Fandom: Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

“Eyes up here.”

It was almost difficult to hear his voice over the sound of the machine he had on. Korekiyo stood above you, holding a remote that was wired to the device you straddled on, the machine vibrating at such speeds, stimulating the toy inside of you that it nearly sent you doubling over with bliss. It would have been an easier position to stay in anyway had your arms been free, but instead, the Anthropologist had them comfortably tied back, making it, to your (dis)pleasure, easier to remain upright on the toy.

Your back arched back some as he upped the speed for a moment, a way to tease you as let out a small gasp between pleasured breaths. You composed yourself, glaring up at him.

“I-I hope you’re enjoying yourself!” you spat. Despite his mask, you could see that his eyes curved in such a shit-eating-grin way.

“Oh, I don’t think you should be speaking like that…” Korekiyo knelt down, meeting your trembling height. “I mean look at you…Hips rocking, cock twitching…” Extending a hand, one of Korekiyo’s gloved fingers slowly traced down along your shaft, glossing over the small egg vibrator toy that was delicately taped into position before stopping at the cock ring that decorated the base of your shaft and kept you from expelling any seed without his order. “Do not think I’m unaware of your actions, my sweet prince. You desire this as much as I do.”

“T-The hell are you going—ah~—o-on about?”

You could see his mask wrinkle from his lips smirking underneath. “I’ve heard you at night. As I walk by your dorm, you may think you’re quiet, yet I still heard the soft uttering of your desire, your desire to let loose all inhibitions and control and have someone ravish you to no end~”

You tried to recall what exactly he was talking about, but soon you remembered the nights that the stress overtook you. After all, being in a killing game was no relaxing feat; knowing you could die at any point, how you had to be wary around everyone, peek around every corner. This wasn’t living, and you found out that the fantasy of someone topping you was the best way to deal with that stress when you got your hands on a simple dildo you got from the casino, which you tried not to question.

“Your gentle begging for whatever you were using to go harder was so adorable~ How could I pass by the opportunity to assist someone knowing my knowledge of pleasure?” Sparing you a moment, he turned the machine off, earning a whine from you as you panted softly.

“So…y-you wait around like some creep…”

“Quite the opposite…” As he spoke, Korekiyo fished around in his pocket after putting the sybian’s controller in one hand. “I wait for needy little sluts like you to come to me asking for assistance~”

Before you could give a snarky response back, a button was clicked and vibrations emitted from the egg toy on your cock, earning Korekiyo a sweet moan from you as you ground your hips against the sybian’s insert.

Yes you came to him for help, but you had written it on a note, too stubborn(or embarrassed) to say it into words. That’s how you ended up here after all, but you were too blissed out to full remember that by this point.

“K-Korekiyo…~! Stop this…d-device at once! I swear I’ll have your he—a-ahh~!!”

The sybian activated at high speeds before you could finish your threat, immediately silencing you. Your mind nearly went blank trying to process both toys at once, but your body would take care of that for you, rocking your hips to gain the friction of the insert within you while your cock twitched from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Oh none of that now, dear. Why don’t you just be a good boy and moan for me. Maybe even beg me to cum while you’re at it. Unless you still want to be a brat~”

Waves of ecstasy clouded any form of thought, your moans soon being the only thing you could hear amongst all the other sounds. This was pure bliss, a fantasy come true, and with that in mind you were quick to crumble.

“K-Korekiyo…~ K-Kiyo~!!”

If you could bounce along this thing you would, wishing you could feel the stretching of something moving deep within you and using that pretty asshole of yours.

“Yes, dear? What is it~?”

“W-Wanna cum…p-please! P-Please let me cum!”

“Oh…the prince wants to cum…how pathetic~” He first turned the sybian up before following through with the egg, both devices loudly vibrating into the air and causing you to shriek from the overwhelming stimulation. “After your behavior, maybe you should just sit there and think about what you’ve done…”

“N-No!!” You begged, rapidly shaking your head. Your eyes were wide, wet with tears pricking the corners as you panted heavily. “P-Please! I’m—I’m sorry, Kiyo! P-Please just let me cum! I-I’ll behave I promise!”

Without a word, Korekiyo knelt down to the cock ring, his hand hovering over the object as he chuckled from your pathetic whimpering and silent begging. He had to first admire your trembling form before unclasping the ring, warmth rushing from your shaft to your body as you released your seed with a silent scream. Your back arched back to a concerning degree, but luckily for you, that’s where Korekiyo moved to to avoid being dirtied by your release, holding you steady to ride out your high before slowly turning off the machines.

He chuckled lowly as your body went slack, chest shallowly rising as you attempted to catch your breath. Through his mask, he kissed your forehead, his thumb running over your cheek, relishing the way your spent body appeared after the session.

“That’s my good boy~”

#kaisers house of desires #danganronpa #danganronpa korekiyo #drv3 korekiyo #korekiyo shinguji #korekiyo shinguuji x reader #korekiyo x reader #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #x male smut #top Korekiyo shinguji #bottom male reader

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replaytech · 5 days

Text

just let me help you | tech x reader

warnings: small injury

(shoutout to my sister for this fic idea☝🏻)

“Kriff”, was not the first irritated word to leave techs mouth.

He had been working on fixing a part of the marauders control panel for the last 20 minutes.

All of his efforts, however, are to no avail.

A pair of footsteps walks up behind him and sighs, “Tech, I’m calling in someone from the hangar”, hunter says.

Tech just adjusts his goggles and continues tinkering with the controls, “That is unnecessary, I can fix it.”

Hunter knows full well that tech is capable of fixing just about anything, but they were on a serious time crunch to get off of this planet.

You’re making some minor adjustments to one of your astromecs when a tall, dark haired man with a face tattoo walks up to you.

“Are you a mechanic?”

The hand that’s holding a wrench stills as you look down at your dusty coveralls and back at him with a “What does it look like?” look.

He laughs lightly, “Were kind of in a hurry and could use some help, we can’t pay much, but it would be really appreciated.”

You stand up, dust off your legs and push your glasses farther up your nose, “Payment isn’t needed, lead the way.”

You walk into the cockpit of their ship and see a man looking very frustratedly at some loose wires, “I am getting there, hunter.”

“I’ve never seen an omicron class attack shuttle with these modifications before.”

He stops what he’s doing immediately and turns around, “Pardon me, I thought you were my brother.”

The way he’s looking at you makes your face turn slightly pink, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in or anything.”

He adjusts his goggles, “Who are you, exactly?”

You fiddle with your eyewear as well and tell him your name, “I’m a mechanic here at the hangar, your brother sent me.”

He looks at you silently for a second before swallowing and facing away from you, “I am Tech. However, I can manage this, you may go back to your duties around the hangar.”

You cross your arms and tilt your head, “Your brother said that you’ve been working on it for a while, can I just take a look?”

He glances at you sideways and moves over slightly, “I suppose a second opinion wouldn’t be a negative thing.”

You smile softly and make your way over to the control panel, looking at every single detail and focusing on each piece.

Tech, of course, notices how entranced you seem to be by the technology of the ship and can’t help but stare at you.

The way your glasses fall down your nose slightly, the way your eyebrows slightly furrow, the way you bite your bottom lip, he takes note of it all. Your focus might be on the controls, but techs focus is all on you.

Tech blindly reaches for some random wires, seeing how his gaze can’t be torn away from your face, and you notice, “Wait, don’t put those toget-“, your voice cuts off.

You warn him a little too late, and he brings a wire down onto another and shocks his fingers.

He lets out a startled sound and backs away, “Are you alright?”

He looks at you and the way that you’re worriedly checking his hand, “I, I think I will manage.”

You look up at him with a quirked brow, “It would kill you to ask for help, wouldn’t it?”

You swear he’s slightly blushing, “I suppose it wouldn’t cause extensive damage to my health.”

A grin breaks out onto your face as you both sit in chairs opposite from each other. You pull out a small med kit from your satchel.

You hold his hand and slowly peel off his glove. You start to feel almost nervous. All you’re doing is taking off his glove but it feels so… close.

You gently inspect his fingers, “It’s not too bad, you just got a first degree burn on your pointer finger and thumb.”

You look up to see him looking at you silently with his lips parted, but after a second or two, he clears his throat, “That’s the conclusion I came to as well.”

As you wrap his fingers in bacta patches and dry wraps, you speak up, “So, are you and your brothers soldiers?”, you gesture to his armor.

“My brothers and I are enhanced clones from kamino. I suppose we are technically still soldiers, just for a different cause.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Enhanced? I’ve heard of clones because of the war, but I never knew there were enhanced ones.”

Tech adjusts his goggles, “Yes, each of my brothers has an enhanced trait. Hunter can track and sense any electromagnetic frequency on the planet, crosshairs marksmanship is unlike any you will ever see, wrecker has the strength of approximately 100 regular clones and I have what would be referred to as a brilliant mind.”

You finish bandaging his fingers but his hand stays loosely on top of yours, “I find that men with the highest intelligence quotients tend to be the most engaging and endearing.”

He looks a little flushed and maybe even taken aback, but recovers quickly, “That is one way to characterize those with a mind similar to mine.”

You look at him for a few seconds before awkwardly clearing your throat, “Well, we should probably get back to fixing up your ship. Try not to connect two opposing wires this time around.”

You once again feel nervous around the brilliant clone. The way he looks at you, it is almost as if he is seeing the beautiful blue lakes of Naboo for the first time.

He stands next to you as you resume inspecting the controls, “Technically, it was not my fault.”

You snort, “Is that so?”

“Yes. I am not used to being in the company of someone who has a mind like mine, it is very distracting. The amount of beauty you have in your face alone does not help my situation. Neither does the fact that every other part of you is equally radiant and stunning.”

You nearly choke. Tech thought you were beautiful?

Somehow, your face becomes more blushed, “I don’t know about my beauty being as much as you say”, you awkwardly laugh.

Tech glances over at you, “Those who do not acknowledge your beauty simply do not have the brain capacity to realize how exquisite you really are.”

You bite your lip to hide your smile, “You’re one to talk. I blush everytime you look me in the eye.”

He’s about to say something else but he catches the look of confusion on your face, “Is everything alright?”

You point to a switch below the controls, “Your power switch is turned off. Tech, there’s nothing wrong with your controls”, you can’t help but laugh.

You turn the switch on and the panel comes to life, “I did not realize that somebody turned off the switch.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you turn around to see a tall man with a tattoo over his eye and a toothpick in his mouth, one of his brothers, probably.

He points his toothpick at tech, “I had to get her here somehow. You’re welcome”, he walks away.

You grin and cross your arms, “So your ship was fine this whole time?”

“That is correct, but I was not aware of that.”

“And why would your brothers bring me here?”

“Perhaps they noticed my gaze linger on you for longer than usual when we first arrived.”

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tunastime · 6 months

Text

hehe hi myke, thanks for sending this in my dms <3 here's your song! it's quelle suprise, which I originally read the lyrics wrong in because I don't speak french, but I think now after reading it. rarrrg. anyway! this is just such a bop, so not a lot of replays! I found it late in the year (and I know I sent it to you already lol)

(536 words)

There is something very wrong with Etho.

Or maybe there isn’t. Who’s Bdubs to know every thought inside his head, apparently? Who’s Bdubs to think he understands him? Bdubs is a red life now. The sludge of trigger fingers and loose cannons and live-wires all mingles with blood, hot and red, in his veins. It was always red, always hot, heightened now, to a dizzying sting. He can hear it thump around his head when he listens closely, hear it chanting for more.

He’s starting to piece things together that he thinks maybe he shouldn’t. It’s hard. Bdubs sits on his hands, screwing up his face as he squeezes himself into a small space of his upside-down base. It’s hard trying to figure this out. What Etho's thinking. His heart feels like a creature begging to flee from his chest, slamming against the front half of his ribcage like it might break apart and let it out into the world. At the same time, that thumping hurts, because there’s an awful squeeze in his chest. He’s not been able to breathe right for a while. Probably since the moment Etho laughed at him before he went to kill that dragon.

That’s funny though, isn’t it? Etho promises things so easily, but when it comes time to deliver he’s always finding shortcuts. Like how he didn’t agree when Bdubs asked how much he would give for him? There was no equal half, was there?

Bdubs was making a mistake, wasn’t he? Wasn’t that the worst part?

Well maybe he wasn’t! Maybe Etho was more afraid of Cleo than he was Bdubs—of course he would side with someone who could help him the most. Certainly not dead weight. Which Bdubs assumed he was again. Though Joel and Martyn, and Mumbo when he was there, and Pearl even, were more than willing to help out with whatever needed to be done. And that was easy for them. So why couldn’t Etho say anything? Why couldn’t he just lie to him? What kind of game was Bdubs playing at, that Etho felt so confident that he would never have a task that asked him to twist the knife already in Bdubs’ chest? He’s sorry. He’s sorry. Etho didn’t ask him to put the knife there. He took it from Etho’s hands and put it in his chest and he thought maybe that would make things better, rather than worse.

It isn’t Etho’s fault. Etho’s playing his game. Bdubs knows that. So he’s not mad at him—well, he won’t be mad at him when he leaves the game and Etho crawls his way into his lap and presses his face to the juncture of his neck and says he’s sorry. Because he’s always sorry. Bdubs wonders if—no. No. Bdubs swallows down the taste in the back of his throat. He’s done wondering. And he’s done letting Etho’s excuses sit heavy in his chest like they might be armor instead of eating him alive.

He stands up, fishing the pocket watch from his pocket.

It’s still early. The cracked surface reflects back only a portion of his face.

For now, the clock stays intact. But Bdubs can imagine the satisfying crunch it might make when his heel grinds against it.

(spotify wrapped ask meme)

#fics #text #spotify wrapped ask meme #IM FINE ABOUT THIS ONE. UM. IM OKAY WITH IT #ITS FINE GUYS ITS ALL FINE THIS GOT AWAY FROM ME

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alltheirdamn · 4 months

Text

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 8

Summary: The truth fucking hurts. Warnings: heavy mentions of past sexual assault, unprotected piv sex, mando talks you through it, soft!mando, a smattering of angst Word Count: 6k A/N: This is a heavier chapter, so pls be advised with the warnings. Also, if you care, Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain is angel girls song ://

After hours of restless sleep, you found yourself in front of the carbonite chamber, cursing at the freezer valve as it hung loose on the pipe. Putting in a new valve shouldn’t be this hard, but it proved to be the opposite. No matter how many times you had twisted it with the wrench, it still wouldn’t budge, the pipe stripping away with each twist. Fuck, you were beyond agitated. Usually little tasks like this wouldn’t get you so worked up, but having no solution was starting to seriously ruin your mood.

And after last night, Mando had decided to hole away in the cockpit to work on the nav panel again.

He hadn’t brought up the incident in the cockpit; instead, he left it behind and focused on the present. You were grateful for it. Spending the long hours of the night wrapped up in his scent and warmth was enough of an escape from those memories that continued to poison your mind. He was patient enough to wait for you to talk to him, but you weren’t sure what to say.

I was a slave.

I was raped.

My body doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

How could you form and speak those words out loud without completely crumbling? Acknowledging the past meant it was real, and you spent years hoping it was all just a nightmare you’d wake up from. The more distractions you had, the easier it was to try and forget. Kesi had ruined every good part of yourself, and for Mando to say you were an angel was beyond comprehension. If only he knew of the things you had endured. You were a broken mess with sharp edges. Anger was the only emotion keeping you together; it fueled the pain inside of you, feeding into it like a stray animal scouring for food. That pain hungered for rage, hungered for a taste of defiance.

Anger was better than vulnerability.

But it was unfair to Mando for what you were doing. He had given you parts of himself that he’d held so close, yet you couldn’t even do the same. You were a hypocrite and so undeserving. The thought of running had floated through your mind during the night, even as he held you to his body. Leaving him behind would kill you, but would it be for the best? He’d be safer without you around, and you’d be void of all chances of attachment. Growing close meant caring about something—about someone—and you couldn’t fathom the thought of losing that again.

With your thoughts running rampant and your patience wearing thin, you threw the tools to the ground and sulked up the ladder to find Mando. He didn’t acknowledge you as you threw yourself into the chair beside him, nor did he acknowledge the scowl etched onto your face. Your hands were covered with grease, and you reeked of smoke. You were beyond frustrated.

“How am I supposed to fix the valve if I can’t strip the old you from the pipe?” You grumbled, folding your arms over your chest.

Mando gave a small grunt in response, a pair of pliers in his hands as he worked through the wiring.

“Well?” You grumbled.

“Have you considered breaking the old valve to get it off?” Mando offered.

“And risk puncturing the pipe? Sure, if you want the entire Crest to go up in flames.”

“It won’t go up in flames,” he said. “Try snapping the metal with a compressor. It should only break the valve, not the pipe.”

“I thought about that already, Mando. It won’t work. Plus, your compressor isn’t big enough to grip onto the metal.”

Mando set the pliers down, turning his chair to face you completely. His helmet ran over your body, most likely making a mental note of the frustration painting over every inch of your body. You were supposed to be good at fixing things, but right now, you felt useless.

“We can go back into the village and get a new one,” he suggested. “Something bigger if it means you can get it fixed. How long till the function stops working on the chamber?”

You exhaled, rubbing the skin between your brows to relieve the oncoming headache. “A few days, maybe.”

“That shop should have something to help. We can go.”

You shook your head, nodding towards the nav panel. It still needed so much work till it was functioning again; you couldn’t pull Mando away.

“I’ll go. It’s safe here, and I know where the shop is.”

Mando hesitated with a response, no doubt weighing the risks of you going alone. You knew where to go, and you knew to remain hidden in plain sight; you had done that for months before getting caught.

“Take your hood, and wear the comlink,” he instructed. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes, I’ll find you.”

I’ll find you.

It almost left his lips like a threat, an invitation for consequence if you didn’t obey. Your core warmed at the sound of it the more you tossed the words over in your head. Now was no time to be greedy for his cock, or another round of hate sex like yesterday. Even though you really, really, fucking loved it. Pushing his buttons was becoming one of your best skills, and the more you did it, the more you got out of him. He was less broody and quiet when you angered him, and it felt nice knowing he was real under all that beskar and gruffness.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said, giving him a playful smile.

“Behave,” he warned, leaning towards you.

You gave him a long eye roll, pushing off the chair and darting down the ladder before he could catch you.

The village was quiet earlier in the morning, the sunlight still peeking through the endless expanse of trees beyond the huts and shops. There weren’t any kids running about either, and you wondered if they were all tucked away, still sleeping. Drawing up your hood, you ventured further into the little market square, heading toward the shop you had gone into yesterday. Though it was early, the door was open, and you spotted the man and woman talking behind the counter. In your presence, they both turned with welcoming smiles.

“You’re back!” The woman exclaimed, rounding the counter to greet you. “Was the valve we chose not correct?”

“I haven’t managed to test it yet. The old one is crusted onto the pipe pretty hard, and I’m looking for a compressor to strip it off,” you explained.

The man joined his wife, nodding along as you explained the issue. He ushered you to the wall of tools towards the eastern wall of the shop, pointing at a row of compressors.

“We have a few different options, depending on the valve size. I assume the one you purchased yesterday is the same as the old one?”

“Yes,” you smiled.

He grabbed one of the compressors off the wall and handed it to you to inspect. It was about an inch larger than Mando's, which would work perfectly.

“I’ll take it,” you decided, following him to the counter.

You gave him a few credits in exchange for the compressor, and all the way, he continued talking.

“Did you need help stripping the old valve? I’m more than happy to help!”

“No, I’m okay. I used to work in a junkyard, so I’m pretty handy,” you chuckled.

He gave you a wide-eyed look, clearly impressed that you knew your way around mechanics. It was refreshing to feel seen by someone and know your knowledge was reciprocated.

“A young girl like you with that skill is impressive,” he noted.

“I can thank my parents for that,” you shrugged.

“I’m sure they are very proud of you.”

And there it was… the dagger right to your chest. You hoped whenever they were, you were making them proud. You failed them in life, but maybe in death, they could see you were trying. You were trying so fucking hard.

You couldn’t form words to express your thanks to him, so you pocketed the compressor and left without another glance back.

The village had started to slowly wake up as you wandered out of the shop, a few families roaming through the market for breakfast and other essentials. You pulled the hood tighter over your eyes, hoping to escape back to the Crest without any attention. You didn’t need any eyes on you when you were working so hard to stay hidden. Even if Mando claimed this planet was safe, that fear of being caught continued to nag you.

You were nearly back to the Crest when a young girl bummed into you, a basket full of fruits on her arm.

“I’m so sorry!” She cried, curling her tiny fist around the handle.

“It’s okay,” you assured her, steering past her body.

“Winta!” you heard a voice call out. “You need to be more careful!”

The mother came into view, running towards the girl—Winta—with an apologetic expression. But you recognized that face, and it chilled your blood. Omera. The woman you had seen talking to Mando yesterday, the woman responsible for all the broken pieces inside of him that he laid out before you. Maker, you hoped your stare was enough to slice through her heart. The scowl on your face was enough to stop her in her tracks, her expression growing confused as you continued to stare.

“I’m sorry about my daughter,” she began, hugging Winta close to her front. “She’s always in her own little world.”

You gave her a stiff nod, not trusting your words as they formed venom on your tongue.

“I haven’t seen you before,” she went on. “Are you traveling through?”

“Something like that,” you bit out.

“If you come back later in the day, we have a full market,” she offered. “It’s—.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

Her welcoming smile slid into a frown, and you noted how simple her features were. She wasn’t memorable, looks-wise, but her kindness was lethal, and you could understand how easily Mando fell into her trap.

“I’m just being hospitable,” she sighed. “We love newcomers here.”

“Look, Omera,” her name off your tongue sent her eyes wide. “I really don’t give a fuck about your hospitality, so please, keep to yourself and leave me alone.”

She bent down to Winta, smoothing over her hair and giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Why don’t you find your friends?” She whispered to her.

Once Winta was far enough away, Omera looked at you with narrow eyes. You shifted your weight to match hers, your hand flexing around the compressor.

“You’re here with Mando.”

“I am,” you frowned. “Is that an issue with you?”

“I have no ill wishes about Mando. I hope you treat him kinder than you’ve treated me.”

Fuck. Her.

You stepped forward, your lips curled up, ready to shoot venomous words in her face. How dare she say that? She doesn’t know Mando anymore; she doesn’t get the privilege of knowing him. Fuck her for weaponizing the past.

“Omera,” came a deep, modulated voice.

You whipped your head around to see Mando walking over, his steps quiet and deadly. He did say he’d find you, and look what you fucking got yourself into.

“Have I done something wrong?” She batted her eyelashes at Mando, blissfully dismissive of you beside him.

“C’mon,” he said your name. “Let’s go.”

“Mando,” Omera pleaded.

He held up a firm hand, taking your arm with the other to pull you away. But Omera stood strong against you both, waiting to give a litany of bullshit, no doubt.

“I’m only trying to be kind,” she sighed. “To both of you.”

“We don’t need your kindness,” you snapped.

Mando tugged on your arm harder, trying to steer you away. You were enraged for Mando, enraged that a woman this simple could have such an effect on him—and worse, on you. Omera held her hands in protest, surrendering to you and your anger.

“We’re leaving,” Mando said firmly to you and Omera.

“I wish you would stay. I have so much to explain,” Omera’s lower lip trembled.

“There’s nothing to explain,” you interjected. “You had your chance once upon a time, and now that time is up. Enjoy your little life with your daughter, and forget us.”

Mando said your name in a clipped tone, and though you knew you had probably overstepped, your anger was slowly growing out of control. You needed to leave before you truly dug yourself a hole. This wasn’t your battle, but it wasn’t Mando’s either. She wasn’t worth a fight.

“I’m ready to go,” you grumbled, escaping Mando’s hold and striding back toward the Crest.

You didn’t have to look back to know Mando was following; you felt his presence tracking yours. You were constantly caught in his trap. Always the hunted, never the hunter. You didn’t understand why the entire ordeal with Omera had you so pissed off; maybe it was the fact she was the sole reason Mando wouldn’t get attached to another person. Maybe you were just angry because she had the life you wished you had. A home. A family. Things you lost and would never have again.

Once you stepped back into the hull, you went straight for the carbonite chamber, hoping to busy yourself with fixing it rather than facing the problem. The thing was, Mando wouldn’t let you get away that easy. If you were learning anything with him, it was that you both shared the same fucking stubbornness.

You twisted on the new compressor to the valve, twisting it to the left until you finally felt the metal snap under the pressure. Letting the metal fall to the ground, you worked on removing the remaining rubber binding to expose the pipe. As your fingers worked at the rubber, you felt the weight of Mando press against your back. You went ridged, choosing to ignore him. His hand brushed the hair from your neck, and his helmet dipped to your ear.

“Don’t ignore me,” he whispered. “Not now.”

Saying nothing, you continued to clean the pipe for the new valve, shivering as his touch trailed over your shoulder and down your bicep. He made it so hard to stay upset, especially when you craved his touch like a starved woman.

“I hate her,” you muttered. “And she has everything I will never have.”

Mando grabbed your shoulders, spinning you around to pin you under his silent gaze. You felt like shrinking away, curling into a ball, and rotting away in the darkest corner of the galaxy. The urge to come clean was on the tip of your tongue, nearly impossible to swallow. His helmet tilted to the side, and your grasp on self-reservation was thinning out the longer he stared. If he could be honest with you, you could do the same in return.

The thought of it made your skin crawl. You had never spoken aloud about what you had endured under Kesi and weren’t sure when you’d truly be ready. But maybe you could start slow…

“She has a home,” you whispered. “A family.”

“You’ll have that one day, angel,” Mando reassured. “I’m trying so hard to give that to you.”

You shook your head, your eyes falling to the floor. He didn’t understand that no matter how hard he tried to give you this freedom you yearned for, you still wouldn’t be able to be free of everything that hurt you. No matter how hard you worked for that future, how much danger you put yourself and Mando in for it, it would never amount to the life you could only see others living.

“You don’t understand, Mando.”

His hand came up to cup your chin, guiding your eyes back to him. The current of the past was dragging you under, but you clung to him as you battled against the waves. This was it; this was coming clean.

“Help me understand. Please, angel.”

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth, hoping to stop its trembling as you tried to sort through the endless thoughts rushing to the front of your mind. Reaching out for his hands, you led him to the empty crates by the ladder, urging him to sit with you. Once you came clean, everything would change. He wouldn’t look at you the same, wouldn’t fuck you the same, wouldn’t speak to you the same. You’d destroy everything with the words you were about to say, solidifying that you were forever broken. There was no fixing these pieces inside of you. No ounce of freedom would strip away the past and the damage it had done to you. Mando couldn’t save you from it; Maker knows you’ve tried so hard to do it yourself.

“I know you’re going to try and treat me differently,” you sighed. “Please, don’t. I’m not fragile, or at least not as much as I used to be.”

Mando nodded, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward toward you. You inhaled a shaky breath, holding it until your lungs refused to squeeze any longer.

“I can’t have a family,” you started. “Only a week after Kesi took me, he had me sterilized. He barely gave me any sort of sedative during it. I—I felt everything, Mando. All of it.”

He could hardly say your name as you paused to collect your thoughts. He reached to hold your hands, wrapping them between his, keeping you grounded.

“He said it was… better for business,” you winced.

Mando cursed under his breath, and you knew if you could see his face, you’d find his eyes filled with an impossible rage. You couldn’t blame him; that same rage fueled a fire inside of you, constantly thrashing its flames against your ribcage.

“He took me to some outer rim planet after that. I don’t even remember where it was, honestly. He usually kept me in a dark room, tied up and waiting. I wasn’t in ‘the business’ the first few months, but he still used me. Sometimes, it was just him…other times, he brought his associates. I was heavily drugged in the beginning, and part of me is grateful for it. I remember a lot less now.

“But once he decided it was time to have me start working, they wanted to keep me sharp and off of spice. I couldn’t be ‘good’ if I were incapacitated. I need you to understand I wasn’t his associate, Mando. I was his slave. I was a part of the payment during trades. He transported me all over the outer and inner rim, leaving me in shitty inns and random hotels. No one was kind to me.” You paused. “Not like you, Mando. Maker, no one has touched me the way you do.”

“Give me their names—all of them. And I’ll kill every single one. No one will ever fucking touch you again, angel. Only me,” Mando growled.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

You batted away tears that fell on your cheeks, knowing they would flood to the surface and crumble your composure. You had done so well up until then. You managed to get it all out without faltering, but now Mando was being sweet, stirring up many conflicting feelings. He couldn’t get attached to you—you wouldn’t let him. You were tainted, and so broken beyond repair. He deserved someone perfect and pure and secure. He deserved someone who could give a family and a place to call home. You had nothing and no one.

You were nothing.

The longer you stayed, the more you’d hurt him. All he needed to do was kill Kesi, and then you’d be gone. You’d be a comet passing through his sky and disappearing into the darkness. He needed to forget you after all was said and done. You needed to forget him, no matter how hard it was becoming. He was running through your veins, injecting you with all these promises of a future full of safety and comfortable silence.

You needed to run. Run far and fast before he sank his teeth into your soul and sucked you dry.

Attachment would destroy you both.

“I swear I will keep you safe,” Mando drew you closer, pressing his helmet against your forehead. “You’re mine to protect.”

Words wouldn’t surface to your tongue, your protests and cries lodged in your throat. You wanted to scream and tell him he needed to let go. You wanted to beg him to keep you. You had no fucking clue what you wanted and what you needed. Because you needed to leave, and you wanted to stay.

You pulled away from him, the cool touch of his helmet lingering on your skin as you stood and turned away.

“I—I need to finish fixing the valve,” you muttered. “And you should work on the nav so we can get out of here.”

Mando tugged on your wrist, twisting you to look at him. How many more tears could you cry in one day? You’d already given him the worst parts of yourself, and your instinct said to shrink away. Deflect and hide. That’s what you were good at.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said.

“Yeah,” you exhaled.

“I’m going to make him suffer,” he vowed.

“I know.”

He loosened his grip on you, letting you walk away and back to your project on the valve. You blocked out the sounds around you, and soon enough, you were alone in the hull and drowning in your thoughts.

Murdering Kesi wasn’t enough now. Mando needed, no craved, to tear that man apart from the inside out. He wanted to cut every one of his fingers off, each one that ever touched her. Mando wanted to gouge his eyes out so he’d never get to see her again. He wanted to skin him and watch him bleed all over the fucking floor.

He deserved a place worse than hell.

Mando could hardly focus on the nav panel; the wires lost between his fingers as he grappled with her words. Maker, she was so much stronger than he could have ever imagined. No wonder why she had asked him to kill her back on Tatooine. Knowing she would have rather been dead than go back…it said enough. And she was right; she wasn’t fragile. She was a fucking survivor, and now he wanted to protect her from the entire galaxy.

Clearing his mind, Mando worked for another several hours until the wiring was finally untwisted and functioning again. Even with it done, Mando kept to himself for a bit longer, staring out into the clearing before him, seeing the village's lights smolder over the coming dusk. Years ago, he would have loved watching the sunset and sunrise here, having a simple life, and having a family, but he had experienced so much in the time that had passed that he never considered it anymore. He loved the silent life he had built— the hunts, the isolation, the distance. But the past few weeks with her made him doubt he could return to that life.

Everything had a deadline, though; soon enough, he’d have to return to the silence. He’d have to say goodbye.

After a while, Mando went down into the cargo hold, seeing her now curled into bed hidden under the blankets. He made his way to the carbonite chamber, inspecting her work. She was fucking good. Everything was attached and functioning back at its original capacity, and the flashing lights on the quarries were just another reminder of his deadlines. He promised Karga he’d be back by the end of the week with more bounties, but with the mission to Oba Diah soon, Mando wasn’t sure how quickly they’d return to Nevarro.

Looking back at her, he noted the calm rise and fall of her shoulders under the weight of the blanket. He didn’t want to wake her, so Mando slipped inside the refresher, letting the door slide close with a soft hiss. Standing inside, he removed his helmet, turning it towards himself. His thumbs traced over the tinted visor, wondering what she saw in her mind every time she looked at him. He was granted the gift of seeing her face every day, seeing her expressions change with each wave of emotion. He had studied her and began to learn her familiar movements: the outline of a vein on her neck when she was angered, the shake in her fingers when she was scared.

He wondered to himself, in the solitary of the refresher, if she had done the same. Had she analyzed the movements he made when she was in his company, the way he kept his hand near his blaster in case anyone looked at her in the wrong way? Did she notice how he tilted his head each time she argued, as if he were trying to understand the thoughts inside her mind?

Looking at himself, Mando traced the outline of his face in the clouded mirror: the scruff of his beard–bare patches lining his jaw— the tired lines scattering his skin, the hollowness of his eyes. Ever since he was a foundling, a lingering sense of loneliness burrowed itself with him, a loneliness he thought would be filled by his allegiance to the Creed. He had found sanctity in his Clan, the loyalty within himself filling the hole that was left after his parents had been killed. Yet, it was a temporary solution that would not be filled by numerous bounties or forged beskar covering his skin.

She shared that same loss as him, the same grief of losing a family. Yet, she didn’t wear armor to protect herself or swear allegiance to a Creed to survive. She was strong, stronger than he was. She had shown him the rawest parts of herself, telling him the pain of her past and trusting him with her secrets and body. Even if listening to her talk about it killed him, he knew he had been granted a chance to prove himself further. His only job was to kill Kesi, nothing more. After Omera, Mando swore to be loyal to nothing but his Creed, to stand firm in his beliefs, and never let himself grow close to another. But the attachment he felt for her had grown too strong, the loneliness inside of himself shrinking with each passing day he spent beside her. Everything he stood for and sacrificed was threatened by the chance to be loved again.

Mando left the refresher, covering his face again, the burden of emotions weighing heavy on his shoulders. With her still tucked away, he opened the ramp and decided to relieve the pressure in his chest with fresh air. He didn’t go far, just a few feet from the Crest. The moon was traveling up to its peak in the sky, the light of it reflecting off the beskar that clung to Mando’s body. He felt so heavy, so trapped under the armor he wore. He wanted to shed every piece of it off for the first time and be a man, not a Mandalorian.

“Mando?” Her voice was soft against the evening breeze.

He turned to see her standing at the edge of the ramp; the sleepshirt was askew on her body, leaving her collarbones glistening in the moonlight. Maker, she was so beautiful.

“Please, stay on the ship.” Saying her name was like a prayer falling on deaf ears, and knowing her stubbornness, she wasn’t leaving without an answer—one he very well didn’t know how to give without falling apart.

“You’re doing it,” she said. “Treating me differently.”

With a heavy sigh, Mando stared up at the sky, counting each planet in view before responding.

“I’m not,” he said.

He cursed himself for not saying more. But ‘more’ would end everything: his Creed, his promise, his solitude. Mando wasn’t sure he had the strength to say more than those two words; she was unraveling him from the inside out.

She shifted her weight, eyes aglow in the moonlight as it crested above the sky. There it was again, that look of concern. Mando knew the less he said, the more it would hurt her. She had given him so much of herself after battling it for weeks. He wouldn’t treat her differently, but he made no excuse for how her words had torn him apart.

She closed the gap between them, her hands fisting the cowl around his neck. Mando’s arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her in despite the voice inside his head screaming at him to stop. He wanted her close to him; he wanted it only to be his hands touching her. She stared at him, and he swore she could see his eyes behind the visor.

“I’m not fragile.”

“I know you aren’t. I’m just angry.”

“You don’t have to be angry for me. I have enough anger to last a lifetime.”

“Angel, all I feel is anger.”

“Feel something else,” she begged.

“I’m afraid,” Mando choked.

Her brows furrowed together, creating that familiar crease. He lifted a hand to her face, soothing the lines with his thumb. Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch, the moment between them stretching on forever.

“What’re you afraid of?” She asked, opening her eyes again.

“Everything.”

She curled her fists tighter around the fabric that hugged his neck, anchoring him to the present. His mind was rushing through all the possibilities of what could happen if she stayed or didn’t leave after all was said and done. A loud, modulated exhale left Mando as he cupped her face. She leaned into it, and he reveled in knowing his touch was enough to comfort her.

“I’m afraid, too,” she said.

He had no idea what she was afraid of, nor did he have the right words to console her. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other as the stars moved above them. He couldn’t help but feel like everything was slowly ending, that he would lose her. She was sand beneath his feet, rolling away with the wind, and no matter how hard he tried to keep her, she would vanish. He always knew she would, but he was so fucking afraid to face that day.

“Take me back to the ship,” she whispered. “Help me forget it all.”

By the time Mando had you spread out on the bed, the ramp had barely closed behind you. You were breathless and arching into his touch as he slid his hands down your body. He had shed his gloves at some point, and you shivered as his fingers traced the curves of your body. It wasn’t fast this time, not like your usual hookups together. He was memorizing your skin, outlining the cuts scattered over your torso and thighs. He didn’t ask what they were or where you got them, but the truth seemed to keep spilling.

“I wasn’t allowed to say ‘no,’” you exhaled, your breath shaky.

Mando’s hands stilled on your body, his helmet slowly lifting to look at you.

“You can tell me no, angel. Any time you want, and I promise I’ll stop.”

“I don’t know how to say no to you, Mando.”

He groaned, his fingers working at the supple flesh of your upper thighs. You let out a whine as his fingers trailed between them, slipping under your shorts and dipping into your wet folds. He rubbed circles against your throbbing clit, humming softly when you cried out as the pleasure spiked in your stomach.

“Like that, angel?” His voice was low and husky.

You couldn’t do anything more than nod, grinding against his fingers to release the pressure building inside you. Mando slid a finger inside you, working it in and out at a dangerously slow speed. Adding another finger, your breath hitched as he curled them, your cunt pulsating with each movement. You were on the edge of release, fingers tearing into the blanket under your body as he talked you through it. Your orgasm hit you hard, your ears ringing from either your screams or the growl that left his chest.

“Good girl. So good for me.”

He pulled his fingers from you, lifting the glistening digits to your lips as your tongue darted out to taste. You hadn’t thought it before, but maker, you wished it was his tongue licking off your release. You wanted to know what unadulterated desire looked on his face as you came. Mando unzipped his suit and lined up against you, breaking you away from those fleeting dreams. Even dripping wet, the stretch of his cock came with a sting as he thrust into you. His pace was slow and sensual, one hand at the curve of your waist, the other carding through your hair. Rolling your hips, he pushed deeper, a trail of curses leaving your lips.

“Look at you,” he crooned, moving his hips against yours. “Look at how fucking good you take me.”

His words dripped onto you like honey, covering your body in sticky sweetness until all you could feel, hear, and see was him. You cupped one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between your fingers to flood your body with pleasure. You were ignited from head to toe, your nerves dancing in ecstasy as he thrust in and out of you in a smooth rhythm.

“Mando,” you whimpered.

“Take what you need, angel. Use me until you cum.”

You rolled your hips with each of his strokes, your body succumbing to pure bliss. Mando kept his pace, rocking into you with fervor, crying out as he trailed his hand to the apex of your cunt, applying pressure on your throbbing clit. You were teetering on the edge, your eyes rolling back as that pressure crescendoed until you couldn’t hold it any longer. With a quick snap of his hips, your orgasm washed over you, the quickening sound of your pulse flooding your ears. Your body went limp against the bed; muscles wound too tightly from cumming twice in a row. You didn’t know if your body could handle anymore, but Mando was unrelenting and picked up the pace.

“One more for me,” he begged. “Give me one more.”

“I—can’t!” you cried out.

Your inner thighs were slick from your release, and you arched against his touch as he caged you between his arms. At this angle, his cock was hitting your core at a ruthless speed, his hips snapping against yours with each thrust. You were entirely at his mercy, letting him chase his own release as you lay in pure bliss. Your body was strung out and buzzing with the orgasms he already pulled for you, and yet, you were desperate to give him more.

You couldn’t stop giving him more.

“Fuck, angel,” he grunted. “I—”

His words electrified you, pleasure rolling down your spine as you tightened around his cock. A choked gasp lodged itself in his throat, his body tensing up as he filled you with his cum. Slumping against you, Mando nestled himself into the crook of your neck, the cool touch of his beskar forcing a ripple of goosebumps over your skin. Your hands reached up to squeeze his biceps, kneading at the muscles under his suit. He let out a loud moan, his weight pressing further into you. You’d let him stay with you tonight, soaking in the moments of his body pressed against yours. He had made you forget it all, even for a brief moment, but as the fog in your mind cleared, you realized how content that made you feel. And that terrified you. You had to make a plan to run and hope he wouldn’t catch you.

You had to leave.

#mando x reader #mando x f!reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando #pedro pascal characters #mandalorian fanfic #star wars fanfiction #smut and angst

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orkbutch · 7 months

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OKAY SO I'm wired and can't sleep so to tucker myself out I am going to do that Karlach personal story post. And ofc this is just my interpretation, my read, of Karlach's story through the game. I am not saying this is Correct. Just to be clear.

Controversial opinion: I liked Karlach's end story even from base game, before they patched in joining her in Avernus. I thought it was super bold and kind of impressive. But I'm glad they added the patch. For me, thematically, whether Karlach goes back to the Hells or chooses to die in Faerun is her taking a different approach to the same extremely difficult, human problem. Both ends are bittersweet to me, both tragic.

Thematically, like all of the origin characters, Karlach's story is rooted in discussing community and agency. She is lonely. She wants freedom. She wants to live so much life, as much as she can. I see Karlach thematically as someone with a terminal illness. She is someone living as if her life will end, she is tying up loose ends, she's wrestling with mortality, she's thinking about her legacy and trying to ignore all the things she might not get to have. And when she does think about it, when it peeks through, you can see that she is in mourning; she is grieving all the things already lost, the future she cannot imagine.

Going off of that, what do each of these endings say thematically? They are both choices, both exercises of agency, but tinted a little differently.

Thematically, Karlach choosing to die is bittersweet; its very sad, but it also makes me think of euthanasia. An act of agency that grants comfort, dignity, relief. The ultimate gesture of self determination for someone who has had so much of their life and body taken from them entirely. On the other hand, it is self destruction. It is Karlach seeing how she has been changed, and going, "This isn't worth it. If this body can't be what I need it to be, it shouldn't exist at all." That is devastating.

So then there's the other side of things, the return to Avernus. What does this mean thematically? It is a declaration of worth; "Living and my existence is worth the struggle. It's worth the risk. I can make this body my home again". It also makes me think of another very real, human experience after near-terminal illness or disability; it reminds me of adjusting the goal posts, of grieving, adjusting and accepting the new reality of life in the body you have now. Of finding new definitions of living, expanding how you find fulfillment. The incredible resilience that takes. The work of rehabilitation and recovery, of finding and establishing new systems and habits, is all slow, difficult, often painful work.

But it is worth it for life, for getting to stay. To see how you change, what you're capable of being. And I think this is particularly important with Karlach because it would surely lead her to becoming someone more whole than she's gotten to be for many years. I don't like the idea that returning to Avernus kills the innocent girl within her or whatevs; the innocent girl is only a part of her, one that endured all through the Hells. In struggling and trying toward life, Karlach is reaching for a future where she won't need to be divided at all. Where she is loving and very kind and forever, undeniably changed by Hell, but that experience and the conquering of it becomes strength. It is her, and she is worth living and loving, so the part of her that is Hell touched is too. But it required her to want different things, to adjust what living fulfilled meant to her. And that is hard, and a little tragic. But also very human and lovely to me

i love ... karlach the end

#it is sooooo late im kinda rambling ....#bg3 #karlach

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years

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Sephiroth is accidentally summoned to Amity Park by the GIW who were trying to summon Phantom to capture him.

Phantom comes to his aid. Thinking he's a ghost due to his ghost sense activating due to all the mako in Sephiroths body. The silver haired psycho was at first amused by all of this up until the people in white started going on and on about how they are with the government and going to capture Phantom and do awful painful experiments on him and possibly make an army out of him and Sephiroth had heard enough. For a spit second, he saw himself in that child.

By the time he calmed down the only sound around him was the sizzling of half melted rubble and the crackle of downed live electrical wires. Phantom was staring at him in shock from the large glowing cage he was trapped in. The silverette was prepared for a lot of responses to the slaughter the child had just witnessed. Cheering, tears of gratitude, people calling him inhuman, a monster, but nothing like this kid. He simply asked, "Are you okay?"

This child was an enigma. Even after freeing him from his prison with a single swipe of Masamune he made no moves to flee. No matter how many insults or threats he made the white haired boy stayed. Appearently he had defeated the child in one on one combat and as a unattended ederich child spirit, Sephiroth was now his legal guardian. Usually he would be apposed but Mother was whispering to him in the back of his mind, cooing over her new grandchild and praising her son for getting such a good catch. If he were a lesser man he would have sighed.

Phantom soon revealed he had no where to go and certainlycouldn't return to his biological parents. His parents were evil mad scientists that attacked him once they learned what thier experiments had done to thier son. They wanted to study him in perhaps the cruelest ways possible. The "ghost zone" or "Infinite Realms" as its truly called was filled with his enemies and had no way to nourish his living half, but the living world had no way to nourish his ghost half aside from portals and harvesting ectoplasm. Aside from portals being both rare and fleeting, harvesting ectoplasm is no easy task especially when dodging evil government groups.

Phantom would have to find a new dimension to live in. One with ectoplasm readily available for harvest, but first they needed to tie up loose ends here. Phantom went into hiding on Sephiroths orders and the child quickly obeyed. The silver General on the other hand went on a warpath, destroying the laboratories and portals and the people who made them.

Phantom, now in his living form was saying goodbye to his friends and sister giving them wierd PHSs he had modified so they can communicate with him beyond dimensions (impressive) and portal guns he had made (again Sephiroth was impressed) so that they could visit him from time to time. He promised to send them the dimensions coordinates once they got there.

It wasn't long until they were in a dimensions they both liked floating above an outright filthy mako pool in some soft of cave system. Danny wasted no time busting out machinery and hooking it up to the Mako pool and purifying it.

This is, of course, when Batman gets a camera notification that someone is messing with Gothams Lazarus Pit.

Fic featuring: Sephiroth becoming a father mentor for Danny, Bruce being adoption blocked, Sephiroth agreeing to abide by Batmans "ridiculous" no killing policy and them making him pseudo regret it by carving the Joker up like a Christmas turkey. Hood got it on his helmets visual recording and he sent Sephiroth flowers, Danny casually vibing with the bats and birds until he does something blatantly eldrich, Danny asking his new mentor "if I grow out my hair will you teach me how to take care of it?", Sephiroth and Phantom just vibing, ptsd representation, Sephiroth seeing himself in this kid and deciding to be the savior that never came for himself.

#fanfiction prompts #prompts #dp x dc #final fantasy vii #sephiroth #sephiroth adopts danny phantom #they vibin #danny is just absorbing any and all information sephiroth gives him #danny phantom #danny fenton #Danny and Sephiroth both have ptsd and danny discosiates #i cant spell sorry #autocorrect doesnt even know what im teying to say #Damian is somewhat obsessed with Sephiroths odachi and wants it #tim is preparing to be attacked by yet another new sibling #just in case #batman is displeased by two obvious metas in Gotham but they have only acted in self defence and they cant seem to get rid of them #think of the chaos

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ohlawdthebirds · 1 year

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Suit and Tie

Abby Anderson x gn! Reader

This fic was inspired by a drabble written by @toasty-melons! This one specifically.

Also, pretty sure this photo was edited by @abbystanaccount, but I could be wrong. Please correct me if I am!

You were a bit scared to approach the mirror. You weren’t sure if you’d like what you saw looking back at you, whether the suit would look as good as it did when you saw it in the store. Looking back on it, you were more than hasty in your purchase, not even bothering to check the size. But even if it didn’t look good, you had no other options. You silently cursed yourself for waiting until the last minute to find a formal outfit for Ellie and Dina’s wedding.

The original plan had been to wear a dress, sure, but as the wedding date got closer and closer, you found yourself wavering in your decision. See, the problem wasn’t wearing a dress, far from it. The problem was that you had recently found yourself leaning outside the comfort zone your wardrobe provided. Maybe it was the beautiful butches and studs your social media feeds graced you with, maybe it was your girlfriend donning a suit herself for the occasion, or maybe it was simply curiosity. Either way, the day before the wedding you rushed to your local mall and bought the first suit you saw.

The suit itself was nothing remarkable. A single-button black blazer with black slacks to match. Your dress shirt was a clean, crisp white and the tie that came with it was a skinny thing, the same midnight black as the blazer and slacks. It was simple and you’d paired it with the cutest chunky loafers you found in the depths of your closet. It was a miracle everything fit, snug yet comfortable enough to dance in once Ellie inevitably goaded the DJ into playing the entirety of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of The Moon.

You inhaled deeply, holding it for a beat before slowly pushing the air through your teeth. This would be good; things would be just fine. You stepped closer to the mirror, eyes immediately catching on the lopsided tie strung around your neck.

“Aw man, you gotta be kidding me,” You began fiddling with the tie, crossing it over itself to try and resemble something close to a Windsor knot. No matter what you tried, it kept coming loose. A quick glance at the Casio on your wrist revealed you had little more than an hour to finish up and head over to the venue. Your fingers quickened, frantic.

Heavy footfalls sounded from behind you. Your girlfriend, Abby, came into view in the mirror. You halted your tying, opting to pivot and stare at the eye candy she was.

God, you told Abby nearly everyday just how gorgeous she was (to which she would blush and scoff) but today? In a navy-blue three-piece suit, complete with brown loafers and her wire-frame glasses, your lover was something out of a sapphics wet dream. Her hair was out of its usual braid, blonde locks down and wavy at the ends. “You good, babe? Seem to be, uh, struggling with that.” Abby did a poor job of holding back a laugh.

You rolled your eyes. “Hush. I’m trying to get this tie done because we have to leave soon.”

Abby came closer, thick fingers reaching out to release the tie from your grip. “Want some help? My dad used to have me help him tie his ties when I was younger. Said it was a good skill just in case I needed to ever help out my husband or something.”

This time it was you struggling to hold back a laugh. “And now look at you. Not a husband in sight.”

Abby snorted at this, beginning to adjust the fabric and folding it over itself. “Nope, just someone I hope to make my wife someday.”

At this, you stilled. Looking up into those sky blues, you felt a smile creeping onto your lips. “Wife, huh? Well, you’re gonna have to wait until Ellie and Dina have their day, they’d kill us if you proposed during the reception.”

Abby completed the tie and straightened it around your neck, gently checking for creases and wrinkles. “I know, lovely, I know. That’s why I have an elaborate proposal planned. But you’re not gonna know when it’s happening.” At this, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Oh? And how do you know I don’t have a more elaborate proposal planned for you?”

Abby stepped back, smoothing down your shirt and buttoning your suit jacket. She dusted your shoulders free of lint. “You might, I wouldn’t know. I expect to be surprised, since you’re so confident in it.”

You shook your head, amused by your girlfriend’s antics. “Don’t worry, you’ll be plenty surprised. Now let’s get going, we don’t wanna miss the ceremony.”

As Abby turned to leave, you found yourself reaching out and turning your girlfriend back around.

“Wait.”

The confused furrow in Abby’s brow smoothed out once your hands began tugging across the fabric of her suit, similar to her movement on yours only moments earlier. You swept your fingers over her blazer, flicking off fabric pilling and loose threads. You slid your hands down her vest-covered chest, briefly tucking your hands into the spacious pockets and smoothing out the fabric within. Finally, you reached up and straightened her tie, making sure it laid flat down on her torso.

“There you go gorgeous. Now we’re ready to leave.”

Abby smiled at this, a soft one reserved for these more intimate moments. “Thank you, my love. Let’s go.”

On the way out the door, you found your hand drifting to your secure tie. “Your dad taught you well, babe. Maybe you can pass those skills onto Lev when he gets older.”

Abby barked out a laugh. “Absolutely, I’ll definitely do that. He’s gonna be the ring bearer in our wedding, after all.”

And off the two of you went, to celebrate your friend’s special day and begin planning one of your own.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #tlou2 #this was inspired by my yearning to own a suit

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thefuseoftemptation · 10 months

Note

First meeting with serial killer!eddie

EDDIE MUNSON X GN!READER

WARNING(S): cussing, suggestions to killing.

—

His hands came up to his face, forefinger up in gesture that let the person in front of him- who was tied to the chair- know to shush. Their words gone unheard and not understood, cloth in between their mouth as it muffled their speaking.

Eddie listened again, trying to hear what he thought he had heard just moments before. And then it sounded once more.

The repetitive knocks- knuckles hitting the door. Someone was there.

"Just sit still- I'll be back." Was all Eddie said as he turned to leave, though not before taking hold of the box cutter that was off to the side, lying on the table. The closer he got to the door, the more the knocks sounded- nonstop - which only pushed Eddie over with how provoking it was. The grip he had on the cutter only grew with every step he took, muttering under his breath as reached the front.

You were standing on the other side, shuffling your feet, releasing your own mutters as you waited. But it was more so because of the timing that your lights had. Of all times, they chose to act up now, flickering repetively until they just decided to shut off completely. And at this hour? It was typical really. Everything just always has to happen to you.

You were just about to knock again- hand brought up to the window of the door- when it suddenly opened. More of a split really, enough to see the guy who was leaned to the frame of it. His eyes peering through the sliver of the threshold.

Eddie was only so close to making you the next one until he saw you. The way you looked at him with uncertainty that most likely came from interrupting his schedule- he loosened up. It may of too been because he took a liking to you. And not the usual custom where he'd choose his victims. It was more than that.

He liked you. Literally. And somewhere in his head, the one that wasn’t set on his shoulders right, he thought that maybe you liked him to.

But then again, it’s Eddie.

He'd been watching you for a while. Looking- gazing at you- every second he could.

You were something else entirely to him. And maybe it was because you weren't like the others. You never gave him looks or side eyes, and never released names from your tongue that were directed to him like everyelse had. There was even that time you returned his newspaper to him because they delivered it to your porch.

He never even read the damn thing. But he took it from you without question. Whatever he could that would give him even the smallest encounters with you.

"H-Hello, uh, sorry to come to you at this hour but, you don't happen to have a step or ladder, do you? My lights went out and I was looking to switch them, you know? Maybe loose bulb or something? But I don't have a ladder so....."

"Sure, sure- why don't you come-" Eddie had to stop where he was with his sentence. Remembering just what he'd been up to moments before and just who was in the other room.

“You know” Eddie opened the door wider, ever so subtly sliding the box cutter into his back pocket as he stepped out. “Why don’t I take a look for you? It’s the least I could do. It might be some loose wiring too? I’ll get my step and I’ll meet you over there and we could take a look….”

You’d barely spoken a few words to the guy before then so you weren’t too sure, but being left without power was less appealing so you were quick to take him up on it. Plus, he’d only ever been decent with you.

“Thank you…” You trailed off, you weren’t even sure what his name was.

“Eddie. Eddie Munson.” He introduced with a tilt of his head.

“Eddie,” you repeated, holding your hand out and giving him your name. Eddie wasn’t expecting the shake but shit, he was gonna take it. Anything to get you close to him.

When you left, Eddie watched your back, only to take a breath in when you looked over your shoulder- shaking your head slightly, mouth lifting up at the bow he did when your eyes met his once more.

The door shut with him leaned up on it, his mind still on you as he straightened himself out. Taking the steps to go get the ladder when he remembered he had a guest over. He couldn’t keep them waiting, it wasn’t a very host like-manner. But he also couldn’t keep you waiting either.

Well, he’d just have to make it quick. After all, he had to meet up with you….

—

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson blurb #serial killer!eddie munson #eddie munson au

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itsscatballou · 1 year

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The End Will Justify It All

a/n - Season 7 of TWD, Negan is just... he's so bad but so good. I have a small series in mind to follow this one, but it's a loosely formed plan…more like the whisper of a plan. Trying out third person POV for a y/n story. It might be a stinker. Feedback is welcome!

warnings - gore and death, a little innuendo, some language, Season 7 spoilers

Relationship is Daryl x female reader, y/n

“Wait!” she shouted, as she lunged herself forward and fell at Negan’s feet, halting him in his steps. “Please… take me with you.” She could feel the atmosphere change. Shock tensing the air. She could feel her friends’ confusion behind her. She could barely register any of it, though, the way her mind was racing.

The plan was barely formed, a shadow searching for shape in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away. She would have to work that out later. There was only one objective right now - stay with Daryl. It was now or never, as Negan left them with instructions for the first offering in a week. She’d barely managed to stop him before he walked to his vehicle.

“He’s mine now.” Negan’s claim on Daryl was ringing in her ears, fueling her. Her Daryl, not his. She would not let this maniac have him. Would not let him cut Daryl up. She would not lose him, not without giving her last breath fighting for him. For all of them.

Everything that had happened was on a constant slideshow loop, flashing through her mind, in sharp, horrible detail. The thump of the first blow of the barbed wire wrapped bat and Abraham’s ginger hair turning a morbid shade of red. Glenn’s eye, then his guttural promise to Maggie. Rick’s strong defiance exuding from him as he swore to Negan he would kill him. His posture now, bent and broken, no trace of that promise left in him. Daryl being dragged off and thrown in that van like a captured animal.

Her knees were stiff and aching. They had been pushed into the gravel for the last several hours, supporting her full bodyweight on the sharp rocks. As the images played again in her head, and the weight of Negan’s words sank deeper into her, she couldn’t think of an alternative – or not one she could live with, anyway. She pushed through the pain, willing her body to move, and sat back on her heels to look up at Negan with pleading eyes.

“What is this?” Negan chuckled as he peered down at her, his bloody bat hanging near her ear, filling her nose with a nauseating metallic tang. “Have you been here the whole time? Has she been here the whole time?” He directed the second ask to his men. He got amused smiles and shrugs in return.

He looked back to her, eyes beaming with something she couldn’t quite name, but recognized its malicious nature. “Why exactly would you want to leave your band of merry men and come with me?” He asked, as he swept that damn bat in the direction of the half circle of her people.

“I – I can’t go back with them,” she stuttered out, bracing herself as she prepared her explanation. It was going hurt. He raised his brows in question at her words. “I didn’t see it before but now I see how weak Rick is. I thought he was someone who could protect his people, but… after this,” she gestured to the two messes on the ground where her friends' heads should be.

“I can’t follow him back.” She let her mind picture every man that had ever let her down before, every person who had been too weak to protect her, or to even try. Her father in the old world. Her fiancé as the chaos descended. The “friends” she’d made in the months following, before she’d found Rick’s group. All their memories making her stomach turn and filling her eyes with rage and disgust.

“Anyone who can bring him to his knees like this, break him like he is broken now… and inspire this kind of loyalty…” she tilted her head in the direction of the large group of Saviors around them, “that is a person I can follow.” Awe, and a bit of intrigue, was the look she forced on her face as she met his stare again, trying to shut out the knowledge that the people she loved had heard every brutal word.

Negan’s eyes raked her from head to toe, taking in every inch of her with an animalistic gleam. She was wearing what she referred to as her tactical leggings, a skin-tight pair of pants with enough pockets to carry any knives she’d need outside the walls (and space for condoms if she was with Daryl), a belt that made the pants perfect for tucking in handguns, and they were thick enough to keep her warm in the early fall weather. She couldn’t deny her favorite feature was that they made her ass look fantastic. “Ya can’t wear them pants,” Daryl had once told her while they were preparing for a run together, “when ya wear ‘em the only place I can look is at your ass. ‘at’ll get me killed.” She wore them anyway. He never complained. She’d put them on when she left this morning with Michonne, Glenn, and Rosita to track Daryl, hoping they’d be an asset in persuading him to give up the hunt for Dwight. The fitted long sleeve shirt she wore - made of a sweat-licking material for athletes in the old world - clung to her form in a way that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her curves had filled out a bit in the last month, now that she was eating three square meals a day, softening the harsh angles that months of traveling and near starvation on the road had given her. She wasn’t a vain person, but as Negan worked her over with his eyes, she knew he’d like what he saw.

“I’m willing to… pay for my admittance,” she said with enough emphasis on the word pay to convey her meaning, but she threw a suggestive glance at his belt as she bit her bottom lip to make her offer clear. She fought back the bile creeping up her throat as her brain worked out what this implication might bring later. She knew it wouldn’t matter, that she would do anything to keep Daryl alive. This world needed him. Their family needed him, especially with what was lost today. It would be a small sacrifice in comparison, and one she wouldn’t think twice about if that’s what it came to.

Negan searched her face as he contemplated. “You hear that, Rick?” he asked, throwing a cocky smirk at the exhausted man in the gravel, “This – what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Y/n”

“Y/n wants to know what a strong leader looks like. I think I’m gonna show her.”

A couple of Saviors took her by the arms and half walked, half dragged her to the double doors of the van that now caged the man she loved.

“Now you can’t leave ‘em all without saying goodbye, can you, sweetheart?” Negan heckled from behind her. She half-turned to look back, sweeping across the faces of the group before reaching Rick’s. Fury. That’s what she read on each of them. Fury, hatred, rage, a twinge of heartbreak as she met Carl’s glower. She found Rick’s eyes, and had to stifle her surprise. In them she did not see so much as a hint of the anger she expected. Instead, in his bright blue gaze, she saw understanding. He nodded at her, and she gave the most subtle dip of her chin in return. Then she narrowed her eyes, and turned, climbing into the van without another word.

¨ ¨

The Saviors had been gone for maybe three minutes, but it felt like thirty. Everyone sat in silence, still on their knees on the hard ground, processing the horrendous events of the night. Sasha broke the silence. “What the fuck?” she breathed out. “Y/n?”

Rick turned to look at her. “It’s okay.”

“What do you mean, it’s okay?” Michonne asked, indignant.

"She's with us," he replied calmly. "She's gonna bring Daryl back."

#twd fanfiction #twd #daryl dixon twd #twd negan #twd rick #rick grimes #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead rick #the walking dead negan

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