#so i have picked him up and squirreled him away somewhere safe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itwasthereaminuteago · 1 year

Text

|| Rough Road ||

Frank Castle x female Reader.

Tags/warnings: 'annoying acquaintances of circumstance' to lovers, fingering, oral (f rec), unprotected sex (wrap in RL!), swears 😯

Author's note: This is for the TFC December fic challenge 'Snowed In', so check the tags for more!

If you enjoy my fics please consider reblogging, it means others get to enjoy them too! Thank you so much for reading! 💕

"I think we should try and find somewhere to pull over." you say to Frank. You had been driving for hours and the snow was coming down harder now.

"Mm, I'm pretty sure there's a motel about 15 miles ahead, we can make it, get a couple of rooms and start again in the morning." He replies, concentrating on the road.

You stare up through the windscreen at the neverending horizonless thick grey-white of the sky and the flurry of heavy flakes building up on the road ahead of you. "I don't think we'll make it that far."

Sure enough after another couple miles the road became impassable, you had hardly seen any other cars ahead of you or coming the other way for most of the drive. It was gonna get dark fairly soon.

"Shit." Frank says simply, turning off the ignition after he stopped the van at the side of the road.

"Thank fuck I've got cell service" you say, "I'm gonna call for a truck."

While you were on the phone Frank checked his paper maps for the nearest habitations, but there was nothing that warranted risking trying to walk through a snowstorm at night.

"Okay, the rescue company is dealing with shitloads of people in similar situations and 'cos we've got a van and some supplies they're saying we're further down the list. Earliest they could get to us is tomorrow morning."

"Alright, well they'll probably have cleared the roads by then. Guess that ain't too bad. Just gotta hunker down for the night."

You kicked at the dash in frustration. "Urgh. I told you we should've left after the storm, now we're stuck here in your stupid van, which stinks by the way."

"Stinks?" He screwed up his face in disbelief. "What of? I keep it clean!"

"Of you!"

"Listen, as much as you're a complete pain in my ass it was too dangerous to wait in the city any longer. Now the Russians associate you with me…"

You threw your head back against the rest and sighed. "Yeah. I know. Just gotta lay low for a while." you parroted.

"This ain't exactly my idea of heaven either sweetheart."

You hated when he called you that. Even though it was just an automatic thing for him and it didn't mean anything it really annoyed you. He reached into the back bringing out a pack of cards from the seemingly random selection of shit he had squirreled away there. "Imagine you don't wanna talk about what happened, so it's this or I-Spy."

You groaned and nodded as you whiled away an hour or so playing blackjack until your hungry stomach noises got too loud to ignore.

"Alright, chicken or beef sub?" he asked, diving into the backpack.

You chose the chicken.

"Damn, this is really good. You pick them up before we left? Where from?"

"Made em." He replied, taking a bite of his own.

"Huh." You mused, digging in again.

"Surprised I can make a sandwich?" He scoffs.

You shrug. "Surprised you can make a good sandwich. Guess being ex-marine you gotta have some talents."

"You got no idea." He throws you a wink as he takes a sip of coffee from the thermos and you roll your eyes.

After another hour of whooping his ass at blackjack and a lightning quick excursion into the nearby trees and back to relieve yourself, your yawns and heavy eyelids make it clear that you're gonna have to go to sleep at some point soon.

"Does one of us, uh, need to keep watch or something?" You ask him, watching as he crawls into the back of the van and starts digging out a mat, a singular sleeping bag and blanket.

"Nah. Even if they did send someone to follow us ain't nobody getting through this, we're safe enough." He rolled out the bag and caught your awkward look.

You wrapped your arms around you, it was getting cold now the residual heat from the van had disappated. "So… just the one lot of bedding then?"

He nods. "Yeah, usually just me in here y'know, with all my stank."

You rolled your eyes again. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

He has to resist the urge to let you panic about sleeping beside him for a while longer, he's not that cruel. "It's okay, you can have it. I'll be alright up front." He sees your visible relief as you process what he's said, nodding and rummaging in your pack for the toothbrush and toiletries you'd thankfully picked up at your last gas stop, there having been no time to grab anything but the absolute ultimate essentials before you left.

The thick layer of snow that had built up around and on top of the van probably provided quite a bit of insulation, but that didn't exactly stop you from being fucking freezing. You tried to snuggle up deeper into the sleeping bag, all your clothes and a beanie on and the blanket on the top, but you were still cold. You tilted your head up to glance at Frank in the passenger seat, still awake with his jacket on and arms wrapped around himself tight, the occasional puff of his breath misting the air.

"You awake?" You ask, already knowing he was.

"Yeah. You alright?"

"Cold."

"Yeah."

The silence between you seemed to stretch on forever. You pull the blanket tighter around you.

Fuck it. "Uh, if you want, you could come back here, share the blanket? And y'know, body heat will help I guess."

"Thought you couldn't stand my stink?" He throws back at you.

"Well, the cold is kinda trumping that, but it's fine if you don't wanna… just thought it is your stuff after all, don't wanna put you out of your own van."

"Nah, s'good idea." he agrees, climbing into the back with you. You shiver at the initial chill as he lifts the edge of the blanket to lie next to you, your back to his. His jacket is cold against you but after a while you began to warm up, stopping your shivering and finding yourself drifting easily to sleep.

When you wake up it's still dark but you're warm, hot even. As you gradually gain a bit more consciousness you realise that the reason is because Frank has you in a bear hug. He must have turned around in his sleep. His arm is draped over you, big hand splayed over your stomach pulling you impossibly close to him. The only skin contact is his nose at the back of your neck, the warm exhales tickling the light hair there.

It's… pleasant, maybe even something more. He actually smells good. You smile to yourself thinking about the juxtaposition of this killing machine, this angry guard dog let off the chain being a big soft snuggly puppy of a man behind closed doors.

You shift slightly in his hold and then freeze.

Okay, maybe not so soft…

Despite the layers of clothing and a sleeping bag between you, it's unmistakable that it's his cock that's hard and pressing against your ass. You try to rationalise. It's just a normal bodily response after all, but do you dare move? What if he wakes up and it gets awkward, you've got a lot of driving still to do if this snow ever clears…

Any control is taken away from you as Frank stretches momentarily and then wraps you even tighter in his arms, his nose nuzzling into your skin and hips slowly grinding against you with a quiet contented moan. He suddenly stops, pulls away as he wakes and realises where he is, where you are, and what he's doing.

"Shit, fuck…" he turns away from you as he sits up scrubbing his hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I uh… it's uh, been a while since… y'know?"

The blanket rustles softly as you shrug.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" He cuts himself off as his eyes adjust to the darkness, his ears registering the sound of the sleeping bag zip being opened and his gaze finding the smallest glimmer of soft light reflected in your own.

"It's okay. S'been a while for me too," you admit. This might be the stupidest decision you've ever made when it comes to sex, or even when it comes to roadtrips, but you can't seem to override it. Not when he looks at you like that, smells like that, makes you feel like that. He saved your life but you don't think that's all it is.

You slough off your defensive dislike and begin to embrace something that at least feels real.

His face is a picture in the dim snow-reflected light within the van as you reach for him, pulling his warmth and his lips towards you. He's taken aback, but his hand cups your jaw and you find yourself surprised by the tenderness with which his mouth meets your own. You don't waste a second, catching his wrist and guiding him down to palm over your chest, quickly leading his hand under the waistband of your pants so he can feel just how much he's affected you in this short space of time. It's like you're trying not to have the time to think about it. You both carry ghosts from your past that you've never openly shared, but you know, simply from the slight hesitation in his touch even as you urge him on.

The tender kisses soon heat up. "Call me sweetheart again." You breathe against his mouth, and he groans deep as his fingers meet with the wetness at your core. Your own hands explore underneath his jacket, fingers feeling the hard muscle of his chest under his shirt. You reach down to cup his cock through his jeans and then tug at them, moaning as he hurries to unbutton your pants so he can swipe his fingers through your slick folds. His mouth is on your skin, hungry to taste more of you as you scrabble to undo his pants too, urging them and his underwear down just enough to free his gloriously erect cock. He helps you wriggle halfway out of your pants too and now you're jacking each other off like a couple of teenagers, his fingers slippery and desperate over your throbbing clit, and yours covered with sticky precum as you wrap your hand around and stroke him.

"Oh shit…" you whine, as he skillfully brings you closer to the edge, your hips moving against his hand as he watches you. You forget the cold, gasping as he slips a finger inside you, your grip tightening around his cock making him grunt in such a delicious way that you can't help the words spilling from your lips.

"Frank, fuck me, please!" You're begging, you've never begged for anything other than to stay alive, but you need this, you want to feel him inside you, there's nothing else that will satisfy the ache.

He pauses, staring at you like you've just proposed or something. It takes him a hot minute to register what you're saying, but once those words sear into his brain he moves fast, lips sucking and kissing at the skin of your neck like a brand as he yanks your pants all the way down and off, his mouth following. He pushes up your shirt when he gets to the hem, his tongue trailing right up the centerline of your body to your bra where he mouths over the curve of your breasts before pulling down a cup. You arch your back as he takes your peaked nipple between his lips before he continues downward.

You claw at his shoulders as his nose bumps at the front of your underwear, just giving your clit the barest pressure, teasing you instead of giving you what you need, but you soon change your mind as he hooks his fingers under the elastic pulling them off you so he can bury his face in your pussy. He presses your thighs apart, holding you down as your hips try to rise up to meet the mind melting sensation of his tongue on you, in you. You moan, curse, and praise him as he quickly stokes your need and desire into a sharp dense point where you can do nothing else but implode in on yourself, screaming his name as he makes you feel.

He rises from between your thighs, licking his glistening lips with a small smile. It looks good on him.

"You alright, sweetheart?"

"Getting warmer, could be better." You throw back as you catch your breath and return the smile, yanking him back over you and using your feet to help him push his pants all the way off. When you take him in your hand again his gaze flits between your eyes and your mouth, which he claims in a hot kiss as you guide him to you, reveling in the feeling of the head of his thick cock spearing inside your heat.

"God damn." is all he can say, and you can only agree as he repeats it like a mantra as the slow slide of his cock filling and stretching your cunt has your eyes almost rolling back into your head with a long and loud moan.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he rolls his hips into you, the mental and physical battle he's fighting between going slowly, gently, and pounding you fucking senseless is palpable. He's drawing out sounds that you would never even make when you're alone. It might just be because you haven't had any form of touch from anyone for a long time, but you're more certain that it's all him that's making you flustered, hitting all your spots and stripping you down to a bare wire of being with nothing but his soft dark eyes.

That growling, barking, flesh-ripping fighting dog is still there underneath, you can feel how he holds it inside himself, yanking at the chain and always ready to be released when there's a need. The fact that he's driven you out of the city is proof that he actually cares what the fuck happens to you, and that sort of blows your mind. You could have easily gone alone, you were ready to jump on a Greyhound and make your own way but he wouldn't have it. He made you his responsibility. Yeah he was a killer but he was also a protector. Your protector.

He wasn't much of a talker but with his dick buried inside you he's soon gritting out reams of praise that have you clenching around him and mewling as his hand squeezes over the firm curve of your ass.

"Feel so good girl, s'fucking tight…"

You inhale sharply as he reaches between your hot skin to find your clit and ensure that you feel what he's feeling. Your fingernails graze over his scalp and the short hair at the nape of his neck as you pull him even closer, your second orgasm building up fast as he drives into you over and over.

"Ohh, god-"

"That's it sweet thing," he murmurs against your ear as the indescribable feeling of his cock dragging inside has you both on the very edge. "C'mon angel, such a good girl f'me."

You keen at the praise, something he'd unlocked from your subconscious with the simplest key, something even you didn't know you would react to. "Fuck… you're gonna make me-"

Frank feels you start to shake around him, moving his fingers even faster over that swollen little bundle of nerves. It's too much.

"Shit. You feel too fuckin' good, I gotta-" He moves to pull out suddenly and you claw at his ass stopping him before he does, you'll be damned if you don't feel him come inside you.

You whine as he stills. "Fuck! Don't stop, don't fucking stop…"

He looks for your assurance. "You sure? You want this?" his voice is quieter now, wavering. If you say yes he doesn't know that he'll last.

You nod frantically, tilting your hips up, wrapping your arms around his neck, the movement making him groan as you feel like utter heaven around him. He never thought you could be so soft, so open, needy.

The van rocks gently on its suspension as he resumes, every powerful thrust as he's fucking you punching such beautiful sounds from your throat. He can feel every gripping twitch of your perfect cunt as you begin falling apart underneath him, so tight, hot, and wet and quietly begging him to fill you. Your nails dig into the muscle of his huge shoulders and your mouth falls open, thighs tightening their hold around his waist as your moans crest. Don't stop, you told him, and he briefly wonders how he thought he ever could when you feel like this.

"Good girl, fuck- that's my good girl…" it's whispered and desperate, he's barely holding on by a hair.

The possessiveness in his words makes your eyes scrunch up tight and your body open. His cock is hitting you hard right where you need it, the focused touch of his fingers radiating out and burning you up.

"F-frank I-"

You unravel, crying out as you clench around him again and again as torrents of pleasure rip through your entire body. Your eyes fly open, locked on his, determined to witness how he might follow you into bliss. Your hips buck up chasing his own, his harsh warm breath washing over your skin with a deep, sensual moan as he finally lets go, pulsing inside you, not stopping the slowing, stuttering motion of his thrusts until he's given you absolutely everything he's got.

Laying there still entwined, a deep satisfying rumble from Frank's chest breaks the contrasting near-silence as he carefully rolls you on top of him and strokes his fingers lightly over your cheek and along your jaw, sliding them into your hair as his lips brush yours in a soft kiss.

"Frank..." you hum, your forehead resting on his. You can't stop your small nervous giggle as you're still unsure about what this is.

"Yeah." is all he says in return, his hands gliding down over your bare back and your hips, the sleeping bag and blankets forgotten now that inside the van had become a damn sight warmer. The windows with the covering of snow on the outside almost glow through the misting from your body heat on the inside of the glass. It's like you're trapped in a snowglobe. The image soon shatters as your mind clears from the dreamy fog of what you've just done.

"Shit. I-I'm sorry, I know that you-" you start to explain all the reasons that you know this is just a one-time thing, more for yourself than him, but he stops you before you can reel off the excuses.

"Hey," he says, gently catching your chin in his hand and running his fingers lightly over your skin. "We don't need to do all that shit, y'know?"

You can't help looking anywhere but in his eyes.

"Hey, c'mon, it's okay." He repeats.

You wish he wasn't like this, wish he would be colder with you, go back to the sniping, reluctant, thrown-together partnership, or whatever it was you had before. It takes effort but when you manage to meet the warmth of his gaze it feels like something you could get used to looking at.

"Look, it is what it is, yeah? I'm gonna keep you safe, no matter what."

You nod and allow him to pull you close to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath and the thump of his heart through his ribcage.

"It is what it is," you murmur, your eyes growing heavy as you melt into sleep.

Frank tags:

@divinearchangel @saintmurd0ck @castlesnchurches @mindidjarin @hellskitchenswhore @pedrito-friskito @sweetieswiftie @shedaresthedevil @freshabogados

@father4giveme @stress--relief @e-dubbc11 @whistle1whistle @tea-and-wine @emiemiemiii @imherefordeanandbones @phoebe-danvers @munsonownsmyass

#TFC December challenge #frank castle x reader #the punisher x female reader #the punisher smut #frank castle smut #TFC challenge #frank castle x female reader

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moonlight-prose · 1 year

Note

for joel 😌

❛ you think you know me, but the truth is, you don’t. ❜

❛ if i could be a different person, i promise you, i would be. ❜

❛ you think i’m weak because i’m not like you. ❜

❛ i look at you and my heart breaks because all i see is loneliness. ❜

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE

➝ A HURT INTERLUDE

a/n: i have held onto this one because as you know babes it fit in perfectly between chapters four and five. so finally i hope you enjoy the small bit of angst between these two. i wanted to make it shorter, but again...i can't write anything short (it's a problem). i'm so glad you picked these prompts and i hope you like it! it's messy and unedited, but i hope you like it!

summary: the truth was...you were scared. not to die, but of losing him.

word count: 3.3k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, angst, angst, self deprecation, loneliness, mention of ptsd, cum eating, cum play, joel miller having an existential crisis.

series masterlist

The woods looked different during the day—sunlight streaming through the branches, illuminating the ground beneath your feet. The very ground that was covered in greenery. Everywhere you stepped there were patches of new grass, small sprouts that would one day become trees, and echoes of the animals that hid from your presence. You didn’t blame them. Ten years without humanity’s forceful nature certainly made them fearful of what you and Joel might do.

Yet the longer you were there, the more you could see flashes of them. The smaller foxes, peeking their heads out to chance a glance, and squirrels that were housed in the trunks of trees. You felt the warmth hit your face, fighting against the cold spring air that held a bite to it. Even as you were bundling up in the coat you had, you still remained—adamant on sitting with him as he worked with the wood.

“Do you need some help there?” you asked, teasing him with a smile.

Joel huffed, refusing to look up at you. For the past few days every time he looked your way, he found that he couldn’t yank himself away. As if you were his siren song. Calling him closer and promising him a sweetness he was now addicted to. Joel used to pride himself on what self-restraint he had, yet now it appeared to be nonexistent.

He was a selfish man, fighting to keep what little joy he had left in his life. Joel was just glad that you were exactly the same.

Getting to Boston was your main priority, but it seemed that neither of you were able to put aside your wants. You were hesitant to joke that you had lost your self control. Which wasn’t an entirely wrong statement. You were hungry for him, unable to satiate the cravings that controlled your body—the ache eating away at your heart. Neither of you had nothing left to give, but you were more than willing to take.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

He huffed, his breath forming in the air. “Boston.”

The word was a warning, you could hear it in his tone. Yet the need to tease him still remained in the forefront of your mind. You wanted to see him riled up, to watch his already loose grip of control, finally disappear. Although knowing Joel, he would wait until the last second. Neither of you were entirely safe in the middle of the woods, which left you two at a standstill, waiting until you finally found somewhere for the night.

The fire flickered to life, crackling against the wood as he finally made his way over to you. The cold would be setting in soon, leaving the both of you exposed to nature’s brutalities. Normally you would opt to sleep in the truck, but something about being pressed up against Joel beside a fire sounded more appealing. So, you remained. Settling into his open arms with a sigh, your eyes fluttering closed as he pulled you close.

“This almost feels normal,” you mumbled, pressing your nose against his shoulder.

He sighed, his face leaning in closer to you with a grin on his face that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t already looking at him. “It’s nice,” he murmured, his hand seeking yours out, warm gloved fingers entwining with your cold ones.

Allowing the loud crackle of the fire to speak, you settled further into his hold, attempting to find the lost sleep that you had yet to get back. Ever since you were injured, you grew exhausted faster than normal, but you still found it hard to sleep. Images of Joel’s face ripped apart with anguish haunted you—forcing you awake, just to check on where you were. On how he was.

You had become terrified of losing him, and that alone made you vulnerable. Somehow appearing open and afraid didn’t seem to scare you as much as watching the mad you loved being hurt. Or worse, dying due to something you couldn’t change. You wanted to scream, to rip out the fear and burn it to the ground until nothing but ash remained. But Joel couldn’t see that part of you again. He couldn’t know how you were terrified each and every day of things changing again, of one day waking up without him beside you.

“Darlin’?” His voice broke you out of your anxieties for a moment.

“Yeah?” you asked, trying to calm your already racing heart.

The soft touch of his fingers brushing against your temple cracked your heart in two. “Tell me what’s going on up here.”

Even as you fought to keep everything from him and remain unbothered. He could still see you. He was able to flip through the pages of your mind and see every little thing you refused to let him see. Yet then came the debate that often waged a war within your mind. Do you tell him? Or do you pretend that everything was okay? That you were okay.

“Nothing,” you replied, offering up a lie in the hopes that he’d mistake it for the truth.

He sighed and you knew…he could taste the falsity on his tongue. “Boston—”

“Joel, it's not important.”

“If it’s causin’ you pain then it’s important to me.”

“I’m not in pain.”

“Bullshit,” he muttered, his hand reaching out to cup your chin, drawing your head up lightly until he could finally see the conflict in your eyes.

It shone through you, all dark and twisted, a piece of you that he’d only seen flashes of before. His heart twisted in his chest, wishing he could pull out every doubt—every ounce of suffering from your body. He would carry it for you. Bear the pain himself, just so you didn’t have to. So you could finally find the woman he met on that first night—the person who had been broken over and over again since then.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, holding your breath until this moment passed and life fell back into its horrid version of normalcy.

He sighed, leaning in and pressing his nose against your cheek. “I know.”

“I don’t want to lose you Joel.”

Pain erupted in his body, spreading down to his fingertips. He had the urge to rip himself away from you, to push and push until you no longer felt that fear. Because that’s what he did. He protected the people he loved by pushing them away; pretending that they meant nothing to him until eventually…he meant nothing to them. At least that way they wouldn’t suffer if something were to happen to him.

“Darlin’...”

“I–I keep dreaming that one day I’ll wake up without you. And it hurts.” You shifted until you were clambering into his lap, your hands clutching onto his jacket. “You’re…I…fuck Joel I don’t even know how to say it.”

He cupped your cheeks, drawing you closer until your lips were close yet never touching. “You don’t have to say it.”

Sighing, you tried to avoid the pang of guilt in your chest at being unable to say what had been lodged in your throat for days. “You’re a good man Joel,” you breathed, shutting your eyes to feel his touch burn through you.

Except you didn’t see the way he nearly flinched away from you, his eyes screwing shut from a different type of guilt. One that seared through him and made his stomach turn. A feeling of regret he couldn’t get rid of—one he wouldn’t even know where to start with. Joel pulled his hands away, suddenly afraid that if he touched you any longer, you would be stained with his wrongdoings. That’s what it all came down to. You one day suffering because of him.

“Joel?” you asked, your eyes glancing over his now unreadable face. The furrow of his eyebrows caught you off guard—the pain so clear in his expression that you were afraid he was hurt. “Texas—”

“If I could be a different person, I promise you, I would be,” he whispered.

Something snapped in your body, a pain ricocheting off your very bones. “Texas, what are you talking about?” you said with a smile, attempting to play it off as a joke. Trying to find the humor is a situation clearly heading in a different direction.

“You—” He paused, the huff of his breath the only thing you could register—the rest of the world now faded into the background. “You shouldn’t call me a good man darlin’. Not when you don't know the whole story.”

“I don’t need to know the whole story.”

“You do—”

Scoffing, you cupped his chin in your hand, forcing his sorrowful brown eyes to meet yours. “No. I don’t. I don’t give a shit about what you’ve done or who you were. Why should I when you don’t know everything about me?”

“You think you know me, but the truth is, you don’t.” He pulled away, his eyes darting back to the fire, hands balling up into fists on his lap. “You wouldn’t be here if you knew.”

“Bullshit.” His eyes snapped to you, mouth set in a hard line. “That’s fucking bullshit and you know it. You think I’m weak because I’m not like you.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you could feel the sinking of your heart. The painful ache you tried so hard to forget about. “But I’m not weak Joel. I’m here. Whether or not you were a bad person who did awful things, I’m still going to be here.”

This time he stayed quiet, his eyes saying every single word that you were too afraid to hear. All the while your doubt screamed in your head, shouting words of unease and pain back in your face. Yet you couldn’t stop it. You were helpless to it, simply drowning in the agony that spread from the very center of your heart to every nerve in your body. You wanted to know why he wouldn’t speak, why he continued to remain silent.

Except Joel didn’t feel the need to explain the reel of horrific memories that played in his head. Every death, every kill, it all remained a part of him. It stained his hands, his heart, his very fucking soul, red. But that was the problem. He was so fucking afraid of what would happen—that he might wind up staining you red right along with him—that he didn’t ignore the incessant voice telling him to push you away. He leaned into it.

“I don’t want you to—” Joel wished the world could swallow him whole as he sat there, his fingers digging into his thighs. “To miss out on another chance at life—”

Your hands cupped his cheeks to stop him from looking away again. This man who had risked his life to save yours. Who patched you back together when you told him to leave. He was willing to give you the life you didn’t get to have. Yet he couldn’t seem to realize you wanted it with him. The scruff of his beard scratched against your palms, but you found you liked the sensation.

“There’s no other life,” you breathed, thumbs running along his cheeks. “I look at you and my heart breaks because all I see is loneliness. But then I realize I’m seeing myself. Now that you’re here…I’m not so lonely.”

His lips pulled up into a small smile, hands curling around your hips. He knew better than to fight you on this, because no matter what you would always prove him wrong.

So, he gave into your touch, nuzzling his nose into the cold palm of your hand. “Neither am I,” he breathed, meaning every word.

You laughed, leaning forward and finally closing the space between you two. Your lips slid along his, tongue peeking out to lick along the seam of his mouth—the ache to taste him forming once again in your body. There was time to spare for a moment like this. Time for the both of you to relish in each other’s lingering touches, in kisses that spoke more than either of you could say.

Joel pulled away, digging his teeth into his glove and yanking it off, his bare hand now sliding beneath your clothes. You moaned into his mouth, arching against his touch to feel more—the warmth of him spreading down to the tips of your toes. You wanted to tell him the truth about how you felt. Beg for him to break you apart and put you together, but the words were lost in your lust addled haze.

“Can I?” His hand cupped your breast, thumb toying with your nipple. He smiled at the way your whole body shuddered, your fingers tugging at his hair.

“Yes,” you whined. “Yes. Please.”

He nodded, ridding himself of the other glove as you worked open his jeans. The chance at going slow was ripped from your grasp the second his hand slipped into your pants. His groan muffled against your throat at the feeling of you practically dripping into his hand. Neither of you were patient enough to make this last. Yet you longed to remain in the moment forever, to never experience the fear you felt in your life without him.

“Fuck darlin’ you’re soaking my hand,” he cooed, his mouth pulling up into a tiny smirk. One you molded your lips to.

“J-Joel,” you gasped as his fingers found your clit, sparks spreading down your spine. “Don’t tease me Texas.”

“I ain’t teasin’ you.”

“Bull—” A high moan bubbled up in your throat, cutting you off at the feeling of his fingers sinking into you. The wet sound of your slick now filling the space between you.

Rolling your hips, you felt the heat begin to spill out from your chest. Scorching in its nature and causing you to melt against his solid body. With shaky hands you managed to pull him free, smiling at the grunt that was pressed into your mouth. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, its beat as erratic as your own.

Though the world was shit and the prospect of a long future with him was futile to think about, you found that this was damn near close to what you hoped for. Perfection resided in each tender stolen moment that you both managed to keep for yourselves. Holding it close to your hearts, in the hopes that you’d get another one.

Your hips jerked forward, a breathy moan being pressed to his cheek as he pumped his fingers into you steadily. It never did take you long to finish when it came to Joel. As if he knew what made you tick even before he started touching you. Grinding the heel of his palm into your clit, he watched your eyes flutter shut, your mouth dropping open in a silent cry.

“You’re the prettiest fucking thing I’ve seen,” he grunted, his cock twitching in your hand. “You gonna cum for me darlin’?”

Nodding frantically, you chased the feeling that was pent up in your body. His fingers curled inward, brushing up against the spot along your walls that had your whole body lurching. Grasping onto his shirt, you sloppily pressed your lips to his in an attempt to muffle your keening wail. Except it still echoed in the night air, bouncing off the trees. You felt him smile, felt his other hand rub circles into your hip as he helped you move—did whatever he could to watch you fall apart for him again.

He was starved for you, desperate for one more touch, one more taste. Yet he had all of that this morning and the night before. Whatever you did to put him under your spill, he wasn’t complaining in the slightest. In fact he was begging you to continue. Pleading with everything in his body to stay this way, to continue having the chance to touch you like this.

“F-fuck Joel,” you gasped, your legs shaking under the strain. “I want you—oh god—”

“You will,” he replied, the sound of his fingers and your slick making him dizzy. “You’ll have me darlin’. But first I want you to cum like this.” His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, sucking it lightly into his mouth before letting it go. “Can you do that for me honey?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled. Your brain had gone dumb, each thought and response no longer available the longer he pushed you towards the edge. Except you knew he liked it; caught the way his lips pulled up at the sight of you being turned into a mess. All because of him.

“C’mon.” His fingers sped up, thumb pressing against your clit with measured strokes that caused your eyes to roll back. “Cum for me baby.”

The world shifted as everything in you finally broke in two. Gasping his name brokenly, you grasped onto anything you could so as not to fly off the ground. And he let you. He kept you close, his fingers working you through your orgasm—sending you even higher. He knew letting you wasn’t an option. Not when you looked so sweet completely at his mercy; lost in the throes of pleasure with his name permanently etched on your tongue. If it wasn’t so cold, he’d spread you out on the ground. Simply to get another taste of you—to drink down his new addiction.

“I–I can’t,” you rasped, gripping his hand to stop him. “Too much.”

“I got you darlin’.” His kiss was soft, reverently placed on your lips to tell you everything he could not say. But you understood him clearly, letting it soak into your feverish skin with a pleased hum. “I’ll never get tired of seeing that.”

Smiling, you curled around him, your fingers digging into his hair. He placed his sticky fingers in his mouth, moaning at the taste. His cock twitching against your thigh. You wanted to watch him fall apart too, but knowing Joel he would simply tuck himself back into his pants. Claiming that tonight wasn’t about him. Before he had the opportunity to do just that, you took him back into your hand. Swallowing his broken heady moan.

“Your turn,” you breathed, brushing your nose along his.

He chuckled, his lips sliding along yours once more. Even as you touched him, he felt the stirring in his chest that hadn’t been there before. That old familiar flutter he never thought he’d feel again. The fire illuminated the side of your face, turning you ethereal beneath the moon. His breath caught in his chest, heart answering your siren’s call with one of his own, and suddenly it all clicked into place.

That emotion he couldn’t place, the feeling that bloomed in his chest and seared his soul, now finally had a name. One that sent a chill down his very bone—the fear choking him slowly even as you worked your hand along his cock. He moaned, his hips jerking up to meet your touch as he sank deeper in the freezing depths of his mind. Yet your touch kept him from falling too far down. You dragged him back to earth—handing him the hope he thought he lost for good.

He came apart with a grunt of your name, his spend spilling onto your hand and his jeans. As the three words he feared the most filled his mind. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you. There was no other way to spin it. No other explanation for that sensation overflowing in his chest.

Joel Miller loved you with every fucking piece of his broken heart.

Which is why one day, he’d lose you because of it.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #the last of us #hurt #my writing

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multifan2022 · 9 months

Text

Golden Lies 5

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

In the tribute center, at the stations all the mentors are shocked. Never before had they seen someone who wasn't teamed up with someone do what you had just done. Mags had tears in her eyes as she watched her kids go through their bags. She had missed the small part where they showed you dumping the bags out. She didn't know what you put in which bag, but she knew watching her tributes that you had stacked the bags in their favor. The only person who you may have grabbed more for would be your friend.

She looked up at Finnick who had his eyebrows drawn together. He was confused, why had you done that? Why not just end them right there? Why give them a chance to survive? He had been paying attention during the bloodbath where Mags normally looked away. He watched you make the first kill of the game. Watched you slit the kid from 7s throat like it was nothing.

Did you do it to be cruel? Did you want them to feel like they had a chance only for them to fail? Or were you incapable of killing them because of their age. Did you like River, the young girl he had just sent into the arena? Was it just too hard for you to kill such a kind girl? He didn't think so, but he had no clue what was going on as he watched you walk away.

Haymitch had been watching too. Normally by now with both his tributes dead he would be upstairs drinking and waiting for Chaff. But not this year, this year he would be sober... mostly. Watching this girl he felt so deeply connected with. He even requested permission from the gamer maker to watch from your screen. If he could gain control of your screen, he could send in parachutes. He hadn't heard back yet, but he was hopeful.

That day was spent walking, exploring what you could of the forest and trying to find somewhere relatively defensible to sleep. The entire day you could tell Hardin had something he wanted to say. Maybe multiple things as the lines in his forehead kept getting deeper. But he focused, watching the woods for anything besides your footsteps.

When you found somewhere to sleep he listened as you detailed the things you two needed and started to help you gather. It wasn't until after you had found a squirrel you recognize from the ‘safe foods’ chart in the gym that he spoke. You had been slowly picking at it, watching to make sure that Hardin gets enough before you. Considering you had eaten this morning at breakfast and he hadn't you wanted to make sure he ate something.

The furrow in his brows was starting to annoy you as the sun settled, “Ok.. Spit it out. What's the problem?” You said looking at him with that ‘dont bullshit me’ look, letting him know that you were not going to play around. He sighed, and dropped the bones from his animal into his lap pulling at its rib cage trying to get a bone off cleanly.

“Why did you help those kids.. Don't give me some bullshit answer about giving them their best chance and whatever. You killed someone at the cornucopia no? Did you go deep into the fight to get weapons for them? Is it because of that guy, their mentor? Just tell me the truth.”

You scoffed and stood up now annoyed that he was questioning you. “First off, I absolutely did not do it for Finnick. I helped them because I would rather spend a little time giving them some supplies than watch her get slaughtered next to me. I don't know why but I just identified with her. Maybe it was her innocence or something, but I just couldn't kill her..”

Watching him look at you incredulously with his head tilted made you want to smack him. “Then why did you go so far into the horn..” He said standing up now too. He stomped the small fire out as he looked around to make sure no one was coming. You laughed humorlessly as you dug into your pocket. Tossing the bag across the space at him you didn't speak until after he caught it.

“I had a feeling I needed to get that..”

When he opened it, the first thing he saw was a note. ‘To give you a fair, fighting chance.’ When he dug further into the bag his fingers pulled out a pill. His pills, he dumped them out carefully into his hand and counted five. Five days that he could fight, five days he could protect you. Five days to get you home. He swallowed hard, having heard stories from his father about things like this. Tributes getting special gifts or sponsorships, and the price that came attached to them. “How did you get this?”

“Ah it seems like the game makers were generous and gave the boy from 9 enough pills to last a few days! That will make the people happy, there was a lot of outrage last night after his interview.” Caesar says, clapping the table a few times.

But all Finnick and Haymitch can see are the white roses on the bag. They know its not from the game makers, but from Snow himself. They have the same question that Hardin did. What did you do or promise to do to get that medication? And what would it cost you if you got out of the games.

“Not important. What's important is you shutting your mouth and not picking fights with me. We can not be at odds right now over things that don't matter. Those kids from 4.. Not a threat to us, even with what I gave them. But we are a threat to each other if we are fighting.” You stepped around the small embers now glowing on the ground speaking again when you could grab one of his wrists.

“We have to be on our top game, Hardin. Otherwise we will get ourselves and each other killed. I don't want to hear about this again. No Finnick, no questions about the meds. Just keeping each other alive.” He nodded, leaning down and pressing his forehead to yours. “I'm sorry. I wont get worked up again.”

You patted his cheek as you pulled back, “Get those put away and somewhere on your body like a jean pocket. That way if a bag gets left or a coat gets pulled off you won't lose them. We need to move, in case someone saw some smoke. Then we can figure out rotations and get some rest.”

That night, you walked until you heard the Panem anthem. You watched as the tribute's faces flashed through the sky. Both from 12, both from 11, the girl from 10, and the boys from 6, 7, and 5 and the girl from 8. “Nine down.” Hardin said as he unrolled the sleeping bag. “13 more to go.” You said softly looking over at him “You take the first rest, I'll be fine.”

~~~~~~~

The next day and a half were completely uneventful for the two of you. More walking, you had looted one body though and found a freshwater stream. The body of the girl from 5, it seemed she got a decent amount of stuff. Sunscreen, some rations, gloves and some fishing line.

So with the bone hook that Hardin had painstakingly made the first night during his watch, the two of you fished. Caught something that you hated the taste of, and you were very vocal about it. That night you had seen that only the 5 girl and the boy from 10 had died. You both knew things were going to ramp up if things got to boring.

On the third day, things started to warm up. Water was being drunk a little faster, the fresh green grass was starting to turn into an unwatered brown. Sweat was starting to form from just walking as the sun stayed up longer. Your shirts were peeled off by the time the sun was high, you in just your jeans and a sports bra.

You wanted to follow the stream and see if you found a larger body of water, but with how hot it was becoming, Hardin thought it would be better to be in the shade. He also pointed out that other tributes would be looking for water harder now too. So into the woods you went, trekking for what felt like hours. With the game makers controlling how long the days and nights really were, it was hard to tell how long it had actually been.

“Do you see those marks on her back?” Caesar said squinting harder at his little screen just like his co host. “Hardin keeps looking over at them like they bother him.”

Everyone in the training center turned from their own monitors which only watched their tributes to the main screen. Finnick felt his face heat up as he realized you had stripped off the top two layers of your outfit. But it was replaced quickly with curiosity over what Caesar had pointed out.

They could all see the thin white lines that ran in miss match patterns across your back. Finnick looked down at Mags who was looking sadly up at the screen as well. “Scars..” was all she said before looking away to watch her tributes again. Finnick kept watching and listening to the main screen, hoping to hear an explanation.

Haymitch, who had gotten permission just this morning on what was actually the fifth day to act as your off screen mentor, was watching from the district 9 tablet. Up close he could see just how many scars there were. His skin crawled at the thoughts that ran through his head as he wondered. His questions would soon be answered though as he heard Hardin's voice.

“Do you remember the day we met?”

You paused for only half a step as you heard your friend's words. You knew he had been staring at your back, you could practically feel it. And had it not been for the heat, you would've put your t-shirt back on. Instead of ignoring him though, you played along thinking maybe the story would buy him some love in the Capitol.

“Of course.. My father had beat me within an inch of my life, with a steer whip. I still don't know how he got his drunk hands on it. I can remember him screaming at me, about me not being his child and blah blah. Momma was a whore or whatever.” You rolled your eyes as you searched out for other tributes or beasts.

“You were barely conscious when I found you in that alley. I dropped you twice trying to carry you home.” Hardin said as he remembered “My mom thought you were dead when I brought you in.” You nodded and went to carry on but swore you heard something. You raised your hand closing it into a fist that caused him to stop too.

Your head turned towards the sound as you raised your spear, ready for battle. From just a few feet away, a person that wasn't supposed to be in the arena stepped out. Someone who wasn't even alive, walked from behind a tree with a blank dead look. The body turned limply and stared at you and Hardin, none of you moving as your heart rate spiked.

“Ah yes.. It says here on our maker's sheet that part of this forest recreates your worst fear. Clearly our little Goddesses worst fear is this man. Gotta say he doesn't look like he's in the best shape.”

All the mentors were watching the screen, Haymitch's screen beeping alerting him to your high heart rate. He watched the screen in worry, speaking lowly, but due to the quietness of the game and the room most people heard him. “Come on Sweetheart.. You can do this.”

Both you and Hardin took a step back as your eyes stayed locked on your father. His skin gray and falling off in places, holes where it looked like something had eaten him were scattered across his body as well. He tilted his head and smiled at you as your breathing picked up audibly.

“You're dead.. He's dead.. This isn't real.. This isn't real.” You whispered to yourself as you raised your spear. It left your hand and flew literally through his chest, leaving a gaping hole that didn't bleed or heal. A decaying hand came up and touched the hole, before he charged you.

The sickle found your hand as his body slammed into yours. You could hear Hardin screaming, fighting off what looked like you. He was struggling clearly confused as to why you were attacking him. He didn't want to hurt you, even as you said things like ‘I will never love you.’ and ‘You're just holding me back’.

The duplicates words angered you. You had always been good at compartmentalizing, so that's what you did. You shoved away the thoughts of killing what kind of looked like your father, and focused on saving Hardin. You fought his hands off your throat, which you had just realized were cutting off your air.

“I wish your mother had killed you. It's your fault she's dead. I hate you!” The zombie dad screamed and you just rolled your eyes. You had not missed this, the emotional or physical abuse from the man. “Yeah yeah.. I'm a horrible kid.. Blah blah.. Let's get this over with.”

You sliced out with the sickle, catching his arm as he raised it defensively. You watched as he held his hand out to the open air, it was empty, you were confused. Just as you raised the sickle to cut his hand off, you watched a whip materialize. You felt your heart shoot up again, sweat from the heat and your own trauma pouring down your body.

You hadn't realized you long you had paused until the tip of the whip caught your face. You felt the skin split open straight down to your cheek bone. The force knocked your head back and caused you to stumble. “Yes.. This is your worst fear isn't it.. Me being back to whip you again..” His words didn't even register over the pain of the next hit, this time across your open chest. A scream ripped from your lungs as more skin split, nerves becoming exposed to the air as crack after crack screamed through the air. “Your screams are louder now that you're not a child.”

“That's just horrible.. To think that her father whipped her as a child, how traumatic this must be for her. Our poor little goddess.”

For the first time since becoming a mentor, Finnick turned away from the screen. But he could still hear the crack and your screams, so his feet forced him to leave the room. He was glad that he did, because he felt like he was going to throw up. How had a girl he talked to maybe three times affected him this much. He didnt even flinch when kids were brutally murdered at the blood bath.

Without thinking, he made his way to the bar ordering himself a shot that he downed far too quickly. He felt someone walk up next to him so he turned his head sizing up the man who stood there. He was wearing a suit, all gold with butterflies outlined in black. His tie looked like it had textured butterfly's and his beard was weird and wavy. Had he really had that made between last night and this morning?

“I would like to know how to sponsor the tributes from 9. Who can I speak with?” His voice was cool and almost calculating. When he turned back to look at a group of other men, Finnick followed his gaze. They all looked excited, like they were all in on this together. “Abernathy has taken up residence at their monitor. I'll go get him for you.”

If Finnick had only known the door he was opening.. He wouldve told them to fuck off. He wouldve screamed, begged and bedded whoever he needed too, to save you from the life he basically just signed you too. He wouldve told Haymitch to never speak to this man. But he didnt know, he didnt know.. f

Hardin's scream pulled you from your own nightmare. When you turned your head, you saw him pinned to a tree with both the duplicates hands around his neck. The pain that you were in suddenly didn't matter, that same autopilot came on. The snap connects again, this time to your neck. The warm blood running down is a contrast to the cold sweat beading there. It should've been scary to you how natural it felt to kill when it took over. You felt like a completely different person just stepped into your skin.

Everyone watching watching from the real world got to see something most hand never witnessed. The moment someone starts to slip. They watch your eyes as you watch your friend, they see the muscle just under your left eye twitch. They feel more than see the first nerve crack. The first feather on the camels back of your sanity. They all watch their goddess, take her first step down to hell.

Your hand raised seconds before the crack, the whip wrapped around your palm. Bones crushed when your fingers closed over the leather. Now it was just who was faster and stronger. When the zombie dad ripped his arm back, you ripped yours too. Effectively, since he was falling apart the motion pulled his arm clean from his body. Both the whip and the arm vanished from view.

You didn't feel anything as your legs stood, the stinging in your chest, arms and face didn't matter. All that mattered was getting to Hardin. You had dropped your sickle somewhere, and knew the throwing knives you had shoved into random pants pockets wouldn't be any help. You knew nothing about these mutts, not how to kill them or how to make them go away.

But you knew their body parts came off, and clearly didn't grow back. So if you could remove the things head, then you could get rid of it right? It seemed logical to you, so you assessed the area. If you could jump high enough there was a branch you could reach, maybe pull the thing off the ground? It was your best shot at this moment.

“What do you think she's going to do? Our sources say that she needs to decapitate the mutation. But she doesn't have a weapon, and her partner is busy fighting his mutt. Weird that his worst fear is his best friend hating him. This must be very hard for the both of them.” Caesar said leaning so close to his screen that he was almost out of frame. The district 9 tributes were undoubtedly his favorite in a long time.

“I don't know Caesar. I'm impressed that they have lasted this long or that she has been so ruthless. I mean she only scored a five! Do you think it was all an act or did something just click when she got to the arena?” His co-host said while tapping a pen on the desk.

Pushing with everything you had, you ran. It caught the mutt off guard so when he stumbled back a step you were perfectly placed to get one foot on his leg and jump. Your hands wrapped around a sturdy branch at the same time your legs locked around his neck. One ankle tucked under the other thigh in a death drip.

It took every ounce of core body strength you had to lift him up. Your arms were aching already as his dirty nails dug into your legs. Your body was shaking from adrenaline, pain, and exhaustion but you knew if you stopped two more cannons would be going off. You weren't sure how long it was before you felt the skin of his neck start to rip.

The feeling had you almost gagging, as you held him just an inch or two from the ground. When his hands fell from your legs, and you felt the weight of his body leave you looked down. His head rolled from between your thigh and calf, a thud alerting you to both hitting the ground. You didn't give yourself a second to breathe as your feet hit the grass.

You ran towards Hardin who was still trying to fight a paler version of you off. He had tears running down his face as he whispered to himself ‘This isn't real. She's not real.’ A glint of metal caught your eye causing you to bend over as you ran. A sickle now in your hand as you reach your best friend.

“Oh my god. She's going to kill a look a like of herself. This is amazing.”

Nothing about the scenario was processed as both hands wrapped around the handle of the sickle. It cut through the mutts neck like a warm knife through butter. The hands that were clawing into Hardin's neck now gone, as there was another thud and then smoke. Both bodies now disappear into nothing.

Hardin stared at you, covered in whip marks and bleeding. Both your heart rates through the roof as you struggle to breath. You knew this had fucked you both up a little mentally. He could see that look, the one everyone else saw. It terrified him, but you couldn't stop to talk about it, you needed to keep moving. “There was too much noise from this.. We need to move. Now.” You didnt turn to see if he was following you, just grabbed your bag and looked for your spear. But it too had disappeared, you figured the game makers took it from you.

@avis15 @liballer @avoxrising

#hunger games finnick #finnick odair #finnick x oc #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #the hunger games fic

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quinloki · 3 months

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Hahaha jokes on you for saying people are qualified to speak to you bc now I’m even more encouraged to send you my thoughts

Jk. But I appreciate your acceptance of them. I’m currently trying to bully my IRL bestie to hurry tf up on getting thru one piece bc right now my options are limited like she’s in enies lobby now and I’m like pls… at least get to post time skip… I can scream about Law and Marco then

Omg ok so it’s peak squirrel brain hours for me rn so lemme try to tell you about this brainrot I’ve been having.

I literally have no idea where it came from but modern au, you’re a patron at thatch’s bar, you go there often and are friendly with thatch bc he’s a nice guy. Friends with Luffy. You go to said bar, having a great time with your friends, whitebeard crew shows up bc it’s thatch’s place obvi, but some other crew busts in trying to pick a fight. Somehow you get yoinked as a hostage bc the other crew wants to fight somewhere else (a trap duh) and it’s not a situation where they can get you out safe so they’re like yes we’ll fight you at this location but Marco is like I wanna come too, prolly cause he feels responsible maybe you were by the whitebeard crew bc you were luffy’s friend or you were flirting with Marco and that’s why you got snatched

And the baddies they’re like fine fine but it’s seastone cuffs. They got beef with him or something so they were down, plus having one of their fighters tapped out seemed smart

So you go off with them and both of you are just subconsciously trying to protect the other Marco even has you come sit on his lap bc the sketchy van you’re put in has stuff all over the floor and you’re wearing shorts/skirt and it’s conveniently freezing in the van so like, y’all can warm eachother up

And the baddies are like oh wait is it the Phoenix’s gf is that why he wanted to come and they’re taunting like oh the things we could do to your little gf and Marco is like just remember the cuffs won’t be on forever

Anyways they drive y’all around until the meeting time maybe taunting or roughing poor Marco up a little and finally they all meet up at this trap location except obvi the whitebeard pirates are gonna kick ass and come to the rescue and they take you back with them to heal any injuries/make sure you ok

BUT

Oh no one of the baddies gets away and starts posting all over the dark web about the phoenix’s weakness and everyone is like oh you’re in danger guess you gotta stay with us for awhile

And Marco was so nice so you just have a huge crush but he somewhat avoids you bc he feels responsible so you’re like oh he does not like me back oh ok

And idk they’re loosely mafia ish so some shenanigans ensue of people coming after you but Marco is always there to protect you and the tension is off the charts

….

That’s kinda as far as my brain got bc I keep starting over lmao

Ugh I wish I was better at making that a cute little story I’m so good at coming up with things in my head but typing them out is so hard T_T

But I hope you enjoyed my brainrot I’m about to head to bed and will most likely be thinking of it more <3

An Author friend of mine - far more successful and suited to the job than I am - said something once that really sticks with me.

The ideas are the easy part, writing is the hard part.

Some people will come to her with ideas, and want some sort of 50/50 deal for doing "half" the work, and honestly, no matter how well fleshed out the idea is, it's barely going to be 5% of the process at best.

I don't share that to put your idea down, not even a little, but I do mention it to highlight that you're not wrong. Turning ideas into stories is the hard part, and honestly I always love seeing that truth understood too. (Real fun is when you apply that to other things and realize that certain types who have "great ideas" are rarely the ones who make them reality, but they really want to continually tell you how great their ideas are changing the world >.> )

<.<

Moving on from my little rant, I have to say I LOVE THIS - KAZIEAI OMFG I AM FOAMING AT THE FUCKING MOUTH YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS IS ONE OF MY MOST FAVORITIESTS SITUATIONS EVER!

I love everything about this!

AND THE ENSUING ANGST

UNNNGH.

So - I have to admit I have a Mafia AU Marco story I'm slowly working on. It's pretty complex so far, intended as a slowburn anyway, and I really want to incorporate this idea into it. I just love the vibes.

AND - lol - one of the points I wanted to sort out for it was specifically having the reader end up in the Main House for the Whitebeard Mafia family. This idea is PERFECT, a few adjustments for the reader type and the AU itself, and the vibes are there. It's a Devil Fruit AU too, so >.>

the reader as a hostage gets Marco as a "hostage", they're supposed to let her go at that point, but someone gets the brilliant idea that the girl keeps the bird inline, and Pops' prize bird keeps the other boys inline, so they're keeping both.

The idea of the doomed kidnappers thinking the two are together works, it'll be the 2nd or 3rd time they've met and yeah, there's been flirting, but nothing committal. So her staying at the Main House for protection still leave Marco with a sour taste - he does like her, but this situation isn't fair. He's too laid back and experienced to blatantly avoid her, but he makes sure there's always someone else around, excusing himself before his brothers can "leave the two of them alone" or anything.

In this particular story the reader is an adopted kid of Big Mom's, trying to get away from the mafia life to some degree, and more than that to avoid being married off for whatever reason by Big Mom in the first place. (this is grumbled about in the first chapter, so it's not some big reveal). That certainly adds another layer to things, especially if Lin-Lin sees it as an in to tie the two families together.

Ah, sweet Kazieai <3 I would love to utilize this wonderful idea you've blessed my morning with. Just because the idea part is easier than the writing part doesn't mean it isn't worth due credit ❤️Especially when it's just the scenario I was trying to come up with.

#quin muses #quin answers #reader insert #x reader #kazieai #marco the phoenix #the current working title is Accidental Ornithology >.>

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factorialsfandoms · 2 years

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For the H/C writing prompts, how about: “I’m going to ask you how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly.”

If it's LU, I can see this being Legend and/or Wild for some reason but idk why. Just the vibe. You can choose another character if you want tho.

Well this has been here a while, huh? I'm apparently procrastinating on going shopping by writing this, so I do hope it's okay. I did also consider your fluff prompt for today and do want to get back to it, but I need to sort out some brain things first. Maybe later.

Anyway! I shall attempt to do Wild justice! He is one I struggle with tbh, but I'll give it a shot.

Wasn’t sure how to end it, but... It reaches an end.

The Chain had laid camp just a short while ago, and each dispersed to their chores. They were tucked into some trees just by a great open field, various ruins littered around.

And then, of course, because this was Wild's Hyrule, the malice-scarred ruins of Hyrule Castle loomed ever on the horizon.

Still, they were only scarred. Like any - every - Link, Wild had saved his world in the end. It was more than should have been asked of any of them. But he had done it, just as they all had, and now it was safe for him to wander about and collect the damned firewood the Chain always seemed to use up too fast. Legend could swear that the Champion had more squirrelled away somewhere, but he’d be damned if he knew where.

Or. It should have been safe.

Somewhere off to the east was a clattering.

Swearing under his breath, Legend carefully placed down his pile of branches. Just as slowly, careful not to draw any attention lest the cause of the noise be monsters, he pulled out his bow.

He was far from as confident with it as his sword, but it would do.

Slowly, carefully, he crept towards where he had heard the noise.

As he drew closer and heard nothing he grew tenser, tenser, tenser.

And then like a bowstring it snapped.

In the middle of one of the burnt out ruins Wild was knelt, surrounded by scattered supplies. Old pots and pans clashing into each other must have caused the noise.

But then, what had caused Wild to drop it?

And why was the Champion not getting up?

Frowning sharply, Legend shoved his bow back into his bag. He kept one hand on his sword - if he had heard the noise, anything would have - and approached.

"Champion? Are you hurt?"

Legend tried to keep his voice quiet, but in the silent ruin it still echoed uncomfortably.

For a long moment Legend grew more and more concerned. He was about to call for Twilight - potential monsters be damned - when Wild shook his head.

The Champion turned to face Legend, a grin on his face. Maybe Legend would even have fallen for it, if not for the way he had found the other hero, or for the way his eyes were blown wide.

“Really?”

Legend could feel his own eyebrow raise. Sure, Wild’s eyes were even, but he still looked a bit concussed.

“Really,” Wild offered, smiling again before looking at the debris cluttered around him. With a sigh, he began to pick it up once more.

“Are you sure?”

“Yup!”

And yet still Wild’s hands trembled. Clearly something was wrong, but...

Mentally Legend slapped himself; he knew better than to ask only about injuries, he did! Of course the Champion would take it to mean physical hurt. Or... No, Wild was more intelligent than that; he was almost certainly looking for a loophole.

“Champion.” Legend’s eyes narrowed further.

“Veteran.” Wild replied, making a point of facing another way.

Legend took a deep breath.

“I’m going to ask you how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly, please.”

There. Polite, but firm. He was getting there on these sorts of things.

As he watched, Legend could see the consideration work its way through Wild. Whether to lie again, or tell the truth; Legend leant against the long-rotten door frame, and waited for Wild to make up his mind.

Eventually, after almost everything was gathered up, Wild drifted to stand before the ruins of the fireplace. There was a saucepan in his hands as he stared into long burnt out flames, and Legend continued to wait.

He had taken a mental inventory and assessed what he needed to buy on their next trip to a town four times before Wild spoke, voice a little patchy and distant.

“My grandmother used to live here,” he said. “This was her favourite saucepan.”

Legend could not really comprehend having a favourite saucepan.

Wait, no, not the fucking important part here.

“Memory?” he instead asked.

Wild nodded slightly.

“Want me to get the Rancher?”

A shake of his head. Unusual, but Legend would respect it unless something went really wrong.

The two stood in silence for a while,

“Was it bad?”

“No.” Wild sighed, fingers turning white as he clutched the metal tighter. “I-”

Whatever Wild meant to say, it was lost in a frustrated sigh.

Legend frowned, but took a step closer. Cautiously he reached out, touching Wild’s shoulder. When the Champion only relaxed a little, he moved closer, pressing a little of his weight against Wild’s side.

A memory was not a dream, but a dream could become a memory.

Red, and blue. A golden laugh, a silver smile. Legend went to banish the thought with impunity, but instead... instead cradled it a moment, and set her down.

Because of course she came to mind again.

“The good ones are worse, aren’t they?”

Because they were. It was not screams and blood and death that left Legend sobbing in the night, not any more; instead it was gentle hands and warm laughs and people he would - could - never see again, just out of reach but always there.

And how much worse would the calling be, if he had forgotten them for a time too?

“I don’t remember her, not really,” Wild confessed. “I knocked the pot off the side, she called to ask if I was okay... I was upset because it was her favourite and I damaged the handle. She was more worried about the scalding soup I was covered in. That’s it. Nothing else. Not even... Not even a name, not what I called her.”

That was less familiar. It was Legend’s curse, really - it was not that he forgot things he wished desperately to remember, but that he remembered things he wished desperately to forget.

Still, it sounded like it fucking sucked.

He told Wild that - exactly that - and earnt himself a short laugh.

“Yeah,” Wild conceded, finally pressing back against Legend’s almost-hug. “Yeah, it does.”

#fanfic #lu fanfic #lu wild #lu legend #memory #I hope this works fine!

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scribblestatic · 2 years

Text

(Best blessings to @a-vast-horizon for donating and funding this drabchap)

I was gonna try doing chapter work for this one, but I can’t quite pull it out of me. Work and sickness combined is definitely kicking my ass. I will update this one, like, next week if not later this week.

Anyway.

After school, his mom picks him up from school with a careful smile she directs at his teachers. He grabs his back and runs over, eager to leave, and it seems she notices this. When he looks up, her smile has slipped away and she’s staring at his classroom, but she doesn’t say anything else while they’re there.

Outside, after quickly sidestepping her questions about school with “It was okay” and “It was fine” and “I’m okay,” Izuku asks his mom if he can go running.

He watches as her face twists, scrunching, before she slowly loosens it. He almost says he doesn’t want to go anymore, just from seeing her discomfort.

But she instead says they can try going to the park over the weekend. She wanted to be there in-person to make sure he was safe. It wasn’t quite time for him to run around alone.

Izuku understood, but going to the park with other people… Deep Voice said they were gonna run. He didn’t feel like running in the park was going to do what they wanted to try. So he instead asked if they could go somewhere he could run a bunch.

Inko thought about it, not sure of why he wanted that. But she knew there had to be a reason. Maybe it was something to do with his…“quirk”. Regardless, if it was something he needed, then she wouldn’t do anything to keep him from getting what he needs. So, she plans a day out near the forest.

They go that weekend, as planned, and Izuku is absolutely jazzed. Deep Voice had said running would be fun, so he’s very excited to try it. He’s swinging his legs in the car on their way there, face flushed pink with a very slight hunger fever. He’s quickly given some chocolate milk to help it go away.

When they arrive, there’s not a lot of people there, as there usually aren’t. But Izuku’s starting to get restless. Itchy, almost. It’s early in the morning and he can smell lots of things, like the natto his mom has packed for him. But he can also smell new things, like the freshness of the leaves and grass, the different kinds of soil and dirt, and lots and lots of meat.

Quite a bit of it, skittering around in the trees and hiding in little holes and walking deeper in the forest. He salivates a little bit…

But he’s not hungry. Not quite. He’s just had his chocolate milk. And his mom has prepared lots of lunch for him because he eats lots. And he has lots of chocolate milk. Deep Voice agrees they are very tasty, so instead of eating the meat around them, they’ll wait.

…Ah, squirrels shouldn’t be meat. But when Izuku looked at them, smelled them from afar, he couldn’t deny they smelled nice. Tasty, even.

The woodland creatures, usually used to the presence of humans by this point, seemed to avoid him. But it didn’t hurt Izuku’s feelings. He’d avoid something hungry, too. Like dogs. He didn’t like being around hungry dogs, not the ones salivating.

…Would he eat a squirrel?

Izuku surprised himself, answering mentally that he probably would. He’d seen a video of a wildlife man who ate fish from the river and such. But Izuku needed things that could make milk…though salmon is an exception. But still. If squirrels are an option…why not eat them?

Just to make sure he was thinking good things, Izuku asked his mom if it was okay to eat squirrels.

She blinked down at him, surprised by his question. She answered that it wasn't a good idea, and when he asked why, she said all kinds of things, like diseases and such. But if the squirrels didn’t have diseases, would it be okay? For a moment, she paused. Then she asked why he wondered.

Izuku shrugged, and the conversation faded off after that. It was okay.

Deep Voice said squirrels could be okay, but they like chocolate milk and fish and natto much better. They’d only eat squirrels if something bad was going on and they really had to eat.

Anyway, for some reason, those questions led his mom to taking them to a more secluded part of the forest. It wasn’t untravelled or off the main paths, but it saw less foot traffic than usual routes. Izuku felt good about that. He really wanted to run without worry.

They set up their little camp together, with his mom unpacking their food and Izuku dancing around and looking at things, waiting. The sun was bright and pale that morning, and the sunny spot they’d found warmed their heads and shoulders.

Inko asked that he stay close, so Izuku said he’d try. Then, he held up his All Might toy and started running around the area as his mom relaxed on the picnic blanket she’d brought.

…to be continued.

#venom deku #venom deku au #static writes

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kariachi · 2 years

Text

Okay I had to write fic for it. Some Kevin raised by the Saturdays, pre-osmobeast brand. Quick thing, just scenes.

Kevin and Zak meet a superhero and make a friend.

“Okay,” Zak said once they were well out of the way of the adults, who were just going to be boring for however long anyway, “we can either go back to our bed stacking experiment or run around outside.”

“We’re taking notes, so it’s science,” Kevin said as soon as Gar opened his mouth with a furrowed brow. He had a firm grip on the other boy’s arm, not enough to hurt him but enough to keep it clear that the ‘but I’m working’ talk he’d been spouting when they’d grabbed him wasn’t going to fly. They weren’t missing out on the chance to hang out with another kid, it wasn’t going to happen. Slowly nodding, Gar made a thoughtful noise.

“It’s been a while since I got to just run around,” he said slowly, like he didn’t want to admit it, and they really couldn’t blame him.

“That’s a travesty.”

“What’s a ‘travesty’?” Already settled well into the ‘older brother’ position, Kevin rolled his eyes at Zak.

“Means it’s bullshit.” Immediately Fisk admonished him, leading to another eye roll. “What?! It’s not like the grown-ups are here to hear!” Gar started snickering and Kevin grinned at him. “Come on, outside it is then.”

Komodo huffed at the base of the tree, turning away from where Fisk was helping Zak up to go plop down in a sunny patch. Kevin grabbed hold of Gar’s arm again as he shifted from squirrel back to boy, leaning all but off their branch to watch him.

“He says climbing trees is for babies,” Zak called up. “Which is, kinda true for komodo dragons, I think?”

“Yeah,” Gar said with a nod. “They have to so their moms don’t eat them.” Blinking, Kevin considered that, then nodded with a hum.

“I got relatives like that.”

“Same.”

“I’m not great at it,” Gar said like he was admitting some big secret, “I can only turn into little things so far.” Kevin huffed, giving into the random urge to pick up a rock and huff it over the edge of the cliff. They all stopped to listen for the splash at the bottom.

“So,” he asked. “I’m still figuring stuff out and I’ve had my powers forever.”

“Yeah, same here,” Zak added, flashing Gar a smile that distracted him from Komodo smugly disappearing into thin air and Fisk swatting in his direction. “It’s still really cool you can just shapeshift like that.” A knot of tension left Gar’s shoulders with a light chuckle as he smiled back.

“Really? Cooler than Kevin’s?” Zak rolled his eyes.

“Anybody is cooler than Kevin.”

“Hey!”

Somewhere along the line, the decision to build a fort had come into being. There’d been a back and forth about what to build it out of, but eventually Kevin, Gar, and Fisk had been put to work gathering pretty much anything they could find laying around the property and bring it back while Zak and Komodo cleared out an isolated spot near the far fence. So far ‘pretty much anything’ included a lot of loose branches, so many rocks, some sheet metal that was supposed to be for vehicle repair but really what was more important, and those extra pieces to make the dining table bigger that they hardly used anyway.

Kevin, being the only one with an eye for engineering and with powers to bolster it, was key in making sure the place wouldn’t collapse on them.

“Zak, I think you’re wrong, he might actually be cooler than me.”

“Told you I was cool!”

“No, you’re not, Gar just doesn’t know any better!”

“I think you can make spackle out of like, mud and grass or something? It’d make it look less…”

“Like we threw a lot of junk together?”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Maybe they just weren’t doing it right, but the mud spackle was a bad idea.

Take one brotherly shoving match, add one small green superhero, and what did you get? Kevin, Komodo, and Gar playfighting in the mud and dirt while Fisk held Zak safely out of the way despite his protests. It was a mess of shapeshifting and Komodo blinking in and out of view, and Kevin was perfectly willing to admit he’d bitten both at least twice.

They’d rolled with it, it was fine.

None of them knew how long it’d been when the adults finally came looking for them, but they did know they didn’t want the fun to stop.

Kevin made his displeasure known with a handful of mud right in that Mento jerk’s face.

The adults were saying their goodbyes, the same old boring stuff that cut further into valuable fun time far more than it should, when Gar broke free of the hand on his shoulder with an ease that belied his size at flung himself at Kevin, wrapping him in a firm hug.

“Thanks for dragging me out,” he said as the situation processed. It took a heartbeat or two, but once it did Kevin hugged him back, sticking his face in his shoulder to hide how hot his face had gotten.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answered.

“It was fun,” Zak cut in, “I just hope we can do it again sometime.”

“Yeah, you’ve gotta come back, or we can come to you, or whatever,” Kevin said, pulling back as Fisk and Komodo affirmed their vote. “And if anyone makes you feel bad again, you call us, and I’ll come kick their ass for you.”

“Language, Kevin!” As if he was listening, as of you couldn’t hear a smile in the tone.

“I’ll try,” Gar promised, grinning at them.

His skin went dark when Kevin grinned back, and didn’t that just make something fizz in his stomach.

“So, ‘I’ll come kick their butt for you’,” Zak half-asked half-teased as they were getting ready for bed that night. Kevin faced away from him and the others, mostly so they wouldn’t see him go red again.

“Shut up,” he said, followed by a muttered “he’s cute” that wasn’t, apparently, as quiet as he’d thought. Komodo snickered from his spot at the foot of his bunk, and Fisk sighed dreamily and cooed something about ‘young love’ in Lemurian from his. A glare over his shoulder revealed Zak stood there with the most shit-eating of grins on his face.

“Kevin’s got a boyfriend~” he crooned, and Kevin flung a pillow at him with an embarrassed snarl as he climbed under his covers.

“Worst brothers ever.”

#fanfic #gar: i'll try to come visit again #and then he didn't #at least not until they were all grown #nobody blames him but there still may or may not have been a little childhood heartache on both sides

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mx-pastelwriting · 2 years

Note

Hello!

Could you please do Daryl Dixon smut where he and reader go on a run and it gets late so they decide to stop at a cabin and to kill time the reader suggests that they play strip poker which leads to smut?

Love it, Let's get it, are boy Daryl!

(Excuse the word entrance)

Daryl Dixon x GN! Reader

Summary: Request up top

Warning: Drunk, Smut, Poker, Moonshine, Getting drunk

Minors do not interact!

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

"Hey Daryl, how about these?" You turn to Daryl and say. Not having to yell as he was about four feet away from you. You held up a box of old snacks. You watched a small smile grow on his face. He nods and hums in approval. You threw the box into the cart with a smile and pushed it behind Daryl. You walk through the surprisingly stocked shelves. "This store must have been closed when shit hit the fan," you say, looking around. "Yeah, and it's not near anyone. I think it was forgotten," he says, looking around to make sure you're both still safe. At least we got some good food. " You say with a smile, "What you getin sick of eating my squirrel?" He says, looking back at you. You knew he was teasing you. "No, it's just I get sad, I have to eat them." You say, picking up some old marshmallows and looking back at him with a fake sad face. "Then stop naming them." He says, turning back around with a small smile, "I still miss Jerry." You say, looking down.

"Come on, let's put them in the back," Daryl says, as he opens the old car that you both found on the side of the road. You both start to put the food you found in the back seat. You both finish quickly and get in. You watch as Daryl starts the car and starts to drive. You look up at the sky to see the sun setting. You say, looking at Daryl, "We should stop and rest somewhere." He hums as a response, "I know of somewhere we can rest up. It's a little cabin. Me and Rick stumbled upon it while hidden from the road." You say, getting the map of places you keep in your pocket. "Okay," he says in a low tone. You feel him slow down, waiting for your directions.

You watch as Daryl pulls the car up to the little driveway of the cabin. You both get out of the car and walk up to the door. Daryl banged on the door to lead any walkers up the front, but there were no sounds. After you both walked around inside on alert, but there was nothing in the cabin, you met him back in the living room, in the front room. "Looks clear," you say. He nods back at you. He walks back out to the car to get some food and water for the night. You look around to see a back door to the place. You walk out of it and into the back of the cabin. You see a small shed a few feet from where you stand.

You walk over to it and open it with your knife, ready for any walkers. You open it and find jars of clear liquid stored inside. You look at the writing on top of the jar. The most recent was right when everything happened; "This place is totally abandoned," you think to yourself. "Yeah," you hear Daryl say, with his footsteps coming fast, "I'm not sure what this is. It just looks like a bunch of clear liquid." You say back. Maybe water? You question in your head. He grabs it and opens it up and smells it. He takes a sip. "It's moonshine," he says with a rough voice after the sip. "I'm guessing it's safe to drink?" "It looks like the guy before us had been drinking it," he says, pointing at the two empty jars in the back. Well, all right, let's have a party. Maybe some nearby walkers can join us. You say, garbing some jars and walking back into the cabin. You sure?, I'm a dick when I'm drunk, "he says, walking with you back into the cabin with the jar in his hand. "That's a good idea. Let's get drunk and potentially share some drunk stories with each other," you say, biting your lip with excitement. After Daryl followed you into the cabin, you set the jars down on the floor where you planned to put your bed. You locked the doors to the cabin and sat on the front room floor with your makeshift beds, thanks to Daryl. There was no bed in the cabin, which you both thought was weird, but paid no mind after the jars. You watched as Daryl lit a small fire in the fireplace. "There," he says, quietly enough for you to hear.You sit on your bed and move back away from the small fire a bit before opening a jar of moonshine. You take your first sip and cringe at the taste. You could hear Daryl scoff at your reaction. "Never had it before?" He asks, then sips his. You shake your head "no," but you drink it slowly, allowing the burn to pass down your throat.

After getting more sips in, you could feel the effects of the moonshine kicking in. "I think I'm getting something going here," you say, looking at the fire before taking another drink. "Me too," he says. You look at him and let out a little laugh. So, got any good stories? You ask him with a smirk. When you hear the story about how his brother used to get drunk and do some stupid, funny things, you both laugh out loud. Furthermore, you look around the room as you pull yourself up from the floor, laughing. You see a little, nice looking box, you crawl over to it and bring it back to your little spot next to Daryl. You could see him taking an interest in what you have from the side of your vision. You open the little box to find a poker ship and some cards in it. You stare at it for a second, but an idea pops into your head. "Hey, let's play strip poker." You say, looking up at him with a smile and excitement in your voice. "What?" He asks, puzzled, "Oh come on, I'm sure you know how to play poker and the strip part is pretty self-explanatory," you respond, turning your body to face him. Are you okay with that? "you pause and look up at his shocked face." You noticed the light red color on his cheeks before you looked down. You start to shuffle the cards and pass them out. You took a sip of your moonshine before looking at your cards. You noted that your vision was beginning to blur a bit. You didn't mind. All you were thinking was that the cards you had were pretty good. You put down two and picked up two from the deck. "How many do you need?" You asked, a bit slurred. "None," he said back with a sloped smile. "Ready?" You say, looking up at him, his eyes looked up from his cards. He nodded once. You both set down your cards, looking over them. You had three of a kind of king, while Daryl had a pair of queens. You laughed out loud at his loss. He let out a sigh before taking off his shirt. Furthermore, you smiled and looked down to pass out the next cards.

You put your cards down and laugh out loud. "I win," you say, looking up at Daryl with a smirk. He gives you the most deadly glare he could muster. You look away as he takes off his pants. You look at the jars of moonshine you both were drinking an hour ago. "We're probably somewhat sober now," you think to yourself. Daryl grabs the cards from you, pulling you out of your thoughts. "I'm gonna set em up" He says, not looking up at your continuing with the cards. You say with a cocky tone, "What can't face the fact that I'm winning?" You say it with a cocky tone. He looks up at you and backs down at the cards. As you grab your cards, you both have only one piece of clothing on. You smile, wondering who's going to have to show up first. You draw one card out of your hand, only one out as you almost have a straight flush. You hide your smile and place the new card in your hand. 'Prefect' you think 'Straight flush this bitch is done', you both place your cards down, looking over his. You see, he has one too. "No way," you say, as you look up at him. "I guess we both have to take something off," he says, meeting your eyes. You give a small smile, knowing he just wants to see you naked, but you nod to agree with him.

You both stand up and remove your underwear, only to cover yourself with your hands, before sitting back down at the watch while he shuffles the cards with one hand while covering himself with the other.Furthermore, you got your cards, and looking over, you found a pair of aces. You gave him three cards as you wanted to see if you could get another one. As you put the new cards back into your hand, you could see Daryl looking at you every so often. You smirked, knowing that he was fighting with himself not to get hard.

You remember all the time you would catch him looking at you or your ass. You would move in your seat to let him get a better view of you. "I think I'm ready," you say, looking up at him. As he looks down at his cards, you see his hand pressing down on himself. Oh, he's getting hard, "you think to yourself, with a smirk growing on your face." "Yeah, I'm ready," he says, looking up at you. You both put down your cards, seeing that he won. You smile to yourself as an idea pops in your head.

"I guess you won," you say, looking up at him with a smile, thinking of what could be his prize. You move your hand away from what you tried so hard to cover up. You see his eyes looking at your body, you see the discomfort in his face, and he tries not to show his hard cock. You can see I have no more clothes on, so I was thinking maybe I could give a different prize, "you say, crawling over to his." His eyes stare into yours, and you get closer to him. You look at his lips as he starts to move closer to you. Your lips meet his, and you feel one of his hands lightly brush against your cheek and the other lightly brush against your hip.You moan in the kiss as his touch makes you want him more. As you move closer, you feel his cock poke your stomach.

You comb your hands through his hair, going to his face to cup his cheeks. You feel his tongue enter your mouth and start to massage your tongue. He deepens the kiss as he explores your mouth. You stop him and lie down on his bed, opening your legs. The glow of the small fire allows you to see a red tint starting to burn on his cheeks. "Come get your prize," you say, catching your breath from the heated kiss.

You watched as he wasted no time moving in between your legs. You feel as if he is starting to stroke himself up as he kisses you again. Feeling his cock rub your entrance, he breaks the kiss as he looks into your lust-pleading eyes. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he says, a bit of hesitation at the end, but you smile, knowing that his only influence was Merle's words. "Yes, Daryl, make love to me," you say, and kiss his lips. He gives me a smile back. You watch as he spits on his hand and stocks his cock to lube it up. He goes on, and you watch as he slowly disappears into you, stretching your walls. You moan out as you feel the waves of pleasure rush over you. You couldn't keep your eyes from rolling back. You didn't care about the walkers that could be near enough to hear your cries.

Feeling the pleasure stop, you look at him. His face was stunted. "Please Daryl," you whined out. You feel his hips start up again, slowly, as if he's testing something. You and your body shake and move as he sends pleasure throughout your body. Feeling Daryl's hips start to quicken, you look at him and pull him into a hot kiss. Feeling his hands all over you, you tightened your grip every so often and both of your lips met for a hungry kiss, you couldn't help but moan loader. You feel one of his hands start to touch you, wanting you to cum first. Skin slapping and moaning being exchanged with 'fuck' and 'please' being said was the only thing that filled up the cabin with noise.

Feeling your high coming, you tighten your grip on his arms as he starts to fuck you harder. "Daryl Pleas-was all you could whine out before cumming all over his hand. Your back arched, and you felt him slam into you, having you both ride your high together. You felt breathless at that moment, feeling his warm cum cover your walls. You bit your lip as Daryl's moans made you come back down. The honey-like moans that left his throat made you want him even more. His eyes met yours. As he fished with his high, his hips dug deep into you.You watched as he was pulled out of you and laid next to you. He said, "I love you," he said before he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep. You smile and tiredly grab the two blankets at the end of the bed and cover you both. You snuggled up to his chest and heard his heartbeat before you drifted off to sleep with his warm cum dripping out of you.

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Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is and grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x reader #daryl imagines #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead

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late-to-the-party-81 · 3 years

Text

A/N: This is my entry for @boxofbonesfic Spooktacular Smutfest. I chose the prompt “There is something in the woods and it is old and hungry” and there are two dialogue prompts in bold.

This is my first attempt at writing something a bit dark. I hope you enjoy.

Length: 5.6k

Pairing: Eddie Brock/Reader

AU with no symbiont, so Eddie is just human.

Warnings for gratuitous smut, dub-con/r*pe by a demon tree (yeah not something I ever thought I’d have to tag for), and major character death. And crows. (They need a warning of their own)

The Green Man

You reached out your hand to change the radio station, but receive a small, playful slap to the wrist.

“Eddie, come on, this is crap.” The pounding heavy metal was giving you a bit of a headache.

“Uh-uh, you know the rules, babe, driver picks the tunes.”

“Okay, so when’s it my turn to drive then? We’ve been travelling for hours.”

“Not too far now, it’s around here, somewhere….”

He peered intently out of the windscreen, taking in all the road markers and landmarks.

You had a long weekend off together, and had agreed to go camping. But Eddie, being Eddie, said it couldn’t be one of many ‘official’ campsites near where you lived; “’cos babe, that’s not real camping. Nah, we gotta do it right.”

So you were off wild camping, at some spot recommended to Eddie by Peter, who, although he’d never been there, had heard about it from Steve and Bucky, or something like that. All you knew is that you were somewhere in New England, the tall trees towering along each side of the winding road.

Eddie must have found the landmark he was looking for as he let out a small exclamation of triumph before turning off onto a narrow track that lead between the trees. He slowed the car, to keep it in the obviously well used ruts and you took the opportunity to watch him.

He was a well-built guy, with short brown hair. There was a longer tuft on top which he tried to style but inevitably ended up flopping into his eyes. You’d never say it out loud, but it always looked kinda adorable when it happened. He had blue-grey eyes, flecked with hazel, with the cutest laughter lines in the corners. Just the right amount of scruff covered his cheeks and chin and he was tall enough to make you feel small and safe in his arms, without having to duck through every door frame. And talking of being in his arms, his solid frame had just enough give to make him the comfiest pillow and the most amazing ride!

And he was a giver in the bedroom, loving nothing more than to eat you out until you’d come at least twice, happy to try anything you suggested at least once. You know he got a little thrill from those occasions where you put yourself in charge.

You came back to yourself as the track came to an end in a stand of trees. But you both spied a small trail, for walking, leading away from it.

“Apparently, we follow the path for about 20 minutes, and we’ll reach a larger clearing and there’s a river nearby for getting water and washing.”

You rolled your eyes – you were NOT looking forward to washing in ice-cold water. Your plan was to heat some up on the fire and give yourself a quick once over with a towel.

You both got out of the battered, caramel coloured, saloon, the only car Eddie could afford right now, and gathered the small tent from the trunk, along with your back-packs, the camping pans clattering where they hung off the bottom.

Luckily the day was fairly warm and dry. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too cold overnight, but at least you would have a human shaped radiator pressed against you. You wound your way along the trail, taking in the beauty of the forest. It was early autumn, so still alright for camping out, but some of the trees were starting to change colour. Squirrels chattered in the trees and birds shrieked back at them, as they faced off against each other in the rush to find and store food for the winter.

You came to a sudden halt as you reached the clearing, Eddie bumping into your back with a small “oof”. It was almost a perfect circle, as if a hidden hand had plucked out the trees to create the shape. And in the centre, a very large and gnarly tree. Three times as thick in the trunk as the others, maybe more so. It’s giant roots snaked over the ground around it, rising up out of the soil and plunging back down and it’s leaves were all still a perfect green in contrast to those on the edge of the space. The branches spread out in all directions, some so long and thick they were starting to bow under their own weight. It was obvious that this tree was very, very old. The oldest living thing in the vicinity. Despite the warm sun on your back, you shuddered slightly.

You were brought out of your reverie by the clank of metal poles as Eddie emptied all the parts of the tent out of the bag.

“Babe – can you take the canteen down to the stream and get some water whilst I put the tent up?”

You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Sure thing, sexy. Then I’ll collect some twigs and things to make a fire. Need to do that before the sun goes down.”

He dropped the tent fabric to grab you round your waist, swinging you around and nuzzling into your neck.

“God, you’re so sexy when you’re talking survival skills.” You laughed as you smacked his arm and he let you go. Untying the water canteen from the back of his bag you headed towards the sound of running water.

The river wasn’t visible from the clearing, but you headed up over a small ridge and down the fairly steep slope on the other side. There were plenty of twigs and small branches here and even some moss, which would be useful for starting the fire, although you knew Eddie had packed some firelighters.

The river was wider than you thought it would be, but that explained why you could hear it from your camp. There were plenty of large rocks in it, and the water burbled as it rushed around and over them. Taking off your shoes and socks, you rolled up the legs of your trousers. If you waded out a bit you could fill the canteen easier in the slightly deeper water.

The water was freezing and a small shriek escaped past your lips as you placed your foot into the shallows. Yeah, no way in hell were you going to wash in this river! You’d likely get hyperthermia.

Once the canteen was full you decided you would sit for a few minutes to let the still warm air dry your feet off a little. The idea of putting your socks back on over damp feet was not appealing. Clambering up onto once of the larger rocks on the river bank you settled yourself in the remains of the sun, closing your eyes and taking in the sounds of nature around you.

The light wind rustled the leaves. You could hear the beat of some bird’s wings. The squirrels were still chittering. There might even have been a woodpecker, you weren’t sure. A soft giggling…..hang on.

Your eyes snapped open. Giggling? It had sounded like a group of small girls. No….it must have been your imagination. Surely it was just the river and your ears playing tricks on you. You shook your head, put your shoes and socks back on and lugged the canteen back up the slope. You were definitely making Eddie get the next lot.

A couple of hours later and it was almost fully dark. Eddie had got the tent up, lain out your sleeping bags and blankets and then the pair of you had set about making the fire. You’d heated hotdogs on sticks and then decided to make a load of s’mores. If you couldn’t eat junk food when camping when could you?

Getting melted chocolate over your thumb Eddie took hold of your wrist and brought your hand up towards his mouth, eyes slightly hooded. You knew what he wanted, but the mischievous part of you twisted your wrist in his loose grip at the last minute and rubbed the gooey mess over his nose. He was shocked still for a moment and you laughed, pushing up from your seat on the log that he had placed near the fire for you.

“Minx!” He wiped his nose then shot up to follow you. You ran, laughing and shrieking from him, ending up on opposite sides of the large tree. You tried to double and triple back to get away from him, but when you made a break for it, he got hold of you and spun you, trapping you against the broad trunk.

“Hey babe.” He mouth was a hair breadth from yours. One hand was gripping your wrist, holding it up above your head. The other moved up to cup you cheek as his lips crashed down.

You sighed into him, hips rolling up against his, feeling him grow larger within his jeans. He growled into your mouth before trapping your lower lip between his teeth and pulling gently. Then he was letting go of the swollen flesh and pressing kisses to your neck. You shuddered in pleasure. Your knees always went weak when he did that, and he used it to his advantage.

He let go of your wrist as you sunk down, hands tugging at his belt and pulling the stiff fabric. His cock sprang free and he moaned at the freedom. But you didn’t give him long before sinking your mouth onto it.

“Oh god!” He flung his head back and rested one of his palms against the rough bark, to keep himself upright. His other hand came down to rest on your head. Your fingers gripped his thighs as you took him as deep as you could comfortably manage. You used your tongue to massage against the underside of him, drool pooling in your mouth and dripping out onto the dry earth around the roots of the tree. Eddie’s hips twitched and he tried desperately not to fuck into your face.

“Babebabebabe…..” You pulled off his cock and he dragged you back up. His big hands grasped the hem of your sweater and pulled it and your shirt off over your head in one go. You unbuttoned your jeans and shimmied them down your legs with your panties, toeing off your trainers as you went. He looped an arm under your butt and lifted you, leaning you against the massive tree for stability. Your arms wound round his neck and you were a mess as he sank a thick finger inside your molten heat.

Your legs clenched his waist and you couldn’t help but move against him, desperately trying to fuck yourself on his hand.

“Eddie, please…..” Your begging whine made him grin and he added another finger to your aching pussy.

“That’s it, sugar, ride my fingers like the good girl you are.” His thumb found your clit and you keened. You bounced harder, your back rubbing against the tree, breaking the skin, drawing blood. But you didn’t care. The pain and the pleasure combined and you came, burying your head in his neck, your muscles clenching down on his fingers.

He turned his face to your capturing your lips, his tongue invading your mouth, his scruff rubbing the delicate skin of your cheeks. He pulled his fingers from you, using the slick covering them, along with his own pre-come to lube up his cock. He lined himself up and sank into you.

“Fuuuuck, baby….” He smacked his wet hand against the trunk, leaving a trail of your combined juices along it. His hips snapped into you, and all you could do was hold on. Your fingers grasped at his short hair and your mouth sought his again. You were close, and you could tell he was too.

“This cunt is so good, sweet-thing. Swallowing me up. She’s always hungry for me.” You loved his dirty talk and pulled on his hair. His hand returned to your clit, pressing in circles, trying to bring you with him.

His rhythm faltered and he came in you with a shout, pinching your clit lightly and setting off your own orgasm. Your combined come was pressed out of you by your spasms, droplets falling to the ground as you writhed and mewled and rode out your pleasure.

Eddie slid his cock from you and carefully lowered you down to the ground. Your legs were wobbly and your fingers twisted into the fabric of his flannel shirt, holding you up as he tucked himself away. He pulled you close and the fabric, soft as it was, rubbed against the raw skin of your back. You hissed at the pain and jerked slightly.

Your boyfriend let out a soft chuckle.

“Okay, next time, we’ll find a comfier place baby. Come on, let’s get into the tent and I’ll put you some salve on. I don’t think you’ll be able to lie on your back tonight.”

You smiled against his lips.

“Just means I’ll have to ride you then.”

——————

You weren’t sure what woke you the next morning.

You sat bolt upright, breathing hard, a feeling of terror running through you. Had you had a nightmare? You couldn’t remember if you were dreaming before you woke or not.

Shaking the feeling off you turned to look at Eddie. He was still deeply asleep, snoring gently as he lay on his back, bare chested and an arm thrown over his head.

Digging through your bag, you gave yourself a quick refresh with wet wipes, before pulling on your jeans, tank top, and flannel shirt. Your plan was to heat some water and have a proper wash after breakfast.

You unzipped the door to the tent and stretched as you crawled out. It was misty, which hadn’t been forecast, but as autumn was on its way, it wasn’t a major surprise. But something felt….wrong. You brushed it off as the lingering feelings you’d felt when you woke.

Moving to the edge of the clearing you decided to collect more kindling for this morning’s fire. You winced slightly as you bent over, your clothing rubbing over the scrapes on your back from the night before. Grinning to yourself, because Eddie turning feral never ceased to turn you on, you loaded up an armful of sticks and twigs and crossed back over to the cold fire.

And screamed.

Dropping the wood you jumped backed, falling on your ass, and scrabbling backwards. Eddie shot out of the tent, in just his boxers. He dropped to his knees in front of you, hands running over your limbs, eyes focused on yours.

“Babe! What is it? You okay?”

Unable to articulate your terror, you whimpered and pointed in the direction of the fire pit. He turned, and took soft, careful steps towards it, stopping briefly to pick up one of the sticks you had dropped. You made yourself stand, so you could follow closely behind, almost pressed up against his broad back.

He bent over to look at what had scared you, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, that’s pretty weird and gross, I’ll give you that.” You peeked over his shoulder as he prodded with his stick.

The charred remains of a rabbit and a snake, the latter wrapped around the former, met your eyes. You felt silly now. Eddie was right, weird and gross, but not scary. The snake had obviously tried to constrict the rabbit, but the rabbit had fought back and they must have rolled into the remains of the fire after the pair of you went into the tent.

Grabbing another stick, Eddie used the pair to pick up your gruesome discovery and throw it into some bushes at the edge of the clearing. He then pulled you into a hug and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You alright now?”

“Yeah, thanks. It just freaked me out.”

“Anytime babe, anytime. Can you light the fire whilst I get my clothes on, then we can have some breakfast, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

His arms slid away from you and he sashayed towards the tent, intentionally wiggling his barely clothed ass, making you giggle. He was such a goof-ball some times. After he ducked in he threw the firelighters and matches out towards you.

You scraped away the ashes and rebuilt the fire. You felt a sense of satisfaction when you managed to get it going first time. A lot of the women you knew wouldn’t even attempt it.

You watched the smoke curled straight upwards. And that’s when the sense of unease hit you again. The air was still. Unnaturally so. And you couldn’t hear anything. Absolutely nothing. No birds. No squirrels, no leaves rustling in the wind.

Eddie clattered out of the tent, carrying the pans and a bag of oats. His carefree demeanour jolted you out of your thoughts – he always had that effect on you, able to draw you out of yourself with ease. He chatted inanely, making jokes and teasing you with soft touches and quick kisses as he made your breakfast. After eating you washed up and added some more wood to the fire.

“Babe, I’m gonna go down to the river to have a wash. You gonna come?”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling into it.

“Absolutely no way. I’ll heat some water and wash up here. That means you can take the canteen down with you.” Eddie muttered under his breath, something about ‘harsh taskmasters’, before collecting his towel and the now empty canteen.

“I’ll be back in a bit sugar. Don’t get lonely whilst I’m gone.” You rolled your eyes and gave him a small shove.

“The sooner you go, the sooner you get back.”

As Eddie disappeared over the ridge you started to heat the last of the water. Okay, it wasn’t going to be a bath, but the idea of getting cleaned up sounded wonderful. You spread a towel out on the floor, and stripped off your clothes. You started to rub yourself down, starting with your face. Whilst the water was warm, the air was chilled. The mist hadn’t burnt off as you’d expected and as you washed under your arms and across your breasts, your skin raised up with goose-bumps.

If you were lucky, maybe Eddie would raise more goose-bumps when he came back. God, you loved that man. Neither of you had said it to the other yet. Maybe you would tell him tonight over the campfire?

Your head jerked up as the unnatural quiet was broken by a loud squawk. A crow sat up on a branch of the giant tree, staring at you.

“Take a picture, birdbrain, it’ll last longer.” You went back to washing yourself down.

You and Eddie had met through his job and yours. The store you worked at got robbed, and somehow, you’d managed to trick the felon and lock him in a supply cupboard until the police arrived. Eddie was the reporter sent to interview you and the pair of you had ‘clicked’ almost immediately. As in, you had gone to show him the closet, and ended up with him on the floor between your thighs, giving you one of the best orgasms of your life.

As you washed between your legs the crow let out another cry.

“Pervert bird,” you muttered. You dried off and picked up your underwear. You were about to put it back on when your winged observer did something entirely unexpected. He lifted up from his perch and dived straight at you. You ducked to avoid collision and glared as he took a seat on another tree branch.

“Fucking stupid corvid!” He shrieked back then dived towards you again. You took a step backwards. You heard another cry, this time from the other side of you. You turned and narrowly avoided another crow.

“What the fuck???” You dropped your underwear as you dove away from the dive-bombing avians.

You ran further under the tree, hoping that the low-hanging branches would impede their attack. There was a reason you weren’t a fan of Hitchcock films, too close to reality for your liking. Both birds were shrieking now, diving at you, scratching with their claws and trying to peck you with their beaks. Where the heck was Eddie?

The tree wasn’t providing you with as much protection as you’d hoped. You were running around it’s girth, much like you had last night with Eddie, but now you were getting dizzy. You heard another strange noise, the strange giggling again. But you weren’t near the water like yesterday. The mist thickened inexplicably and you thrust your hands out in front of you, trying to pin point where the crows were from their cries, but the giggles and lack of vision were disorientating.

Then, almost as if in slow motion, your foot caught in one of the snake like roots and you tripped. Your head fell against the trunk and the world went black.

—————————

It was warm and you could smell an earthy dampness all around.

You opened your eyes. Darkness surrounded you: There wasn’t a chink of light to be found. You sat up, and felt around with your hands. There was soft dirt beneath you. You stretched out further, turning onto your hands and knees, and carefully moved around. You explorations suggested that you were in a small space, surrounded by large roots, presumably underground.

“Hello!” You called out loudly. How did you get in here? Because if you got in, there must be a way out. Had Eddie realised you were gone yet? You didn’t know how long you had been unconscious.

A sound came from behind you, a giggle, and you whipped your head around, startled. You couldn’t see a thing.

“Who’s there?”

Another laugh, and you swore you felt something brushing against you. Like fingers, but also not.

Pressing into the nearest wall you started to claw at the soil slightly above your head. You had to get out!

Another brush, another soft, high pitched laugh. You could feel the terror building up inside you, filling your throat. You dug harder, your nails ripping on stones, fingers tangling in small roots.

“Help!!” Someone please help me!” You screamed, even though you knew it was most likely futile. Where was Eddie?

Your terror turned to hysteria when something grabbed hold of your ankle. Something thick and firm. Not a hand. You shrieked as it pulled you. A second ‘thing’ wound around you, flipping you onto your back. Your scrapes from the night before came open again as you were dragged over the ground. You screamed again at the pain and tried to beat at whatever was holding you with your fists.

“Getoffgetoffgetoff!”

It was firm, but supple. Round like rope, but smoother, thicker and slightly tapered. Like…like roots. Tree roots. You struggled and twisted, but another root came out and wound around your wrists, pining them together and holding them above your head. You came to a stop, but more roots snaked out, holding you down, pulling your legs apart.

They criss-crossed your chest, your breast poking up between them. More giggling, like there was more than one person…creature, and soft brushes against your nipples, making you gasp and buck your hips in reflex.

You couldn’t think, because being held captive by some kind of demon tree MADE NO SENSE. Stuff like that didn’t happen. But it was.

The soft, barely there, touches were now travelling across your body. And your body was responding, despite your best efforts. Your nipples stiffened and you could feel yourself getting wet.

“Getoffgetoffgetoff!” Another root twined around your leg, getting higher and higher. You tried to shuffle away, but you were held fast. It bluntly pushed against your folds, sliding in your juices, before pressing slowly, but firmly. Your mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening, just repeating “it’s inside me” on loop.

Your hips bucked again at the stretch and you cried out. The root pulled out slightly before gliding back in, it’s passage eased by your slickness. And like with the touches, your body was enjoying it. The root was just the right thickness, filling you, pressing on your walls. The rounded tip was nudging that sweet spot inside you, making you see stars. Small grunts of pleasure were escaping your lips with each thrust.

The roots holding your legs moved, so they were bent at the knee, holding you further open. The one on your pussy pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and on edge.

“Nonononono!” You shook your head, protestations falling from your mouth as the now slick appendage pressed against your ass. As before, it was a slow but firm pressure, until it slipped past the tight ring of muscle. It thrust shallowly, gaining a greater reach with each forward thrust. It’s not like you’d never had anal sex before, but it wasn’t a regular part of your sexual repertoire, and you normally required a lot of prep to fully enjoy it. You breathed deeply through your nose, willing your body to relax. If this was going to happen, you ought to try and make sure it didn’t hurt too much.

Your body had just started to relax and get used to the intrusion when you felt pressure against your pussy again. By now, your brain had stopped trying to process anything logically, your terror slipping away, and you moaned in pleasure as you felt yourself fill up again. The two roots were rubbing against each other either side of your thin interior walls. The roots around your waist eased their hold slightly and your hips rolled instinctually. The soft touches returned across your breasts, some kind of fingers plucking and pulling at your nipples. And there, another touch, teasing your clit.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!”

You were rising higher, and, with a particularly hard pair of thrusts, your back arched and your mouth fell open. Another root wound its way loosely around your neck and pressed between your lips. It slid over your tongue and butted against the back of your throat. You were pinned and fully filled. You should still feel terrified, hysterical, like the rabbit caught in the coils of the snake, but all you could feel was bliss as you were stuffed and held captive.

The root around your neck started to tighten slightly, restricting your air flow and making you dizzy. The touch on your clit increased in pressure, the thrusting in your holes more intense, and then you were screaming silently around the appendage in your mouth and coming…..and coming…..and coming…….

————————

“Babe! Babe!” The sound of Eddie’s shout pressed into your brain, bringing you back to consciousness. “Are you okay? Answer me?”

You groaned and your eyes fluttered open. You were lying at the base of the large tree. Your head and ankle throbbed. For a moment you through everything that had happened was a dream, but other parts of you were also sore, and there was dirt encrusted around your ripped and ragged nails.

“Eddie!” Your voice came out in a rasp, your throat feeling the abuse it had been through. You pushed yourself to your feet, dirt streaked across your naked skin. For a moment your hand pressed against the trunk for balance and you felt a presence. You pulled it back quickly and turned towards the sound of Eddie crashing through the undergrowth in the fog.

He appeared in front of you, grasping your upper arms, mouth wide open as he took in your state.

“Oh my god, babe! What the fuck happened?” You sank against him. It would be alright now, now that Eddie had returned. He would make it all better.

“I…I…I just want to get out of here…please….”

He helped you walk over to the now extinguished fire and pull your clothes on. You were dirtier than when you started, but you no longer cared. Eddie ducked into the tent and grabbed your cash, cells and the car keys, then taking your hand and intertwining your fingers, he lead you off down the trail towards where the car was parked. You left everything else behind. The tent, sleeping bags and camping equipment, none of it mattered any more. The only thought in your head is that Eddie would make it okay.

You could feel his worry, and knew he wanted to ask you what had happened. But he could also tell that whatever it was, there would be time to talk about it when you both in a safer place.

The fog swirled around you, and you could barely see in front of your face. Your foot caught on something and you looked down.

“What the fuck?” It was a rock.

A rock that circled a fire pit.

Your and Eddie’s fire pit.

That you’d left behind a few minutes ago? Were you going round in circles? (Eddie can make it all better….)

“Erm, we must have got turned around babe. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the car soon.” He pulled you closer, trying to reassure you, before you both stepped back onto the trail together and continued walking. You huddled into his side, almost as if you were trying to burrow into his skin. His name circled around in your head like a prayer; EddieEddieEddie….

“Oh, fuckin’ hell!” Eddie let out a shout as he almost walked into the trunk of the big tree. (Eddie can make this all go away…)

You both hurried this time, getting onto the path and studiously keeping an eye on it, to make sure you were going straight forward. The wind picked up, and a crow landed on a bush in front of you. It looked you straight in the eye and caw-ed. You clutched Eddie’s arm, your heart lodged in your throat. (Bring Eddie to me…)

A few minutes later you tripped over the guy ropes of your abandoned tent. Your boyfriend looked at you and for the first time he looked scared.

“I…I…what’s going on babe? I don’t understand.” You both scrabbled up and jumped as a pair of crows shrieked at you both. The wind whipped around you, blowing leaves and twigs in your faces. (We need Eddie….)

And like before, the birds started to attack you, driving you both towards the tree. You grabbed a stout stick from the ground, swinging it at them trying to keep them back, but they were persistent. Tears were running down your cheeks. (Bring us Eddie…)

“Eddie, I’m scared, I’m so scared!” Your hand reached out behind you and rested on the tree……

There was a moment of perfect clarity. The terror dropped away. You knew what you had to do.

Turning, you swung the branch with all your might, connecting it with the back of Eddie’s head. You watched him drop like a stone to the ground before you collapsed after him.

————————

For the third time that day you rose out of unconsciousness. But now you knew.

You were back in the hollow under the tree. You knew it was dark, but now you could see. You looked around and you that’s when you saw them. The dryads.

They pushed their way through the soil to stand around you. They smiled and their hands, green and frond-like, gently touched you. They stroked your face. And then they giggled.

Oh how you loved them, your sisters. They helped you remove your clothes until you were as naked as them. You all pressed together and you noticed the green tinge creeping over your flesh. You could feel that the Green Man was pleased with his latest acquisition.

The dryads chittered at you, their language currently unknown, but their meaning clear. Your hands roamed all over each other and you could feel your desire blooming.

You were lost to your arousal until you heard a grunting noise from behind you. You broke away and turned. Your new eyesight let you see Eddie. Vines wrapped around his face, between is lips, gagging him, and thick roots held him propped up against the wall. His eyes were full of fear in the darkness.

Walking over you ran your hands over his jacket. Unable to see you, he jerked in his bonds.

“Ssshhhh, Eddie. It’s okay, it’s me….” He stilled at the sound of your voice. Reaching into his pocket you drew out his lighter, a proper metal one. You flicked the lid and spun the wheel, bringing the flame to life so he could see you. He blinked at the sudden brightness before he was able to focus on your face.

You looked at him and saw his beauty, his virility. You gently stroked his face. One of the dryads giggled and he tried to look past you.

“Eyes on me Eddie.”

He deserved to know, even if it would make no difference.

“We woke him up Eddie. The Green Man. When we fucked against the tree, he absorbed our essence and he wants more.” His eyes were wide, darting side to side.

“And I’m sorry, my darling. I am his now. But he needs you too. He’s been asleep for a long time. You can help him”

You bent down and pressed kisses to the parts of his face not covered by the vines. You felt a small pang inside you as you thought about how you would miss him.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. The pain only lasts a little while.” The roots and vines tightened, pulling him into the earth behind him. You could hear his screams through the gag, and cracking as his bones broke. But you were turning away, lured back to your sisters and your master. Soft touches covered your skin. A root curled up your leg. You smiled. You were part of the forest now.

#Spooktacular Smutfest #dark!fic #Eddie brock #Eddie brock x reader #dubcon #there’s something in the woods #my first dark!fic

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lino-know · 3 years

Text

Misfits

pairing :: reader insert! w/ lee know word count (chapter) :: 2.5k chapter count :: 1/? genre :: historical au!, enemies to lovers, mostly fluff + adventure

description :: in which you and minho are travelling bandits who steal things for a living, but he has an uncanny talent for getting in your way and finding where you are. also known as me speed-running the enemies to lovers trope and squeezing it into the span of god knows how many chapters.

note :: I say 'enemies to lovers', when it's really a combination of witty banter and increasing sexual tension. there is a plot if you squint hard enough, but honestly it's mostly the reader running away from minho and minho squirreling his way back into their heart.

also there is smut, but it’s later in the story.

see the end for historical notes if you’re interested!

also posted on ao3

schedule :: updates every tuesday until it finishes!

the three kingdoms, despite how strong and fortified they seem from the outside, are ultimately the best place to be a bandit. for one, each kingdom has a rivalry with the other two, which makes it easy for criminals to slip unseen between one or the other. for another, the kingdoms are so constantly at war with each other that the officials don't really have time for anything except for warfare, and politics. which means that none of the authorities would bother themselves with the likes of you, a thief traversing across the lands making a living by picking pockets, charming people and sometimes reselling whatever you took. Well, not necessarily in that order.

having travelled between the borders countless numbers of times, the guards are already familiarised with the sight of you and your horse as you approach the gates. grinning, one of them starts to ease the large city gates open. "I see you're back, _______-nim."

in return, you smile back, pulling a small pouch from one of the bags hanging from your horse's back. "how can I forget such a beautiful city, yoon-nim?"

he laughs, and you toss the pouch at him, before leading your horse through. "remember to share it, yoon-nim!" you call back, and the gates close behind you. bribing the guards isn't really part of the job description, per se, but you make sure to do it anyways. it always helps to have an ally somewhere, somehow. and it's especially important if you're being chased on horseback by someone from another kingdom, when they actually find out and actually give a damn. which is also why you decided to make baekje your refuge and sanctuary of sorts - you know you'll always be safe here.

the city of sabi is as busy as always, with its bustling marketplaces and everyone milling around with an agenda in mind. not only are there merchants from baekje walking around, selling their goods, but also merchants from china, japan, and some other manner of dress that you've never seen before. you smile and take a deep breath, the fresh ocean air never failing to be refreshing and relaxing. "_______-ssi!"

at the sound of your name, you whirl around and spot yeon, one of the shopkeepers that you're most familiar with in the city. "you back from another trip?"

"yeah, just came back from goguryeo." leading your horse on with the reins, you near his store, leaning closer to scrutinise his goods. "the wars there are terrible - I just managed to escape."

"I suppose you didn't manage to get as many pickings as you used to, then?"

"hmmmm," you hum absent-mindedly, intentionally avoiding his question. shopkeepers, regardless of their facade, are all the same - all they want are goods they can buy off others at a low price, then selling them at a much higher price and wheedling you to buy it until you give in. you've long since learnt the art of bartering, but it's always a tricky business, and a thin line to tread. picking up one of the jade pieces in his store, you hold it up to the light. "how much is this?"

yeon frowns at not receiving an answer. However, he takes it from you nonetheless. "this isn't worth any oshuchon. I'll give it to you for three bolts of hemp." setting the piece of jade onto his table, the shopkeeper taps it a little thoughtfully. "you can get it to a blacksmith, smooth it out, and take it to the jeweler's. hong would probably be able to make something out of it. he'd take it off your hands for three oshuchon, easily."

"that's a good suggestion," you agree, turning around to your horse to get the bolts of hemp from your bag. however, just as you're about to hand over the material, a hand comes out of nowhere and places down two pieces of silver on the counter. "I'll take it for two oshuchon."

instantly, you whirl around in indignation to see who it was disturbing your transactions, and is surprised to see the hand belonging to a handsome young man. however, he barely spares you a glance, merely a lazy flicker of eyes to your direction before being directed back to yeon, who is standing there baffled. "two oshuchon?" he prompts, cocking his head.

"b-but sir," taken aback, yeon seems to lose his words for a moment. clearing his throat, he starts again. "but sir, that piece of rough rock is barely worth anything. three oshuchon is what I predict for what it could become, not for its current price." he pauses. "you'll be wasting your money if you're spending this much."

"two oshuchon," the young man repeats. "take it, or leave it." and of course, being the shopkeeper that he is, there is no way yeon will refuse such a generous offer. he quickly snatches up the silver pieces in the offered palm, and hands the customer the stone. giving yeon a brief nod, he pockets the jade piece, but just as he's about to leave, you come back to your senses. "hey!" you grab the man's wrist to prevent him from leaving. he sighs, as if you're the one bothering him instead of vice versa. "what?"

"I was here first. I had my eye on the jade piece first." your eyes narrow, and you frown. he scowls and wretches his wrist out of your grasp. "the hell you barging in and just snatching my purchase from me?" the man rubs his arm resentfully, before scoffing. "well, the shopkeeper agreed to my purchase. I paid for it fair and square, and he accepted it." he pauses, a small smirk appearing on his face. "I don't see what the problem is."

furious at his seemingly unbothered demeanor, your blood starts to boil. "well I do! if you don't know, this country has its own set of rules, and its own set of traditions. come to think of it, even if you're not from baekje you should've been taught manners. or are you not even capable of that, you bastard?"

the smirk slides off his face, and his eyes narrow in return. a sense of satisfaction settled over you as you successfully rile him up, but just before he could respond Yeon quickly intervenes in the fight. "Now, now. ________, I have other jade goods as well, why don't you take a look at them? and sir," he bows at the young man, an action that makes you scoff in disbelief. "my apologies for my acquaintance. they mean well." at his words, your eyes widen in indignation, but before you can put in another word yeon's glare silences you. the young man nods, satisfied, having gained victory. "you'll do well to remember your place, peasant." laughing, he spins on his heel, and walks away.

still furious, you wheel on yeon. "what's that for?"

the shopkeeper raises his head and cocks an eyebrow at you. "don't you know who that man was?"

"why would I know who that insolent brat is?"

yeon blinks, then guffaws loudly. "insolent brat, eh? I'd think that was a more appropriate title for you, ______." he pokes your cheek affectionately, but you brush him off, annoyed. sensing your mood, the shopkeeper clears his throat, sobering. "that 'guy' is one of the most fearsome figures in all of the three kingdoms. no one knows where he's from, or what his name is, but his nickname is the 'white wolf'. and there are pretty wild stories about him out there too."

"like what?"

he shrugs, and slides the silver pieces into his pouch. "apparently he rode all the way to daxing in china in the span of two months and came back with his bags full of Chinese treasures, fighting back guards on the way back. he managed to enter the city gates of goguryeo just in time, and to lessen the king's fury at leading the enemy right up to their gates even visited him to offer all the goods he had. And legend has it, when he was dining with the king, he was asked to show his military skills and managed to defeat the goguryeo's top generals." yeon ducks under the table and rummages around. "of course, whether that's true or not, no one knows. now!" the shopkeeper places a smooth, white stone in front of you. "this is by no means as high quality as that piece of jade, but it's a rare gem from the shores of silla. one bolt of silk, how about that?"

you hesitate, before an idea crosses your mind. "do you have any blades?"

night soon falls, and you find yourself drifting towards the guesthouses by the river, feet weary and in desperate need of rest after a long day of bargaining. most of the goods you've hauled back (coughs, stolen) from goguryeo has been sold off to the sabi merchants, but they'd been filled with baekje goods in return, through actual, legitimate means. All in all, a fruitful day, and you were negotiating with the proprietress for a warm meal after having put your bags in the room upstairs, when you saw him.

instantly, your fingers close around the dagger hanging on your waist. yeon had tried and failed to convince you not to purchase the blade, having guessed correctly that you wanted to go after the so-called 'white wolf' and chop his head off with it, but you'd manage to persuade him otherwise by handing over two pieces of oshuchon. the knife definitely wasn't worth that much, but you could see it's sturdy and will last you at least three years before being demoted to scrap metal. plus, the handle is laden with actual silver. with any luck, you can resell it for double its price.

the infuriatingly familiar young man is sat at one of the wooden tables, a steaming bowl of something sitting in front of him untouched, mainly because he's conversing with some of the other individuals sat around the table. it's clear that the other men are all listening to him, a spell-bound expression on their faces as they're in awe of whatever he's sharing. for some reason, him having so much attention irks you so much that you find yourself on your feet, having sat down and waiting for a meal after successfully guaranteeing a room for yourself.

"what are you talking about?" you drop yourself casually on one of the seats surrounding him, a bowl of makgeolli in hand. the annoyed expression on his face tells you that you've clearly interrupted him in the middle of something particularly interesting, and you savour it as you sip the rice wine. "oh, I'm sorry, were you saying something important?"

"he just got to the part where he meets the king of goguryeo," one of the surrounding men chimes in, and the 'white wolf' frowns in annoyance.

"oh, I know about that." you prop your feet onto the wooden surface of the table, boots brushing against his bowl of broth. "he was then asked to show his fighting skills and beat all of goguryeo's top generals' ass. very impressive. or so they say." you sip casually from your bowl again, and points it at him. "is that even true, mr white wolf?"

some of the men who were listening with wide open eyes a few moments ago start sniggering, and the smirk on his face slides right off. he leans in, the look in his eyes dangerous, with an undertone of a threat. "are you challenging me now?" you swallow under his gaze, but doesn't waver. "why, afraid of your lack of credibility?" you retort.

"at least he has legends spoken about him." one of the - braver, you assume - men speaks up. "what have you done, young fellow?"

"i'd say having the ability to properly piss off the white wolf is pretty high up on my list." tearing your gaze off the aforementioned man, you set down your drink and direct your glare to the one who has spoken, and your smirk seems to have set him off as he lunges forward, grabbing your collar. "perhaps the next one is slitting your throat?"

"enough!" the proprietress has overheard your argument, and she is bustling to the table you're all centered around. even you don't dare anger her - it has always been known that proprietresses are one of the most frightening people throughout the three kingdoms. the man immediately drops his grip on the front of your shirt, and you slump back onto your chair, coughing. "start a fight in my inn again, and you'll pay dearly." she glares at the man who just turned the fight physical. "and you," she directs her eyes to you, though as you wipe the spit off the corner of your mouth, her eyes soften, just a little. "stop starting arguments."

"yes ma'am," He mumbles, and you know better than to argue, satisfying her with a nod. "good." Immediately, she spins on her heel and heads back to wherever she came from - likely settling accounts. the mood broken, the men clearly lost their interest in the white wolf's stories and go back to their meals, though you can still sense their annoyance from some side glances being sent your way.

however, for one person the issue has yet to be settled. after you manage to prop yourself upright on your seat, and is about to reach for the bowl of maekgolli you were nursing, a knife is driven between you and the drink, the sharp blade missing your hand by a few inches. you look up, annoyed, and meet the white wolf's eyes. "what are you playing at?" He hisses, a hand on the knife's handle.

"what are you playing at?" you retort back. "trying to be some kind of bigshot, telling these men lies about all your glory and achievement or whatever the fuck you're trying to achieve through these stories?"

he scowls. "can you prove that I'm lying?"

"I can't prove that you're telling the truth," you reply, cocking your eyebrow at him. you know you're playing with fire, but you don't care. for some reason, these verbal clashes sent a shot of adrenaline through your veins, and you like the feeling. maybe it's because of the influence of alcohol, but you're certainly in no mood to back down, lest of all from a fight, and you can feel the tension rising as you feed the flames between you two. when he doesn't reply, you decide to mock him further. "why, scared now that your lies are exposed?"

suddenly, he stands up, the abruptness causing his chair to clatter to the ground with a loud crash, bringing attention to him again - but this time, he's occupied with you jumping at the sound, and he smirks. "why, scared of a chair?" he mocks, copying your tone. furious, you jump up, and he laughs as he heads outside, a clear invitation to follow him.

fucker.

NEXT CHATPER >

historical notes :: the three kingdoms :: the three kingdoms of korea is a period in korean history between 57 BC to 668 AD, with the three kingdoms being goguryeo in the north, baekje in the southwest, and silla in the southeast

sabi :: capital of baekje during 538 AD - 660 AD

wars in goguryeo :: goguryeo suffered from internal strife in the years 531 AD to 551 AD, and after that entered into a period of military conflict with china in the late 6th and 7th century

oshuchon :: korean currency, meaning 'five grain'. it was introduced to korea after the han dynasty (china) invaded the north at the end of 2nd century BCE. they're used in silla and goguryeo, the other two kingdoms aside from baekje, until 10th century CE, but since there is no sufficient material on baekje currency I've opted to use the same in the story setting

hemp :: primary forms of currency during ancient korea is cloth and grain, with silk, hemp and ramie as the most common forms of cloth used for exchange. silk is considered one of the most highly valued mediums of exchange.

daxing :: capital of the tang dynasty in china

goguryeo's top generals :: goguryeo is known to be the most militaristic state out of the three.

near the river :: sabi is located on a plain near the geum river

makgoelli :: the oldest traditional korean rice wine, first mentioned in the founding story of the goguryeo kingdom (37 - 19 BC). traditionally drunken from a bowl

young fellow :: usually only men travel overland in ancient korea. but otherwise, meant to be a gender-neutral term

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marvelous-writer · 3 years

Text

Of Raging Fevers and Hallucinations

Summary:

Another creak sounds close to him.

There’s nothing there. Peter thinks to himself tiredly.

“Not feeling so good, huh, kid?” A new voice asks suddenly and Peter feels a cold chill run down his spine at the sound of it, despite how he feels like he’s boiling up from the inside.

Peter’s eyes snap open, only to be met with the sight of Quentin Beck standing a few feet away from him, casually leaning against his tall dresser. The only thing Peter can do is stare at him in both fear and disbelief. He couldn’t be real. Beck is dead. There’s absolutely no way that he’s alive.

“What? Not gonna say hello to your old pal, Pete?” Beck asks, holding a hand to his chest in mock hurt.

Peter is bed bound with a fever and hallucinates Beck is back from the dead and wanting revenge.

Word count: 1,972

Genre: whump, hurt/comfort, fluff

Link to read on Ao3:

A faint creaking sound has Peter opening his eyes, his vision slightly blurred around the edges as he takes in his surroundings. It takes his feverish brain a little too long to register where he is—in his room at the Stark cabin.

Another creak comes from somewhere down the hallway.

Peter frowns as he blinks a few times as he rolls his head to the right of his pillow, seeing Tony sitting in the chair beside him, reading something off of the tablet in his hands.

“Wha’s that?” Peter mumbles, his words slurring slightly.

“What was what?” Tony asks without looking up.

“The creaks.”

Tony looks up at him over his reading glasses. “What creaks?”

Peter blinks, confused for a moment as his overheated, exhausted brain tries to come up with a coherent answer. But it doesn’t. “The creaks…” he says.

Tony just raises an eyebrow at him and opens his mouth to say something, but Peter hears the creaking again, this time sounding like it’s right outside of his door. It almost sounds like footsteps… but that’s strange because no one else is home besides them.

“That!” Peter exclaims, throwing out his hand as he points to his door, causing Tony to jump slightly in his seat.

Tony’s frown deepens as he sits there, silent for a few seconds. “I don’t hear anything, bud.” He says as he leans over and brushes away a few stray curls that were stuck to Peter’s sweaty forehead. “I think you might be imagining it, kiddo. You’re running pretty hot right now.”

Peter closes his eyes and breathes out a small sigh of relief from Tony’s cool hand against his forehead.

“I’m gonna grab you a wet facecloth to help lower that fever. I’ll be right back.” Tony says before Peter hears him get up, keeping his eyes closed as he listens to the sounds of his footsteps leave the room and head down the hallway, creaking the hardwood floors.

Peter can hear the sound of the water running in the bathroom as he feels himself slowly start to drift off, only to hear the floor creak somewhere close to him in his room. He ignores because Tony’s right—he’s probably just imagining things.

Another creak sounds close to him.

There’s nothing there. Peter thinks to himself tiredly.

“Not feeling so good, huh, kid?” A new voice asks suddenly and Peter feels a cold chill run down his spine at the sound of it, despite how he feels like he’s boiling up from the inside.

“What? Not gonna say hello to your old pal, Pete?” Beck asks, holding a hand to his chest in mock hurt.

“Y-You’re— You’re— ” Peter stutters out as he struggles to sit up on his weak, shaky arms, feeling like his head is swimming from how dizzy he feels from the new change in position.

“Very much alive, yes,” Beck says with a smile as he holds his arms out. “But look at you, Pete. Sick, weak... and defenseless. Pathetic, really. I thought you were better than that. The Amazing Spider-Man, bested by a fever.” He says with a laugh.

Peter blinks in disbelief at the man in front of him—the man who’s supposed to be very dead right now—the same man who almost successfully ruined his life by leaking that identity reveal video to the Bugle. If it wasn’t for Tony’s quick thinking and fixing the situation like he had, who knows where Peter would be right now. But there’s absolutely no way that Beck was actually here. FRIDAY would have alerted them from the moment Beck stepped foot on the property and with the defenses, including facial scanning measures Tony has in place around the house’s perimeter… he wouldn’t have gotten within at least a hundred feet of the house before he got taken down. Unless Beck was able to shut her down… but that’s impossible… right?

This doesn’t make sense. Peter thinks to himself, feeling himself start to shake, both from fear and the strain of holding himself up.

Beck tilts his head to the side as an almost sympathetic smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Awe, Pete,” he says as he steps away from the dresser and takes a few slow steps over to him. “I know none of this makes any sense. You must be pretty confused, huh?”

Peter nervously eyes the door as he scooches back against the headboard of his bed as Beck comes closer, praying that FRIDAY already alerted Tony to what’s going on and he’d come back with a suit. He looks back at Beck, who’s within a few feet from him now.

“G-Get a-away from m-me!” Peter practically yells, unable to hold back the quiver in his voice.

Beck chuckles in amusement at him as he shakes his head. “Did you really think I died? Like I told you… I make people see what I want them to see. You haven’t been paying attention, Pete,” he says as he stops at the foot of Peter’s bed, sighing as he folds his arms over his chest. “You know… I’ve had a lot of time to think about how I’d get my revenge… and I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity than this. You, sick as a dog, while Tony Stark of all people, sits at your bedside—too worried about you to pay attention to what’s going on around him. It’s touching, actually. I never thought of that guy as a father,” Beck says with another chuckle as he rubs a hand over his bearded chin. “Like I said, the perfect opportunity to strike. I get to kill two birds with one stone, am I right? And that’s why… you’re never going to see what’s coming.”

Peter’s trembling at this point, no longer able to hide it as he sits curled up against the headboard, his heartbeat racing in his ears and chest.

“Peter, you appear to be in distress,” FRIDAY’s voice comes from the speakers on the ceiling, causing his wide eyes to flicker up.

Beck just laughs in front of him. “Distress,” he laughs. “Yeah, that’s one way to describe you right now. But if you answer her—I’ll kill all of your family and friends.”

Peter swallows hard as he stares at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“Peter?” FRIDAY questions.

Peter keeps his mouth shut, wanting nothing more than to cry out for help, as he watches Beck walk over to the window and look outside at the lake.

“Never would have thought Stark would go for a homey place like this,” he says with a small chuckle. “Must be him getting soft in his old age.”

The floor suddenly creaks from outside of his bedroom, only for Tony to appear in the doorframe. “Sorry it took me so long, I grabbed you a Gatorade from the fridge. We didn’t have blue but we have yellow—”

“Tony! Stay back!” Peter cries out, shooting his arm out to stop him.

Tony’s brows raise in surprise at his outburst as he stands there, holding the bottle of yellow Gatoraid in one hand, and a damp facecloth in the other. He lets out a small sigh. “Look, I know you don’t like the lemon flavor but it’s all we have. I’ll swing by the store later when I pick Morgan up from school.” He says as he walks in.

“N-No! Tony stop!” Peter cries out as his eyes dart frantically between Tony and Beck, who’s now facing them from across the room in front of the window, glaring evilly at Tony.

Tony tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“N-No! O-Of course not! H-He’s back!” Peter says as he throws an arm in Beck’s direction. “Are you okay? Why don’t you have your suit?”

Tony’s brow raises more. “A suit? Kid, what are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

“Are you blind?” Peter asks. “He’s right there!”

Tony looks over towards the window where Peter’s pointing at Beck, who’s now smiling, like he’s amused at the whole situation. Tony meets Peter’s eyes again as a frown pulls at his brows. “Peter… no one’s there.”

“Yes there is! H-He’s standing right there—”

“Who is?”

“Beck. H-He’s—”

Tony’s face falls as a soft expression comes over his face. “Peter… Beck is gone. He’s never coming back, bud.”

Peter shakes his head as Tony walks over to him. “N-No he’s right there!”

“No he’s not, Pete,” Tony says gently as he puts the bottle down on the nightstand as he sits down on the edge of the bed. He brings his hands up and gently holds Peter’s face. “Your fever is messing with you, kiddo. Beck isn’t here. He’s gone and he’s never coming back.”

Peter swallows thickly around the lump in his throat as he tears his eyes away from Beck and meets Tony’s concerned eyes. “B-But—”

“I know,” Tony says softly as he pulls Peter to his chest and wraps his arms around him, causing Peter to close his eyes from the reassurance it brings him. “Pete, I promise you… Beck isn’t here. It’s just you and me, and Gerald is outside terrorizing the chickens and goats. And if there was anyone here, you know that FRIDAY would have alerted us. Heck, she detects every squirrel and rabbit that crosses the front yard. We’re safe and sound, okay?”

Peter shakily nods, sniffing wetly against Tony’s chest, not realizing that he’s been crying until now. “O-Okay.”

And when he lifts his head from Tony’s shoulder and looks back at the window… Beck is no longer there.

Peter’s brows pull together in confusion. How could he have just hallucinated all of that? It just felt… so real. It was like Beck was actually in the room with him, hearing every step he took.

“You okay?” Tony asks him as he runs a hand through Peter’s sweaty curls.

“I...I don’t know,” Peter answers honestly. He feels like he’s going insane that he just hallucinated his dead enemy coming back from the dead for revenge. “If that was all… just my mind messing with me… then what was all that creaking?”

Tony frowns as he opens his mouth to answer but he’s cut off from a loud creak in the hallway right outside the door. And Tony must hear it too because his head snaps over to the door.

“FRIDAY?” Tony questions.

“There is no one on the property, boss,” FRIDAY answers in an unsure tone.

Before either one of them can say anything, they hear another creak, only for one of their goats to pop his head around the corner. He chews something in his mouth as he lets out a sharp bleat, the bell on his collar jingling as he shakes his head.

Both Tony and Peter blink at him in shock for a few seconds. “How did Horn Solo get in the house?” Peter asks.

Tony sighs as he shakes his head. “That darn alpaca must’ve opened the black door again…” he says, followed by a loud clattering sound from downstairs. Tony breathes out another sigh as he stands up from the bed and heads towards the door, ushering Horn Solo back down the hallway. “I swear if I find a barnyard of animals in the living room again I’m going to build you guys an indestructible fenced-in-pen. You’ve already chewed through two pairs of my sneakers, Solo!” He says, only to receive a bleat in response.

126 notes · View notes

pallasperilous · 4 years

Text

Boneless Wings

{AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares.

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now.

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it.

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1. Bird mites. Holy shit.

2. Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

3. Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube.

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose.

4. The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is.

5. When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

6. Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

7. After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning.

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can.

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit.

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8. No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.”

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry.

9. Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

10. Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

11. You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice.

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex.

12a. One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV.

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

12b. The less said about angel molt, the better.

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit.

13. There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings.

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

14. Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas.

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

15. Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement.

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

16. So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon.

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously).

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off.

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17. For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration.

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening.

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack.

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel.

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy.

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato.

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually.

18. There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything.

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

19. Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership.

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns.

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

20. Seriously though, the bird mites.

Gross.

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