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wildestdreamsblog · 2 months

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Latibule Season 2: II

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: A late valentine's gift <3 I’m so sorry for taking so long. A lot happened and work is the busiest and and and life.

Masterlist, Latibule 2.I

“Hyung, did you hear me? I said-"

Kim Namjoon sighed from the other line, headache already creeping up his temples from the boatload of information Jimin was dumping on him on the other line. As who he considered to be the only sound and sane one among the seven, Namjoon was accustomed to being the voice of reason, getting the boys out of tight illegal situations, and managing the members. Min Yoongi might be the head of the mafia, but all seven of them were leaders in their own right and fields.

Seokjin was the head of the medical field, Namjoon of the twisted world of law, Jungkook of the technology world.

And this definitely was one of Namjoon’s specialties: stopping the fearless and heart-stricken leader of Bangtan from kidnapping a woman in broad daylight. For fuck’s sake, he wasn’t even against the illegal act itself, but could he just do it when there weren’t eyes watching him?! When the sun wasn’t at its highest?! When he wouldn’t be tomorrow’s headline?!

He ran his hand through his disheveled hair, glaring at the eldest hyung who was chuckling to himself. Seriously, he thought doctors were supposed to have no life and no time to annoy their friends? Why then was the Chief of the hospital barging in his office and lounging on his fancy sofa?

“I’m glad you found this amusing, hyung,” he commented dryly which only made the eldest laughed harder. “This isn’t something to laugh about.”

“What?! We all know something is definitely wrong with Yoongi. This isn’t news to us! This only confirmed our suspicions!”

“You could at least be supportive of what he’s going through right now.”

“Namjoon,” he started when he was finally done laughing, wiping the tears from the side of his eyes. “How do you expect me to be supportive of him right now? He’s on the verge of kidnapping a woman because he thought she looked like her. Does that make sense to you?”

He tilted his head before standing up, his movement elegant as he crossed the room to where Namjoon was sitting behind his desk. He smiled down at him, his hand supporting his weight as he leaned down on his wooden desk. “Dead people don’t exactly come back to life after burning from a fire as immense as that one, do they?” he asked, his tone light yet his eyes held faux curiosity. And at that moment, an air of danger surrounded the office. He could see the coldness that reflected on Jin’s eyes.

Namjoon knew when to back down, especially when Jin was in this mood. It was almost comical how quickly Jin’s emotions could switch, and it was definitely not amusing how bloody the effects could be. He wasn’t exactly the mafia prince for nothing. He, of all people, knew how perceptive and strategic Jin was. Never once did he do anything without a reason. And precisely because of that that it took him a moment before he answered. He lowered his eyes for a second before returning to Jin’s now amused ones. “They don’t, hyung.”

Jin nodded before turning to leave, his hand was in his pocket, his stance relaxed as though nothing was amissed. He had opened the door when he paused as though he remembered something. He twisted his body, his eyes trained on the famous attorney before his lips twisted into an entertained smile. His finger was now resting on his lips.

“Ah, unless they’re actually not dead.”

—-

Min Yoongi was like a man possessed, never leaving any stones unturned as he religiously looked for his angel.

He looked at every single piece of record of the town that the town had, employed several people to look for you, searched every available CCTV to trace any evidence that you existed, that you weren’t merely a figment of his imagination, that you weren’t merely indication of his declining sanity. Yet all roads lead to nothingness.

It was like any leads he got were mere fragments, offering little clarity or direction in the investigation. Likewise, it seemed as if someone was making sure that he’d go nowhere with the little pieces of evidences he was able to gather of your existence.

As days turned to weeks and to months, he was starting to be convinced that you were just his imagination playing tricks on him, that his mind was just too cruel to conjure an image of you, that it was just too sick to think that you came back to him. In this moment of profound longing, when the ache of your absence weighed heavily on his twisted soul, he couldn’t help but ponder about his choices in life.

On some days when he missed you the most, he thought that this must have been his karma for living his fucked-up life brutally. On a day like this when he should have been celebrating your birthday, when you were supposed to turn a year older, when you were supposed to be by his side as you blew your candle, he thought that this must have been his penance, a consequence of the twisted journey he had decided to walk on.

But wasn’t this just too painful?

Wasn’t his punishment too cruel to have the world gave him you, only to wretch you away from his arms?

Wasn’t it too cruel to have loved and lost you?

Yoongi let out a humorless chuckle, the puffs of smoke coming from his lips as he looked at what once was your home. It was your birthday, and tomorrow was your second death anniversary.

How he survived the existence without you, he would never know. He decided that he would never stop looking for you because accepting that you were gone from this fucking earth was not an option. He could feel inside the dead heart of his that yours were still beating. He knew a love as immense as what he felt for you wouldn’t die as easily as that. No.

Min Yoongi would find you.

“Happy birthday, my angel,” he whispered to nothingness, only the moon bore witness to his greeting, the night enveloped him in a solitary embrace. The echoes of his sentiment lingered in the air, hoping that his words reached you where you were.

---

“Happy birthday, eomma,” Jung Hoseok finished the song lightly, clapping the chubby little hands of your son in sync with the tune of the song. Your son was giggling as he bounced him on his lap, looking over his long lashes to Hoseok.

“Careful, the candle’s just in front of you,” he warned before shuffling the cake an inch closer to you. He came home almost an hour ago from his work in the docks with a box of cake in his hands he bought. You could no longer count how many times the three of you moved over the year, the last one being the most suspicious to you when after you came home from the market, he had already packed your bags. Before you knew it, he was already driving away from the town.

You lived in so many places.

You never felt at home in any of them.

It was unfair how you only felt at home when you were in his arms.

You clutched your walking stick on one hand, the other cautiously running your hand on the table to detect the cake’s placement.

“I’m not fully blind yet, Hoseok,” you admonished him teasingly before closing your eyes and wishing with all your heart that your son grew up happy. You wished to the heavens that his fate was kinder to him, that he didn’t have to suffer the way you did. You prayed that his fate was free from the shadows that haunted your own past.

You wished that he could live the life he deserved.

“Eomma,” he called for you, lifting his chubby arms to go to you. Hoseok cooed at him before lifting him to your lap carefully. You felt the warmth of his little arms encircling your neck, tiny lips pressing sweet kisses on your cheeks before erupting into giggles. "Eomma!"

A smile graced your face as you soaked in the pure joy radiating from your beloved child. Leaning in, you planted a loving kiss on the person you now cherished most in the world. His eyes lit up in response, a mirror image of his father's, carrying the same warmth and affection he did when he looked at you.

Hoseok watched the two of you from his seat. It was almost comical how he loathed your son’s father with all his heart, only to love his son with the same intensity. If he couldn’t end that bastard brother of his, if he didn’t have it in him to finish the job and kill you, then he would just take the life Yoongi was supposed to live.

He would never let go of the two of you- not when he found peace in this little family. The only way he would let go of this was if the only person he loved came back to him. But that was impossible, right? After all, Yoongi made sure that she would cease to exist in this world.

Wasn’t this the crueler revenge, he thought. Wasn’t this what Min Yoongi deserved?

It was almost amusing to think how he could have been dead if not for one of his brothers that saved him and you that fateful night. He could have almost missed this little slice of heaven had it not been for his brother, the only one who knew that he was still alive.

---

Almost two years ago, somewhere in a small province of South Korea

You woke up with a start, your heart beating faster as evidenced by the spike in the heart monitor attached on your bruised skin. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, attached to your bruised skin, echoed in the room, its pace mirroring the accelerated beat of your heart. The sudden awareness left you momentarily disoriented, and the sterile environment around you hinted at the gravity of the situation. As your senses sharpened, you couldn't shake the feeling that the throbbing in your chest was not only from the abrupt awakening but also from the lingering echoes of a disconcerting dream or a painful reality.

Every single thing that happened went back to you.

Every single detail of that night, of the way he smiled so tenderly at you, of the way he softly told you that he would be back, of the way a strange man entered your house and threatened you.

The recollection was vivid, etched into your consciousness like a haunting melody.

You remembered the way Suga’s face became cold the moment he saw that man. You remembered not seeing even a trace of the man you loved.

You remembered the truth and the pain that came with it, and then you remembered thinking it was your end. Beyond it all, beyond all the betrayal, lies and deceit that unfolded, you remembered wishing that he would be fine after all of that like the fool you were.

Wincing, you lifted your fragile hand to your shoulder, feeling a faint pain where the bullet had pierced your skin.

“Don’t move,” a tired voice sounded on your left. Startled, you turned to look at the source, only to find the man who attempted to kill you leaning against the wall, his own arm bandaged, his handsome face colored with faint bruises.

Hoseok didn’t come out of it unscathed, no. He looked so hallow. It was like he was a lost child, like a man that lost his purpose, like he was a shell of what once was a soul.

He must have seen your alarmed expression. He waved his other arm, his jaw clenching from the events that transpired. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You blinked at him, never trusting a word that came out of his mouth. It would be difficult for you when you saw how he unleashed hell that night.

“I-I,” you swallowed, your dried throat making it harder to speak. “d-don’t believe y-you.”

He watched you for a moment before nodding his head. That was fair, he thought. “How are you feeling? You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

What?

“Y-you waited that long to kill me?” you asked, your voice hoarse as you sat down. If he was going to end you, then you wouldn’t take it lying down.

Wordlessly, he crossed the room, lifting the glass of water on your bedside table, the straw turned to you. “Drink.”

You glared at him, distrust and anger in your eyes as you met his emotionless ones.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

You scoffed, turning your head away from him to look at where on earth you could have been. The hospital room was small, the window offering no clue as to your whereabouts. You wondered where Suga could have been.

Did he make it out alive?

Was he hurt?

Was he looking for you?

Did you want him to after what you knew?

“I do draw the line on killing expectant mothers.”

Latibule 2.III

#bts fic #yandere bts #bts yandere #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x reader #yandere min yoongi #yoongi fic #mafia min yoongi #bts mafia au #suga x you #suga x reader

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imaginedanvrs · 1 month

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a galaxy stands between us

part 3 l masterlist

summary: just as things begin to look up, you're introduced to someone you've been trying to keep far away

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of past confinement, allusions to schizophrenia, violence, bullet wounds, breaking bones

“I say we leave now,” the certainty in her voice made the others around you chuckle while you gazed at her in a fond adoration. Her statement didn’t surprise you like it did the others, she had mentioned it the night before when you were stargazing. There had been no pressure to go to sleep at any reasonable time now that school was done with, leaving you to stare at the open sky before you until the stars made way for the sun’s glow.

“I’m serious!” She insisted with an infectious grin. “Y/n/n, agrees.”

“She agrees with you on everything,” your friend stated.

“Besides, our first motel isn’t booked until Sunday,” another voice chimed, making your girlfriend groan as she fell back against the lawn dramatically. “We should at least start this roadtrip by following the plan.” You chuckled, watching all three of your friends continue to argue when you noticed you were out of squash.

You glanced back at your house where you could see your foster mother preparing the dinner already. It was only early afternoon so she must have been planning something special. With your curiosity caught, you picked up the empty jug and started back towards the front door to the kitchen when you were struck with a piercing pressure within the core of your head. It felt as though every nerve in your brain was suddenly ablaze and clawing against your skull to escape. Then it was gone. You shook your head and continued on, only to open your front door and be struck again a thousand times worse.

You cried out, hitting the hard kitchen floor with a thud and unable to register your guardian rushing to your side as you clawed at your head enough to leave red streaks. You double over again, screaming and pleading with anyone who somehow had the power to make it stop. It did, but everything went with it.

The images flashed in front of your eyes like someone was flicking too hastily through their camera’s photos. There were faces smeared with blood from cuts that looked deep. The horror struck upon them was somehow more alarming, because they were looking right at you. Your best friends. Your family. Your lover. All stricken with a terror you inflicted.

“Please!” She begged, voice as hoarse as it was after the first football game you went to together. She was looking up at you, except she was looking far too high, more so when she fell back against the ground like she had done so playfully just minutes prior. Your girlfriend crawled away as fast as her slashed leg and torn up abdomen would allow. You didn’t understand. You continued towards her and opened your mouth to give your assurance and plead for answers but she cut you off with another scream.

Then it all stopped again.

The next thing you saw was her stunned eyes staring up at that same sky you had admired the night before. Perhaps the cloud her eyes had found was in the same place as one of the constellations she had pointed out, and that was why it was the last thing she ever saw before you had killed her.

You woke up with a start, sweating right through the clothes you had been gifted. In your haste to sit up, you hit your head full force against the solid wall and it fortunately struck you hard enough to stun you out of your panic. You held the back of your head as you focused on the handle on the cupboard under the sink, unwilling to close your eyes but needing to ground yourself to something.

Tears pricked at your eyes, from the dream or the pain you weren’t sure. Maybe both. You realised, with a drop, that this was something you were going to have to deal with - nightmares. You never had them under sedation and you also never realised what you had been shielded from, not that you deserved it. The dream was a memory from that day. It was no nightmare, it was the acts you had committed on the people that mattered most to you.

“Fuck,” you cursed, slumping back entirely.

You sat on that shower floor for a while considering how the hell you were going to deal with those unwelcome reminders, that could hit you as frequently as every night, when you recalled Natasha telling you that everyone on the team had made mistakes. It was only at that moment that you registered how her tone had insinuated that ‘mistakes’ was putting it lightly and that there might be a chance at least one of them was living with the same guilt you were. Then again, you weren’t about to tell them about your bloodshed so how could you expect them to do it. And maybe you were jumping to conclusions to ease your own mind and none of them had come close to committing the atrocities you had five years ago.

“How well do you remember it?” Asked a voice you wanted to ignore. But what the hell? Even if you were technically talking to an extension of your own psych, why not pretend just for a moment that he was someone real that you could talk to.

You looked up to where he was sitting on the other side of the glass, leaning against the cupboards with his previously alive cloak pulled away enough to reveal the thin green fabric that covered from his waist to halfway down his thighs. You had vaguely seen the various tattoos littered across his chest before, though there were some along his ribs that you mind decided to add. Might as well keep him interesting.

“Just the aftermath,” you muttered. He nodded, carrying the same unbreakable severity he always did. There were faint lines between his brows, as though in his made up life he had been the bearer of many difficult decisions and challenges. You almost wanted to entertain the fiction and ask him.

“The first one’s always the hardest,” he told you.

“It’s not going to happen again,” you hissed, repulsed at the insinuation.

“You really think you get a choice?” He asked, genuinely interested.

“I have to, I won’t hurt anyone else,” you told him firmly.

“Then you won’t be able to protect yourself from what’s to come.” You frowned, staring straight at the illusion you knew didn’t exist.

“So be it,” you shrugged. “Now leave me alone.” He sat for a few more long moments, as though he was considering you. Then you blinked and he was gone.

“You can’t say that you wouldn’t get a little stir crazy being cooped up in your room all day and night,” Natasha stated, maintaining a steady jog next to the captain.

“I’m not unpredictable and possibly unstable,” Steve pointed out, watching the sun finally peek over the top of the trees in the far distance.

“And as sad as it is that you don’t have that interesting edge to you,” the redhead teased, “you’re a super soldier. Y/n’s blood tests don’t prove anything except that she gets cold easily,” she summarised. The pair continued to jog about the perimeter of the base as Steve considered Natasha’s argument.

He took a moment to appreciate his surroundings, the softness of the well maintained lawn beneath his trainers, encouraging his progress with the supporting bounce. The birds chirped in the distance as though they were greeting the two heroes as they passed. It was still a cool morning, but it would become pleasantly warm as the day went by and the air would remain just as fresh. It would do you good to be out.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But you bring Wanda with you.”

You stared down at the bowl of lucky charms that had transformed into quite the depressing state. You were off of puree but you needed to make sure that your food was still soft while your body finished adjusting to the change. It was disappointing to let the sweet meal lose the crunchy texture you used to love and it felt even crueller to have to ignore the box of poptarts in the cupboard behind you. Still, it was a sweet meal that your tastebuds celebrated and you were pleased to have let Wanda convince you to come out for breakfast.

“The poptarts will still be there tomorrow,” Wanda assured with a small smile. “Unless Thor visits between now and then.”

“One of you is named after a norse god?” You asked.

“No he’s the real deal,” Wanda said simply.

“He’s the actual god of thunder?” You didn’t buy that one bit.

“I’ll introduce you when he next comes down from space,” she continued. You narrowed your eyes at the Sokovian, unsure if she was pulling your leg or not. There was no way she was serious…right?

“Anyway, it’s getting warm out there if you want to go out later,” Wanda offered nonchalantly. You shifted as you continued to eat, unsure where their intentions were coming from. You had a good amount of trust in the team that had opened up their home to you, but there were still some hesitations you harboured simply because as a whole, being there with them seemed too good to be true. The bear man agreed.

“Maybe,” you muttered unconvincingly.

“If anything were to happen, I could handle it,” Wanda told you. You caught on, she could handle you. Or so she believed.

“How do you know?” You watched the brunette as she considered how to phrase or example her skills in the least threatening manner. “I’m not afraid of being restrained,” you told her, as though you were the one who could read minds.

Wanda lifted her hand and produced the same spirals of red that she had the day before. This time, that same red transpired across your frame. You glanced down at the crimson that ran across you, only to find yourself entirely bound. You weren’t paralysed, but it was as though you were back in your straight jacket only this time it extended across every limb. It only lasted several seconds before Wanda pulled away.

“What do you think?” She asked, apprehension clear in her voice and the way she held her fingers. You smiled back at her.

“I think-”

“Stop letting them do that to you,” he demanded. “You are not some animal they can tie up and put back in a box whenever they please.”

Wanda followed your gaze and you swiftly snapped out of your trance, enraging him more. He’s not real. He’s not real. He’s not real. Fortunately, Natasha appeared around the corner just as Wanda glanced that way, making it easy to suspect that was what had drawn your attention.

“I think I want to go outside,” you finished.

There was a gentle breeze outside. It caressed your cheeks and the back of your hands, as though encouraging you to venture further into its embrace. As you closed your eyes and leant into the tender touch, several more light wisps passed you by, brushing your hair playfully before continuing on to whatever they could find next and content to leave you in the company of the two heroes either side of you.

It felt good to be out, to have the sun’s warmth finally hit you without filter or interference, just as you were able to feel every blade of grass that cushioned your feet (you weren’t a fan of shoes yet). It was almost as though the natural world was welcoming you back, as unrealistic as that was, and it was almost enough to make you forget why it had been so long since you had experienced it.

Your fluctuating companion trailed on behind you, occasionally making comments about the base that you had to ignore. He was persistent that day and you weren’t sure why. Perhaps if he kept appearing more frequently then you should tell the Avengers, seeing as they seemed to know how to deal with the majority of your…problems, but you weren’t ready to entrust them with that information just yet.

“All of this is just for your team?” You peered around at the collection of buildings scattered around the main base. Even the smallest ones were about the size of an average warehouse and you had to wonder what such a small team needed with so much land and property.

“Pretty much, we get a lot of agents assigned over there,” Natasha said, pointing to a cluster of buildings. “And sometimes they train in the forest because it’s so dense.” The tree line along the edge of the maintained ground did look compact yet still somewhat inviting, as though the tall trunks and thick treetops could shield you should you ever require the shelter.

As you continued on, the pair made the occasional comment about the base’s uses and you listened on curiously. They caught you up on pretty much all of the major events that had transpired between earth and the rest of the universe, drawing your attention to just how much the world had changed since you had been away. Gradually, it all started to make sense and you understood the need for a group such as the Avengers. Where there were superheroes, there were villains and apparently no shortage of them.

They told you about Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D’s efforts to tackle their growing infestation that just never seemed to be cut close enough to the core. They told you about the first battle of New York that had given the group their opportunity to come together. They told you about the powered vigilante’s across the globe that they had to keep a close eye on incase they ever snapped or took things too far. They told you about Carol Danvers and her efforts to help those who weren’t her own people. The only parts they left out were how exactly either woman had gained and first used their own skills. They intended to, but your outing was cut short by the blaring alarms that sounded seemingly all around you.

You froze while Wanda and Natasha searched the perimeter in an instant upon recognising the nature of the alarm. “We need to go back inside, now,” Natasha said but you found yourself struggling to move as the alarms continued to blare. You couldn’t understand how the heroes were unaffected by the amplitude or vibrations that slammed against your skull. It was disorientating and caused a sudden panic to strike you.

Neither of them noticed because they were too set on identifying what had triggered the alarm, but the bear man noticed and watched you keenly. “Embrace it,” he told you as you were impaled by a pain you had only ever experienced twice before.

“No!” You protested as you toppled to your knees, clutching at your head in a futile attempt to push the pain out. It was too deeply embedded in you to be rid of. You couldn’t fight it either, not while you were entangled in fear.

“Hey, it’s just an alarm,” Natasha assured as she crouched by your side with concern written over her features. Your cries made her stomach drop.

“Nat,” Wanda said slowly as she stood, staring up at the sky. Natasha followed her gaze and cursed. Advancing towards the base were three choppers. They were sleek, jet black and in trained-to-perfection form that meant bad news. They didn’t deter their course once the obnoxious speakers echoed a warning to them. Instead, they slowed to a hover over the centre of the grounds.

“You think you can hold them off?” Natasha asked as you withered in pain.

“I’ll do my best,” Wanda nodded, feeling a dangerously protective rage come over her once she registered the FuturGenus logo along the side of the choppers.

“Y/n, I know there’s a lot going on, but we need to get you out of here. Can you stand for me?” You couldn’t understand what Natasha was telling you because there was an insistent ringing in your ears that only the bear man could pierce through.

“Protect yourself,” he demanded, plunging that dagger of fear deep enough to finally sever the remaining self control you possessed.

At the first sound of a crack, Natasha’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered before the next bone threw itself out of its socket to make way for the muscle that expanded within you. It may have been slow to start with, but suddenly it was everywhere at once.

Your ribs snapped apart simultaneously as your stomach expanded along with your back. Your calves swelling along with your biceps as your heart pumped furiously to push more blood around the increasing surface area of your body that continued to grow as the colour changed. Along with your body reshaping every organ, muscle, bone and vein, your once thin and breakable skin hardened as scales formed.

If any onlooker hadn’t been so horrified by the unnatural scene unfolding before them, they might have admitted to there being a strange beauty about how the sun reflected off of the new scales that covered your body. They comprised of dozens of shades of blue that had no consistency or pattern to them, yet the sun caught the flecks of cyan, multitudes of navy and that which was darker equally before the slightly off streaks of white slates appeared on the most lethal new additions to your toughed anatomy.

Where the frightened features of your face had once been grew a set of viscous teeth and fangs that stopped where the lower part of the blade-like nose began, extending a few inches and then back over your deformed skull. It bore a sinister resemblance to the extra appendage that had grown from the back of your head and continued partially down your back until it moved freely from your body like a tail that was as thick as your evolved forearms and possessed another blade at the bottom.

Even when you had finally stopped growing it was impossible to make out exactly what you had become, especially as you stumbled and fought to navigate the creature you possessed. Your feet and hands, now maddened by the large claws that protrude from them, swatted at the air in a frenzy that made Natasha retreat as they sliced through nothing until eventually landing on the grass. As your body stretched and flexed to adjust, your claws extended while in the ground, therefore locking you in place.

During the hysterical process, your voice had transformed from cries of distress to something purely primal and anything but human. They weren’t exactly growls that escaped your enlarged vocal chords, but it was something prehistoric and a warning to the two women to keep their distance.

At your development, soldiers dropped from the choppers that you paid no mind to as you fought to free yourself. You were hardly defenceless though, because Wanda and Natasha stood firmly in front of you, back to back. As Wanda’s magic was fired at those that came charging towards them, Natasha kept her eyes trained on you and shifted them both anytime it looked as though one of your limbs was swinging too close to them. They didn’t exchange a word, too stunned or preoccupied to point out the obvious - this had not been what anyone had expected.

Wanda and Natasha weren’t left on their own for long, but Tony flew from the tower moments too late once a menacing machine gun was revealed in one of the choppers and fired down on you. Several rounds hit your thigh, drawing out a thunderous bellow from your lungs until you managed to free your claws and stumble to the side, still unable to control the additional mass you sustained.

Wanda dealt with the machine while Tony’s suit fired several warning shots at the choppers and stunned the men on the ground, leaving Natasha to be the only one to watch as you finally unravelled your body in its entirety.

You must have been almost ten feet when you, momentarily, stood to your full height. You were unable to keep your balance, especially with your thigh bloodied and torn, and landed back on your hands and feet that had been adapted to support such a position, just as the muscles in your legs had been. It was only once you did that you caught sight of the butcheress claws you had and it didn’t take much to presume the rest of you bore a similar image.

In your agony, you looked down at Natasha and was struck with the image of your dead girlfriend looking back at you. The redhead didn’t hold that same fear as she stared, transfixed, at your fire tinted eyes and pin-like pupil, but there was still a great suspension about how she could end up looking at you if you stuck around.

“Go,” the fur cloaked figure told you and for once, you didn’t need him to say it twice. You didn’t spare a glance back at the fight going on in the sky and on the ground past Natasha, or at the base where you had been so close to finding a lasting refuge. You had ruined any chance of that and your only option was the border of trees. You started towards them on all fours, ignoring the calling of your name that followed.

a/n: I know that reader's design at the end might be hard to envisage so I'll drop this photo to show the inspiration and vibes I was going for. this isn't exactly what she looks like though

#natasha romanoff #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha x reader #gxg marvel #wandanat #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch #wandanat x reader

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rainswept · 5 days

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counting backwards — throwing muses. 0.8k words.

Fog has found a comfortable residence nestled in Aventurine’s brain—a bustling one, strangling clear thoughts and fond reminiscence and expertly avoiding those gnawing memories he wished it would swallow.

He looks into the mirror, he shows his teeth. He hopes, to others, it looks like a smile and not a snarl—though, to him, he still looks afraid, and he swears he can still see the yellowing he had earned after so long of not being able to care for them (despite how the gold of his wealth had cancelled it out long ago and chased it off).

It was voracious, clamoring like a starved man, armed with an achingly empty stomach at all times; it was nimble, and it trembled whenever he did—with hunger, sickness, the cold, or fear, he didn’t know, it was a toss up—skin melded to bone. Yet, as much as it ate at his clairvoyance, it didn’t grow—it just… lingered, in the corner of his cluttered head, emaciated and shaking. It stared at him. It had his eyes, and the same blond hair.

He keeps practicing. He wants his expression to be bright like a future that is looking up, like the sun during the first glimpse of it after rain, and infectious—but it was bright like a warning sign, like the sun beating down on an arid and drought-stricken desert, and diseased. That wouldn’t do. His sight was bleary, and his hair was a mess, and he fell asleep in last night’s clothes; nothing about him screamed refined or expensive or high quality or worth anything at all.

It felt fearful, in a way, but it cared for its host just as the weather outside did. Maybe even less. It rained for Kakavasha, but this? This didn’t change for a thing. All it did was fast forward the time on the clock. All it did was steal from him, little by little, thread by thread, coin by coin, unraveling, rusting, wasting. But that was fine. He had money and memories to give now. He had the means to feed both himself and it. He was generous—he always was, but now he could truly afford to be without sacrifice.

For as long and well as he had played the role of carefully crafted, embellished with gold and beholding bones of wrought iron, every rotting rope making him up was one rainstorm away from snapping.

Speaking of Kakavasha, he didn’t remember much of him. All that lingered was the fear, because as much as he washed the blood—his kin, his kills—off of himself, that little frayed part of him, wide-eyed and with no more tears to cry, remained playing dead under its current.

He combs out any tangles sleep had imparted in the strands of his hair. He washes it out—the scent of the soap doesn’t take long to leave him with a headache, so he rinses and replaces it with equally migraine-inducing conditioner. He combs through it until he no longer looks unkempt or unwell.

That fog is still here. He should remind himself to grab his keys, just in case.

He hooks his finger in the corner of his mouth, pulls it back a bit further to check for any plaque or pieces of food left on his molars. There is none. He keeps looking. He straightens out his clothes, stares and bores holes into every last crevice that could hide a tell. He stares and stares. He remembers a time when he had no reflection, only sand and kin, only a guess at what he looked like. That was long ago.

In the mirror, when he still only saw himself in the faces of his family, mauve hair fell, and her voice still echoes: “What’s worth more to you, Kakavasha—the life in your veins, or the gaze you share with those incinerated bodies?”

What is more important to you, Kakavasha, the blood that keeps your heart that deserves nothing but death beating, or the blood that makes you Avgin, that ties you by something indisputable to the only thing you ever learned how to cherish?

That was what she meant. It was a stupid question.

He fixes his shirt one last time. He grabs his keys.

He knew how to answer, then, and he still does now, because he would drain his arteries of every last drop if it meant seeing them unpainted with theirs again—for the color to return to their faces, the life to their dull eyes—

He closes the door behind him with a soft click.

But that can’t happen. So he will continue to dress his wounds, cut his losses, and survive, until he inevitably joins them.

(He will never join them. They are dust, scattered in fragments across space. He will be buried in a lavish coffin.)

#rainswept #aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #<- idk i guess #not really but it can be seen as an add on to the series… so whatever

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biteofcherry · 11 months

Text

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark!mafia Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; power imbalance; forced relationship; violence; death (minor character); D/s undertones; gun play; gun play kink; explicit sexual situation; faint choking kink; mention of breeding kink;

I did warn you this Steve is dark 😜

word count: 8k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 4. Heated hail

~ * ~

Hues of orange and purple brushed over the horizon in softest strokes as the sun settled down, but your heart couldn’t settle in your chest, every few hours jumping into a rapid patter to the tune of anxiety.

Staying in the safety of your apartment for two days after the horrid events didn’t help much, it still felt impossible to ease into your new life with its stains of alluring darkness.

You called in sick the morning after your engagement. Then stayed home for another day, as well. Hiding worked no miracles, your brain was very much conscious of the events that happened and of the things awaiting you, but at least you didn’t have to face it all for those few more hours of denial.

Though no one appeared on your doorstep and you didn’t sense any eyes on you as you occasionally walked out onto your tiny balcony, you were convinced that Steve knew very well where you were.

At all times.

It was a blessing he didn’t march into your home with a wedding gown, forcing you to say the vows immediately. You half expected it, since your continued talk after the kiss included Steve’s announcement that you’re to be married in a month.

He wasn’t interested in waiting.

It seemed that even when Steve Rogers appeared patient, it was only when he knew the results he demanded would come precisely in the time window he approved of.

Giving you a month was undoubtedly an act of grace in his eyes, since he could’ve as well dragged you in front of some registrar the very next day.

Or maybe it was a wicked torment on his part, making you organize a wedding you didn’t really want. Not ripping off the band aid quickly, but making conscious decisions (as indifferent as they may be) about details regarding the ceremony of binding yourself to Steve for life.

True torture was playing the part of shocked and grief-stricken when Natalie called you a few hours earlier to inform you of Felix’s tragic car accident.

You nearly laughed hysterically at that.

Car accident. Sure.

Against a truck branded Rogers.

You had no idea if they staged it so that it looked like an accident after they'd beaten him to death (or done worse things to him), or if Rogers had enough officers under his thumb that they classified it as such, without letting anyone know the truth.

But you knew the truth. Most of it, anyway, without gory details.

Maybe you shouldn’t feel sad, considering Felix gave you to another mobster on a silver platter. Who knows how that meeting would go, if Steve hadn’t intervened. However, you were still human and, even if occasionally you felt a taste for drawing blood when someone pissed you off, you didn’t wish anyone death.

You would have to play the shocked and sorrowful employer in front of the health center employees, which was also why you dreaded going back to work.

It would be easier, perhaps, if your mind reacted in the way it was supposed to.

Though you knew people reacted to trauma in various ways, there were certain symptoms you expected from yourself. They never came.

When you dragged yourself to bed, you fell asleep easily. Steve Rogers haunted your dreams, but they weren’t exactly nightmares you’d expect.

Those dreams were ridiculous, really. Dark, yes. In a gothic horror setting almost. No terror wrecked your body, however. You didn’t scream in fear, nor wake up drenched in sweat as you dreamt of running away from the altar only to fall straight into Rogers’ arms.

You were processing it all too logically, as if you were only wedding stressed and annoyed with Rogers, not in fear for your life and that of your loved ones.

If you were your own patient, you’d ask yourself if there were aspects of the arrangement with Steve that you found benefiting? Something that perhaps drew you to him?

You still had no answer to that question as you finally walked into the health center on the next day.

Steady, slow steps; a pace perhaps a heartbeat slower than your usual. The sound of your heels clicking on the floor echoing through the quiet halls.

Natalie waited for you in your office, as she always did without fail. In a way, she was playing a role just like you; wearing a mask to function without a hitch. Organizer in hand, she recited to you the changes she made due to your short sick leave and those that needed to be made for the day of Felix’s funeral.

A thought crossed your mind briefly, of what Steve would say about you going to Felix’s funeral. Since he apparently belonged to a branch of the mafia, attendance of Hydra mobsters and other of their operatives was highly possible, and you didn’t think Rogers would want you anywhere near them.

You viewed yourself as merely a civilian boss of the man that passed, but you possessed enough intelligence to recognize you were now also a part of a rivaling mob - no matter how reluctant your participation was.

Not only by shared business, but ranking now much higher in your status as the fiancée to the ruthless mob boss.

You didn’t mention to Natalie that you weren’t sure if you’d be going to the funeral at all, only nodding at her skilfully reorganized schedule.

“There’s one more thing,” she said, closing her calendar.

She walked to the door, opened them and beckoned someone over. A young man, a boy really, entered your office with a shy smile on his face.

Unruly hair, which he combed neatly, but they still betrayed harmlessly chaotic functioning of youth. A pressed collar of a button down shirt peeked above his blue cardigan. He reminded you of first year students, or apprentices at their first posting.

The first person in the past few days who seemed innocent and you welcomed that change with a softened heart.

“This is Peter Parker.” Natalie announced.

“Hi! Nice to meet you,” the boy cut the space between the two of you and extended his hand for you to shake.

“Peter has just applied for our vacant position.” Natalie’s voice remained neutral and professional, but the way she accented vacant position left no doubt that it meant Felix’s job.

Which shouldn’t be announced this soon. No one would post an ad without your authorization. So unless one of the center’s workers tried to push his own son or nephew into free position, that Parker kid was sent in by someone who knew of the brutally gained opening.

“Son of a bitch.” You cursed under your breath.

Natalie arched a single brow, but said nothing as you picked up your phone and unlocked it with a murderous glare. Parker said nothing either, only looked your way slightly bewildered.

Shame that Rogers didn’t warn him about your newly discovered tendencies to outbursts.

That it was Steve Rogers’ move, you had no doubt.

You found his name in your contacts - Steve typed it in himself, teasing you that a fiancée should have her future husband’s number in her phone.

He picked up quickly, actually surprising you that he answered at all. You thought his phone number to be more of a reminder for you that you gave yourself away to him, rather than being able to actually call him. So when you heard his voice on the other end of the line, you choked on your words for a second.

“Princess?”

You wondered if he saved your number under that pet name.

“The center was supposed to remain under my control,” you hissed into the phone when you regained your voice. “Hiring people should be my decision.”

“Peter’s very approachable and he learns fast,” came Steve’s reply; his voice soft, but there was that lining of finality to his decision.

You paused, once again surprised. This time by the fact Steve wasn’t playing lying games, just cutting straight to the core of the problem. Which also meant he anticipated your reaction, but did it anyway, disregarding your opinion on the matter.

You’d laugh at the irony of it - that a man being truthful and direct in an important conversation (traits you valued), at the same time was the fucking bane of your existence.

“Is he even of age?” You snorted, glancing Parker’s way. “He looks sixteen.”

“I’m twenty two.” Peter chimed in and you frowned.

He really didn’t look to be over twenty. Then again, in the past you’ve been asked for an ID even though you were way over twenty five. You had no idea how young people were when they started working for the mob.

Perhaps Rogers had no conscience and hired kids for dirty jobs too.

“He’s legal,” Steve sounded amused. “No forged papers on him. Lives alone with his aunt, so a solid job, like the one at the center, is something he needs.”

You did not believe in Rogers’ sympathy, not for a second. Perhaps he took care of his employees in a peculiar way, but you wouldn’t mistake it for him actually caring if Peter’s dreams come true, or if his economical status is secured.

Moreover, you suspected he used Peter’s wobbling financial stability as a means to lure him into the mafia in the first place.

“Then he could’ve applied without your commendation. Since it’s his own motivation to work here, right?” You allowed yourself a defiant tilt of your chin and a challenging gaze, since Steve couldn’t see it anyway.

You weren’t stupid to believe Steve pushed the kid into this position only because Peter needed it. More likely, Steve wanted someone from his own batch to infiltrate the center. Maybe even to keep an eye on you, though you seriously didn’t imagine how a barely-out-of-teens boy was supposed to do that.

“Recommendation is an additional bonus to an otherwise great employee you’ll be hiring.”

You didn’t know Steve well enough yet to assess by his tone alone if he was growing annoyed with this conversation, or rather bored (since he knew you would be agreeing to his demands anyway, unless you wanted more harm happening).

“That depends on the recommendation,” you muttered, too late realizing you said it out loud.

“You don’t trust my word, Princess?” A deeper timbre resounded in Steve’s voice, sending a shiver across your skin.

He wasn’t there, but you could easily imagine the glint in his blue eyes as he peered at you from beneath his long eyelashes. An edge of a blade caressing your breakable skin.

“I’m miffed at you planting your fucking seeds in my center, when it was supposed to stay under my care!”

There was a pause after you snapped.

One in which you cursed yourself inwardly for once again antagonizing someone who held your life in his hands, quite literally. Your heart thumped loudly, you felt the echo of it through your bones.

However, when Steve’s voice returned with a reply, it wasn’t a promise of your death.

Though it may as well have been, considering his words.

“I can plant different seeds, if you wish. Inside you, Princess.”

Your intake of breath was sharp, your pupils widened and your mouth hung open. He did not just say that!, your mind screeched, while your body roused in alertness.

You hung up the phone without uttering a single more word to Steve, then tossed it to the far edge of the desk as if it burned you. Your gaze lingered on it for a moment longer, in fear of it ringing to life.

You couldn’t comment on Steve’s innuendo. Acknowledging it meant recognizing this particular aspect of marriage, which you somehow repressed from your mind.

No, your marriage to Rogers was supposed to be only on paper, only for his gain of the lands and immunity.

A facade, with a shiny ring and your new last name stained with the blood of Steve’s opponents. Not a true merging of two people, neither in minds nor in hearts, definitely not in bodies.

A quiver pattered down your spine like a strummed string at the sudden, vivid image of Rogers’ thick body pressing into your naked space.

Fear, it had to be. But it also carried a rush of adrenaline that tingled in your nipples and brought heat to the sensitive shell of your ear.

“I need a break,” you shook yourself out of it and abruptly moved. “I’m going for coffee.”

“I can make you some,” Natalie offered, observing you with perfectly masked curiosity.

It was a change in your behavior, this sudden restlessness and outbursts of unresolved tension. As stressful as taking over a big health center was, you managed to remain calm and professional since the first day. Natalie witnessed you roll your eyes a few times and assertively set yourself, but this was a novelty.

She could only assume it was because of the tragic loss of an employee so early in your work, maybe suspect Rogers was threatening you. You doubted she’d ever imagine the extent of sweet terror he planned for you.

“No, I have to get out for a few minutes.” You weren’t even sure you really wanted coffee, a shot of vodka would be a better option.

But you needed to step outside for a few minutes; to not see Peter’s boyish face with its innocence written all over it, while you knew the darkness he was signing his soul to. You hoped his only job was to tattle on you.

You grabbed your handbag, purposely ignored your phone still hanging on the edge of the desk, and strode toward the exit.

“What about Peter?” Natalie asked before you reached the door, both of them staring at you expectantly.

“Hire him.” You sighed, anger whipping in your tone.

“And you!” You glared Peter’s way. “Make sure your other boss knows that within these walls your duties are only to the center.”

It was a bold statement. One you probably had no leverage to actually make real. In terms of power, Rogers had more of it, since he had it also over you. If he gave Peter a different task to run along his duties at the health center, that order would come first.

Still, you wanted to make your opinion clear and install some respect for the work here.

As you walked to the nearby coffee shop, you glanced around a few times to check if anyone was following you. You had no proof of Rogers sending someone to trail you, yet you were convinced of it.

If he had, they were skilled at blending in, since no one seemed suspicious to you.

The usual buzzing noise of the coffee shop - conversations combined with quiet music and clinking of glass - felt like a soothing lullaby to your strained nerves. You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries.

By the time you got your order, you had mostly calmed down. You were still pissed off, but there was no point in exhausting yourself fighting a losing battle.

It was time to accept the uncomfortable truth of Steve’s upper hand. At all times.

As you stirred your coffee with a paper spatula, someone stepped next to you. In your peripheral vision you caught their hand reaching for three packets of sugar.

“I’d suspect having Rogers on your tail requires a stronger brew than coffee.” A smooth, melodic male voice started casually.

His words froze you in place for a second, trepidation stopping your heart and then rushing it into a rapid beat.

You said nothing, tossing your spatula into the bin and quickly reaching for the cup lid to put on your paper cup and leave the place. The man’s hand slipped between you and the lid, pushing it to the side as he reached for the cinnamon sprinkle; his gesture seemingly so innocent.

As he withdrew his hand, glass jar of cinnamon in his hand, your gaze dropped onto a leather casing left on the counter right next to your coffee.

A police badge. In the name Quentin Duvall.

Was it a test? Since all signs on earth and in heaven pointed that Rogers had police and other agencies in his pocket, this could be a game to see if you’d stay loyal to your future husband.

Logically, he shouldn’t expect you to. It was only your lack of connection that you didn’t dare to seek help in the law enforcement, for if you had some friend of a friend who was an officer then you’d go to them in a heartbeat.

You were quite certain Steve knew you would and he probably didn’t care.

“He’s a pain not only in your ass,” the man said, exchanging the cinnamon for his badge. “It’s hard to build a case against him when more than half of my colleagues are on his payroll.”

“What do you want?” Your fingers squeezed the paper cup, coffee sloshing to the brim.

You didn’t lift your head to look at him, figuring it was best to keep the impression of a casual conversation over coffee station. If you were being watched, perhaps it wouldn’t be too suspicious.

“There’s an ATF agent working to build a case against Rogers’ mob. He’d like to meet you and propose a way to provide you protection for whatever you can bring to the table.”

“Why won’t he contact me directly?” Deliberately, you picked a jar of chocolate sprinkles and added them to your cooling coffee.

“Since he’s one of the very rare daring to hunt Rogers, he’s on the fucker’s radar. If he appeared anywhere near, Rogers would know of it and it could end badly for you.” There was a hint of concern in Duvall’s voice, but not enough to be a poor actor’s play.

Then again, maybe it was a perfect play. Luring you with a safeline, but making it risky so you wouldn’t see it as a trap right away.

“If you want to help-” he picked a spatula and stirred his own coffee- “if you want to get out of Rogers’ grip, come here the day after tomorrow at the same time. I’ll give you the meeting details then.”

He took his cup and left, merging with the group of friends that were exiting at the same time. You waited a few moments, carefully putting the lid on your cup and lifting it to your mouth for a long, thoughtful sip.

Your walk back to the center was sluggish, your gaze switching from staring blankly ahead to staring at the pavement beneath your feet.

If it was a test and you failed it, what sort of consequences would Steve draw out? If, by some miracle, a just officer could save you from the dragon guarded tower, shouldn’t you risk it?

As you sat in your office, too preoccupied with the new dilemma, your irritation grew. That someone appeared and rocked the boat on an already stormy sea.

Though a flicker of hope tempted you to take the risk and meet the agent, you were annoyed that it came as another drastic change in your life in such a short time. Honestly, a part of you simply wanted to just go steady with one route, even if it was the one with you on Rogers’ leash.

At least it would be settled. If you kept fighting, not only would it piss off Rogers, but it meant exhaustion for you. Perhaps a never ending one.

Because was there really a chance for protection from Steve, if his ties reached to the Capitol and beyond?

Natalie found you deep in thought and blankly staring at the window of your office. She did a quick scan of the untouched documents which you should be working on, then flicked her gaze to you.

Whatever she saw in your face, it made her close the door to your office and lock it.

She moved a free chair to sit next to you on your side of the desk and in a hushed tone asked what was going on.

You looked at her for a long, silent moment. It would be reckless to tangle another innocent soul into the sticky, dark web in which you were trapped. You didn’t want to put her in danger. But you needed someone to know, someone who was a part of it from the beginning even if it was as a bystander.

Natalie and Felix were the ones who told you the truth of who Steve is in the first place, so at least you didn’t have to reveal to her something she wouldn’t already know about the man.

With a sigh, you opened your mouth and told her everything.

As you studied Natalie’s face afterwards, you realized she might have been the best choice to share the burden. There was no fear on her face, no panic settling in. She frowned, processing it all and you almost could sense the cogs in her head turning as she conjured up a plan.

“That officer, what was his name again?” She asked, sliding her phone out of her pocket and typing rapidly.

“Duvall. Quentin Duvall.” You told her. “Why?”

“I fucked a guy who has ways to check people’s background,” Natalie replied without an ounce of shame or awkwardness. “A computer geek. I’ll ask him to check if officer Duvall is who he claims to be.”

“Oh!” That way at least you’d know if it wasn’t a scheme. “That’s helpful. Thank you.”

Natalie didn’t acknowledge your gratitude, as if it wasn’t even needed. Determined and focused on the task, she exchanged text messages with whomever was so into her he still agreed to do for her something that was probably illegal.

Since you were engaged to a mob boss, you weren’t going to judge.

Few hours later, just as you were finishing for the day, Natalie returned to your office with ready information.

“It’s your choice,” she said, taking her jacket off.

Thin bracelets on her wrist jingled faintly, a peek of a small spider tattoo on her forearm quickly disappeared beneath the folded jacket which she draped over her arm.

“But I think you should meet him. A meeting doesn’t yet mean you’re agreeing to anything.” She walked next to you as both went toward the exit. “If they don’t offer you actual solid protection, you simply give them nothing.”

“What if Rogers finds out about the meeting and it angers him? Even if I don’t say anything yet.” Somehow, as you thought of the consequences to your decision, it was Steve’s face that kept popping in your head.

His icy eyes trained on you; his fingers stroking you before clenching around your throat.��

Natalie paused, glancing at you with a scowl. She didn’t seem annoyed with your question, but rather with the fact she had no certain answer for it. Natalie liked knowing everything.

“That I don't know.” She admitted, with a small pout. “In different circumstances I’d go for some predictable wrath, but honestly? He declared your engagement. That’s definitely completely unpredictable. So who knows what he’d do.”

It was a very small, very naive consolation, but you reminded yourself that if he wanted you dead, Rogers would have made that happen already.

If you were his employee who betrayed him, then severe torture awaited, if not aforementioned death.

What awaited an unruly fiancee?

You hoped to never find out. Being extra careful in your act of casual trip to the coffee shop on the pointed day, you already considered potential excuses for another meeting, details of which Duvall was supposed to give you.

It better not be on some late evening in some shady place, because even though you still didn’t catch anyone following you it didn’t mean Rogers didn’t have an eye on you.

To your surprise, and actual relief, Duval didn’t talk to you this time, just slipped you a piece of paper as he tossed out a napkin into a bin right next to which you were standing at the coffee shop. It contained the address of a small apothecary in a nearby neighborhood and an afternoon hour.

That was very clever. A visit to such a place wasn’t anything unusual, even if most people bought their medicine at the big drugstores. And since it would still be daylight, it seemed even more harmless.

Natalie agreed with you on that, telling you also about a bakery nearby into which you could also step in to keep the appearance of running errands.

Both of you probably watched too many crime shows, but it came in handy.

The lights in the apothecary were on when you went in, but it occurred to you that it was completely empty only when the door closed behind you.

There were shelves stacked with medicines, some key-locked cases and an antique looking chest of drawers, which you suspected was more for decoration than to keep chemicals inside.

There was no one behind the counter, however. Only the backdoor, leading to an additional room, was open.

“Hello?” You called out, not moving from your spot near the door, in case you needed to run.

There was some shuffling and then Duvall appeared in the backdoor. He smiled in relief, clearly fearing you would not come. He beckoned you over and you followed him through the short, narrow corridor into another room.

Spacious, but minimalist (to not say empty) compared to the front. There were two industrial tables and three chairs, some metal cabinets and neatly grouped apparatus.

The man who leaned against one of the tables didn’t look like a chemist.

Though you suspected a man like him may know a thing or ten about chemicals that blew up, judging by his close to military look. Well, since you never met an ATF agent in person, perhaps it was how they dressed.

“Claude Batroc.” He introduced himself, with a smile that perhaps would be charming if not for a hint of dishonesty to it.

There was something about that man that instantly made you feel uneasy.

Steve raised the hair on the back of your neck as well, but his type of danger was a sizzling black fog that engulfed you in its warm embrace and zapped your body with scary tingles. Batroc was the sound of screeching tires a second before a truck pummels into you.

Your instinct was telling you it’s best to squirm your way out of this, even though you haven’t yet heard the deal they offered.

“Officer Duvall claims you’re able to help me,” you swallowed past your nervousness and looked at him expectantly.

Like Natalie told you, you planned on making sure their promise was solid, before you jumped off any cliff.

“I am.” He nodded, tilting his head to the side. “But that depends on what you can give me?”

You frowned. You assumed they knew how new and short your acquaintance with Rogers was; that you weren’t one of his inner circle people, who could provide a lot of intel.

Foolishly maybe, but you thought being threatened and knowing of Felix’s demise was enough for them to consider you an important witness. There wasn’t anything else of heavy value that you could bring to the table.

“Does he really have the stones?” came Batroc’s direct question.

Simple, but completely confusing for you.

Out of all the things you could’ve expected them to ask you, that never came to mind.

“I don’t know anything about any stones,” you said slowly. Your frown deepened as your brain tried to work out, if maybe there were some jewels involved in the whole mess.

Was Howard hiding a diamond mine under the health center, or something?

“There’s a rumor that Rogers is in possession of the Infinity Stones.” Duvall mentioned and you glanced his way over your shoulder. When he saw your face, he sighed in disappointment. It was clear you were unaware of what they were talking about.

“They belonged to Thanos. A Greek mogul, who’d probably surpass Zeus himself if mythological riches and armies were comparable to the real ones. He was in possession of the six, most valued gems in the world. They are called the Infinity Stones.”

“Few years ago Thanos was found dead.” Batroc took over the story. “Along with most of his men. A job so clean, nothing pointed to a rampage. And nothing but the gems disappeared from his fortress. No organization ever boasted it to be their job. In time, Rogers’ name has been whispered as the one to do it, but he never confirmed. Never put them up for auction.”

You shook your head again. The only gems that came to your mind as you thought of Steve Rogers were the few that glinted in the dark, thick silver of his rings.

You doubted anyone would put the most valuable jewels in simple rings, which he wore daily on full display for everyone to see.

Then again, wouldn’t that be a perfect power move? A shiny middle finger and a warning to anyone who dared to think they could cross Rogers.

“A different angle then.” Batroc changed the topic. Quite eagerly, too, as if the one he was moving onto was to him far more important than a few shiny rocks.

“Why is he circling around the health center?” Something dark, greedy, flashed in his eyes. “He’s already got his people sitting all over it. Made an effort to reach you directly, not just work under your nose.”

When Batroc straightened and made a slow step forward, you stepped back. Duvall was standing in the doorway, blocking your escape route. You didn’t think you’d need one, but now your instincts screamed at you that there was something bad behind their intentions.

“Rogers isn’t the kind of man to tell his secrets left and right.” You tried to stand your ground, despite your pulse quickening in fear.

You weren’t a type of person to limitlessly trust the law enforcement, but since they were supposed to be determined to build a case against Rogers they should treat you (as the potential help in successful operation) with less creepiness.

At the moment, Batroc’s stance and the way his eyes danced over your form were displaying a poor skill at charm and comfort.

“Maybe you aren’t privy to his secrets.” Batroc shrugged, then bared his teeth in a sinister grin. “Or maybe you’re the one who actually holds the key to the project Rogers has been building, huh?”

“Quentin said you keep yourself guarded, which is smart if you’re going toe to toe with the likes of us. But there’s not a can that can’t be opened…”

Perhaps Batroc was an agent and maybe he was building a case against Rogers. His methods, however, were those of another gutter kingpin. He could be working for one, doing his official job and an extra one on the side. Or he could be one himself.

You should’ve predicted that your hope for help would be false.

You considered Rogers playing you, testing your loyalty, meanwhile another mobster scum was attempting to use you to screw with Steve.

“We’re gonna play some interrogation game. With bonuses.” At Batroc’s words, you made another hasty step backwards, your back hitting the metal cabinets.

A sudden wheezing sound and a loud thump of a falling body averted Batroc’s attention from you.

Duvall fell down lifelessly, face first onto the floor. At least a second passed before you noticed a pool of red spilling around his head like a horrific halo.

Then something heavy flew across the space, knocking Batroc’s gun from his hand as he reached for it.

Still glued to the cabinets, shock freezing you in place, you watched as Steve Rogers strode inside in all of his dark glory. Shoulders so wide he barely fit in the entrance, muscles straining under the fabric of his clothes.

He and Batroc clashed in the middle of the room - forearm blocking a punch, then a knee up to block a kick.

Both of them were fast and strong, their fight a darker, less choreographed movie combat. For every of Batroc’s hits, Steve delivered two. Despite his bulk, Steve was exceptionally graceful in his technique. His opponent stumbled for a second, shaking his head to get rid of dizziness after one of Steve’s hooks. Meanwhile Rogers didn’t even wince when Batroc managed to split his lip open.

It wasn’t a fight that would continue honorably, until one yielded and pledged fealty.

After disarming Batrock when he pulled out a knife, Steve kicked him a few steps away then drew out his gun and shot him three times. Twice in the chest, once in the head.

You flinched with each gunfire sound, but remained glued to the spot.

Your gaze was on Rogers, you didn’t pay much attention to other men stepping inside. Steve spoke to them, but all the voices blurred into a dull sound as your hammering heartbeat threatened to pound away each vessel in your body.

Only your sight remained focused. Your mind picked Rogers as the only solid point to anchor itself to.

Perhaps simply because he saved you. Once again. Even if it was to ensnare you himself.

You pushed against the cabinets, trying to bury yourself into them when Steve dismissed his people with some short orders and started towards you, but they didn’t budge an inch.

You weren’t attempting to escape him. You wanted to escape your growing need to wrap your arms around him and cling to the beast that spared your life as the only source of comfort at the moment.

Yet, you knew the sickness that bubbled in your stomach wasn’t because you felt a twisted sense of safety now that Rogers was here, but because you witnessed people being killed, blood splattering; hell, you nearly were mauled. Again.

The anxiety was skyrocketing. Or it would be, if not for the freezing shock still gripping you so tightly you felt like trapped in a glass box. It was an inner torment, procured by your own neurotransmitters and chemicals, that kept you on the edge of a malfunctioning fight or flight mechanism.

Steve’s broad form caging you in, shutting away the bloodied world outside of his arms, was the first thing that pulled your focus back to reality of now and here.

The feeling of a hot, metal muzzle touching the underside of your jaw snapped you out of the traumatic trance.

He pointed his gun at you. The one with which he shot Batroc.

A spike of adrenaline roused your body into full alertness. However, instead of logical terror and tearing up at the oncoming death, your brain paid attention to how delicate that pressure of a gun was.

How the warmth of it felt against your clammy skin; how refreshing was the metallic scent of it and how quickly it disappeared under the familiar now undertones of Rogers’ cologne.

That gun held so much power.

It ruthlessly disposed of a direct threat to you. An extension to the one who was behind saving you over and over (even if it was only, so he could be the one to torment you). Steve was living up to being your knight. Not in shining armor; not even one with good intentions. No, he was a black knight whose curse trapped you in a twisted realm.

“Did he lay a hand on you?” pressing the muzzle to your chin, Steve moved your face left and right as his eyes scanned your state.

Swallowing hard, you shook your head. You were unable to form a single word, your throat constricted with all the sobs which you couldn’t force out of yourself.

“Good.” Steve stated simply, without much genuine relief.

“Your naughty stunt served me well.” He mused as he gently dragged the barrel of his gun across your cheek and down your neck; like he was caressing you with fingers, not a deadly weapon.

“I wanted to get rid of Batroc for a while now, but he buried himself so deep it was hard to find him. I should’ve known he’d come up for something when he saw everyone else wanted it.”

You weren’t paying enough attention to Steve’s words to decipher their full meaning, your senses were more interested in attuning to the trace of his gun on your skin.

Holding your gaze captive with his icy blue eyes (so clear and unmarred with anger, despite what just happened), Steve kept moving the muzzle of his gun from one of your collar bones to the other. Slowly.

He had to read something in your body you weren’t yet aware of - a spark of curiosity ignited in his irises.

You realized what it was a few seconds later as you felt your nipples stiffen.

No!, a voice in your head whispered in utter disbelief. That current at the touch of Rogers’ gun was arousal. Underlaid with fear, but the kind that spiced the arousal higher, not switched it off.

It had to be the adrenaline still rushing, you thought. Your mind locked in an acute stress reaction, so that your body got confused; it didn’t know how to react, or which hormones to produce.

That had to be the reason, the only explanation. Because you have never experienced anything like this.

Rogers being despicable aside, you simply never entertained any kinky fantasies that included a gun, or any other weapon, or being overpowered so completely. That was never something you considered you might like.

But as much as you were afraid of Steve in general, in this very moment you somehow knew he wouldn’t hurt you. Not in a bad way.

And the gun pressed to your body was a substantial proof of his power. One that could touch you physically; do things to you…

“My, my, Princess,” Steve leaned closer; whether to feel you shiver, or to shield the view of you from any prying eyes. “You’re just full of surprises.”

He ran the gun down your body - between your breasts and down your quivering belly. When the still warm muzzle nudged the hem of your flowy skirt up, the haze of shock snapped.

“I-” you started, but your voice was weak and breathless, turning into a gasp as Steve drew the gun higher up your thigh.

“I should go.” You squeaked out, but somehow couldn’t tear your eyes away from Steve’s.

The only muscles you moved were those of your legs, which parted slightly as he slipped the gun over your clothed core.

His free hand shot up to your neck; ringed fingers curling around your throat in a loose reminder of Steve’s dominance. Like the first time he’s done it, your breath hitched in your lungs, your pupils widened and your knees weakened.

Then the solid barrel rubbed against your covered folds and your lips parted on a needy whimper.

While it shocked you, it absolutely delighted Steve.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Princess.” He cooed, dragging the gun back and forth over your pussy. “It’s okay to need to take the edge off. After the afternoon you’ve just had.”

“That’s not how-” a part of your brain tried to fight the building arousal.

You closed your eyes, instantly opening them again at Steve’s warning hiss. In his eyes danced a glint of triumph - bright and cold like a blade pulled straight from the forgery.

“Not like this.” You muttered, embarrassed with how eager your body was to experience the little thrill of being caressed with something that could so easily hurt you.

Sex as a way of destressing wasn’t a foreign concept. Hell, an orgasm or two often helped you relieve some tension after dealing with daily obstacles and minor inconveniences. You’d even agree about needing one to burst you out of the bubble of shock you fell into today.

But you could do that on your own, not by the hand of the handsome monster who forced himself into your life. And with your own toys - the normal, safe ones.

It was both a relief and a shameful disappointment when Steve withdrew the gun.

“Slide your hand into your panties, Princess,” he brushed the side of the gun against your arm, nudging your wrist.

Your fingers twitched, but you didn’t move. Your heart was still going like crazy, the beat of it pulsing in your clit.

“Come on,” Steve traced his gun up your arm, then tapped your cheek with it, “be a good girl and put your hand in your panties.”

You knew it wasn’t a request, but a command. No matter if Steve’s voice melted into a soft, thick and sweet like chocolate tone. Slowly, you reached your hand beneath your skirt and under the waistband of your cotton and lace panties.

“That’s it.” Steve brushed his lips over your temple, whispering dirty encouragement. “Now slide your fingers over your pussy. All the way.”

You did as he asked; trembling fingers dipping between your soft folds.

“Now show them to me.” He pulled back slightly.

You wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole to cut your shame short, as you lifted your hand up for Steve to see.

Your fingers were sticky with your wetness, a pearly string of slick stretching between them.

“Seems to me that’s exactly how you need it, Princess.” Steve smirked; icy blue of his irises heating into white flame.

A retort was forming on your tongue, but died a second later. When Steve’s mouth closed around your digits and he sucked them clean.

His tongue lavished the crease between your fingers, teasing your rotten mind with a reflection of where else on your body he could use that tongue. Suction of his mouth wasn’t gentle, strumming down your nerves with vibration from his pleased hum. He pulled off, with a lewd swipe of his tongue.

For a millisecond, your gazes locked in quiet suspension.

A blink of an eye and then the gun was back beneath your skirt, while Steve’s lips were capturing yours in a filthy demand. He pushed the barrel past the fabric of your panties this time, hard metal grazing your delicate parts. His dark chuckle in response to your moan reverberated on your lips.

The fingers curled around your neck tightened slightly, his thumb pressing over your carotid, but not enough to cut off your air. Not yet, at least.

Stars danced in the corners of your vision, heightened pleasure mixed with delicious trepidation filling your body with bubbles of ecstasy unknown to you until now.

Steve angled his gun so that it spread your folds, rubbing your clit and teasing your entrance with each slide. Your hips rocked back eagerly. When he pushed a little deeper, pressing the muzzle into your opening, you almost seized.

One of your hands flew to Steve’s forearm, holding onto the wrist of his hand which was choking you. The other fisted his shirt near the collar. You let out a startled cry that turned from appalled to needy.

“Give it up, Princess,” Steve teased your bottom lip with his tongue, all the while nudging the muzzle into your cunt.

Muscles in your legs tensed, your eyes shimmered with tears that weren’t of sadness or pain. You were ashamed of your reaction to the filthy debauchery, but you wanted, needed it so badly.

“I’m gonna have you cum for me anyway, so just let go.”

That demand was sharper. Steve’s fingers on your throat tightened, cutting off the flow of air. At the same time, he pushed the gun deeper. Merely an inch or two slipped inside, but it was enough to feel your pussy stretch around it.

Your climax was an outburst with sharp edges, each tremor feeling like an electric current. Your cries sounded choked, though Steve released his hold on your neck enough for the air to flow easily into your lungs.

The gun wasn’t inside you anymore, but he kept moving it harshly against your clit, prolonging your orgasm to a point of painful throb that threatened to build into another humiliation if he continued longer.

If he slid the gun back, or his cock into your quivering cunt, you’d probably lose your conscience. While cumming all over him again.

Finally, Steve eased the pressure. He occupied your lips with sensual kisses, slow and lingering, and tongue dipping indecently into your mouth. The gun withdrew from your panties, the fabric clinging to your drenched pussy in an embarrassingly uncomfortable way.

Your arms fell to your sides when Steve let go of your neck and straightened. He wiped his gun, covered with your slick, in your skirt, then secured it back in the holster at his side.

“There now. Isn’t it better?” You weren’t certain if he was mocking you, or if it was a pure cocky smugness.

You were gaping at him, your breath still ragged. Your legs were shaking and your heart was hammering, but there was warmth and life and a vivid feeling of anger resurfacing. No longer the cold stupor of shock and fear.

No, Steve beckoned your brain back to reality. After short circuiting it.

“Better?” You hissed, clenching your hands into fists. “You pointed a gun at me!”

“And you creamed all over it, Princess.” Steve’s knowing smirk added to your shame.

“You shot someone!” You derailed, unable (and unwanting) to unpack the mess of your body’s reaction to being fucked with a gun.

“Just straight up shot them. In broad daylight!” It was now reaching your mind that all the terrors and dirty deeds, which have happened in the past half an hour, didn’t take place in the deep darkness of the night. It was a sunny afternoon, with people walking the streets just outside the front door of an ordinary apothecary.

“They would’ve hurt you,” came Steve’s remorseless reply.

Simple and direct, spoken in a warning growl.

“Nobody hurts what’s mine.”

There was nothing romantic about it, even if your post-orgasmic heart flowed with bonding oxytocin.

It was a dark claim, making you into Steve’s possession. His protection of you came only from the need to have his pride untouched - if anyone managed to steal or hurt his bride, it weakened Steve’s ruthless reputation.

“Now let’s get you out of here, so my cleaning team can swipe in.” Steve motioned at you to follow him as he moved toward the exit.

Your feet were frozen to the spot. There was a dead body of a man between you and the door; the pool of blood inches away from your toes. You definitely wanted to get out of there, but you couldn’t simply make yourself jump over someone’s corpse.

Steve’s impatient sigh was motivating - you did not want to get on his nerves too much. But your body wasn’t listening to any of your commands. As it didn’t listen to you when you tried to fight off the arousal earlier.

Suddenly, you were picked up.

Steve hoisted you up easily, throwing you over his shoulder. He carried you over Duvall’s dead body and through the narrow corridor, ignoring your outraged squeak.

“All that blood and death, you really need to focus on lighter things from now on.” He said conversationally, tone light as if aforementioned gore was just a chore from which one needed to take a break.

“For a while, at least-” Steve continued, as he carried you out the front- “Wedding planning should help with that.”

“No! I don’t want it!” You protested, kicking your legs.

With what just happened, you couldn’t imagine forcing yourself to organize a fucking wedding. One you didn’t want in the first place. You couldn’t imagine going back to your routine, daily life at all.

You just weren’t sure if it was the deaths you witnessed that changed your life forever, or the wrong kind of desire that Steve brought out of you.

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t. But you will.” He put you down on your feet once you were outside.

Steve cupped your chin, crushing it painfully between his thumb and forefinger, and tilted your face up.

“We both know you will be a good girl for me, Princess.”

#touch the darkness #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #dakr mafia!steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers imagine #my writing

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semisolidmind · 7 months

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So... how would the scene play out with Azure helping MK, Mei, and reincarnated Peaches go? Would he take the opportunity to yoink Peaches with Sun Wukong and/or Macaque trapped in the scroll (if that even happens)?

Or if he successfully becomes Jade emperor would he let the power get to his head and hold Peaches captive?

These are just some scenarios that have crossed my mind, feel free to ignore!

ooooohoohoo skye i love your questions

we'll just go with modern twice as bad au, to keep this relatively simple. it takes place in the lmk timeline; wukong and macaque are big bad guys, mk was raised by wukong and looks naturally like his monkey self, reader in the current era is a reincarnation of the reader from the past who was killed whilst on the journey with her two demon husbands, said husbands have been intermittently causing trouble and flirting with her every chance they get. reader works at pigsys alongside mk as the cashier/other delivery person, and is friends with the gang.

so, i imagine this is happening after the final lbd fight, but in this au wukong and macaque are also big bads, so their helping to defeat her is more because mk asked than out of any sense of heroism. they're still very much evil, they insist, and after that little bout of heroism they go back to being the bastards everyone knows them as. buuuut just a bit more tolerant of mk's friends (mostly because reader has influenced them with kindness bit by bit up to this point, shoujo-protagonist-style).

wukong invites reader to come to the mountain with mk after his monster-of-the-week battle with the twin metal demons in order to "help them organize" all the junk the kid is bringing home. really, he just wanted to get reader to the mountain so he could see her again and tease her (maybe she inadvertently admitted to finding him attractive in a heated moment the last time they met, during the big battle. like, telling him to get his big dumb handsome head in the game or smth idk). macaque joins in on the teasing too, of course.

mk, ever oblivious to his caretakers blatantly flirting with his coworker, opens the memory scroll by mistake. it almost gets him, if not for macaque quickly grabbing him by the back of his shirt and tossing him out of the way. unfortunately, this means the six-eared demon is absorbed into the ink. mk turns to wukong for help, and is firmly told to take reader and run. wukong stops a strike from the ink entity before being absorbed as well. reader and mk call out for them, but run for their lives until they get beyond the scrolls reach.

they go back later with their friends, the gang excluding mei get absorbed, and they're saved by a lion demon who introduces himself as azure.

the newcomer pauses when he looks at reader, a strange, stricken look crossing his features, almost as if he recognizes her. he looks like he wants to say something...but the moment passes and he continues his introduction. the two teens insist on going to save their friends (kinda ignoring reader's concerned voice in the bg), and he eventually agrees to help them.

the monkey demon boy and dragon girl go into the scroll (with the same reckless excitement they display in every other aspect of their lives), leaving reader behind with an unfamiliar demon. the distrust must show on her face, because said demon maintains his distance with the promise that he means her no harm.

azure tries to reassure reader, and offers to answer the many questions he's sure she has.

azure would explain the story a bit more in depth to reader (spinning it in his favor, of course). he would tell her the truths the monkey demons are hesitant to say; how reader's previous incarnation was a captive wife to the so-called great sage and his general, how monstrous the two really were, just how much bloodshed and chaos they caused... even when in service of the great monk.

reader is stunned—but not as surprised as she thought she'd be. anyone who pays even the slightest mote of attention to the world around them could tell you about just how much trouble the infamous monkey king is responsible for. kidnapping and hostage-taking seems tame in comparison.

when azure tells her point-blank who she used to be, reader goes silent. she's always felt a strange pull in her chest whenever she's around wukong and macaque. like she wants to get closer, but also wants to run as far away from them as she can. it's sobering to know why. she feels something similar when she looks at azure, she admits.

he chuckles fondly at her. it makes sense, he says, they used to be close after all. among the monkey king's allies, he was the only one who befriended the human queen of flower fruit mountain. azure assures her that her previous self was a kind person, that she had many friends who mourned her passing; himself included. reader says nothing, too stunned to speak.

azure lion rises from where he sits, stating that he must move the ritual site to his own home in order to bring the many victims of the scroll safely out. reader insists that she go with him. no offense, but i don't trust you with them, she says. azure chuckles, agreeing that blindly trusting someone you've just met wouldn't be very sensible. the two travel to camel ridge, and azure gives reader a tour.

---

sometime later, mk and mei bring each of their friends back to their present selves. they manage to free themselves as well (after mk has an...enlightening encounter with the scrolls' curse about his human half). they learn some interesting things about their past selves, and their many foes. they break themselves out of the scroll and confront azure about everything they've seen.

azure is holding reader hostage. the lion pins reader to his chest, and she struggles in vain to escape his grip. she yells, hurriedly telling them that azure isn't a good guy, he—! the lion moves his paw over her mouth. his expression is grim as she claws at the appendage.

the gang barely hold back from attacking him, not wanting to hurt reader in the process. though mei stubbornly tries to land a strike at the lion's head, getting knocked back.

azure says he didn't want to do it this way, but...he can't have anyone messing up his plans.

perhaps he puts reader into a scroll peice, right before the very eyes of her friends.

they stand horrified as she dissapears. azure glances at the scroll peice, tracing the characters of reader's name with his eyes. his expression softens a bit. he delivers his monologue to the gang, azure frees his brothers, they attempt to fight, the gang flees when their weapons are taken. they hate to leave reader behind, but... they're outmatched.

---

reader is forced to relive key moments in her past life as captive queen of the monkey king and the six-eared macaque. she learns more about them than she ever thought she would (way, way more; some of those memories were spicy 👀). she begins to understand why they treat her like they do, despite her seemingly being just another of mk's friends.

she plans on confronting them about it once she's been freed.

meanwhile, the gang is training and getting better, trying to figure out how to get both reader and wukong's scroll peices back. reader's peice is better hidden than wukong's, and so it'll be more difficult to recover. they have no idea where macaque's peice is, but one mystic monkey on their side is better than none. they know the two warlords are their best bet for defeating azure and the brotherhood.

thanks to some quick thinking, somewhat of a plan, and a whole lotta luck, the gang recovers wukong's scroll peice. they repair it, and it only takes a bit of prying from mk to get him out. the ginger-furred demon really doesn't like dwelling on his memories.

the rage radiating off the newly-freed monkey king is palpable. the hatred he feels for his once-allies is a force all on its own. now, mk and the gang just need to unleash it.

everyone is on edge during the battle, choosing to keep their distance and do their part while monkey king and mk fight azure. wukong demands to know where reader is. what have they done with her? if they laid even a single hand on her their lives are forfeit, he promises. he and azure fight for a while, trading jabs and airing out their grievances... to kinda everyone? the friends never would've guessed monkey king had romantic drama, but here they are.

it's likely they don't get reader's scroll peice back until later. i imagine macaque, after being freed (maybe it's revealed he was never trapped at all and it was just a trick; he sank into a shadow, not the ink, and that's why they don't see him in the scroll; watching and waiting for the right time to strike), sneaking into the jade palace to find her. he knows that the lion would keep her someplace he thinks she won't be in danger of being broken. when mac does find her (hidden by the throne, wrapped in a part of the lions' old cape), he handles the scroll peice as gently as glass, pressing it to his chest as he leaves the palace. he'll be the one to bring her out. he was her favorite, after all.

(kinda phoning in this part cause ive run outta steam)

the big battle happens, the gang defeats azure, they kill him, it's real sad, things sorta go back to normal. i imagine that wukong, macaque, and reader will have to have a long talk about everything.

#bad end wukong #twice as bad au #this takes knowledge of season 4 to understand #this kinda reads like a summary but with my lil spin on it #im kinda phoning it in towards the end #lion's den au

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flavorita · 2 years

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riddle hatefuck w/ fingering and just a lil bit of degradation please and thank you

Anon bro, homie, my dear, hatefucking and degradation are literally like 🤝 HAND-IN-HAND YA KNOW

Okay okay I haven’t written smut in like 2 years and I've only posted one smut EVER. Let's see how this goes 😭

Dumb and Dumber

Riddle Rosehearts x Female Reader Smut 🔞

Part 2

TW: Degradation, fingering, orgasm denial, praise kink, dumbification? hatefucking? public sex, not really cuz it's just you 2 there?

“I cannot believe that as a student of Heartslabyul, that you cannot even memorize such a simple formula!”

You had been failing your alchemy class and had somehow managed to prevent your dorm leader from finding out, that is, until you failed your midterm. As per usual, Riddle took it upon himself to personally offer tutoring to any student in Heartslabyul that had suffering grades.

You had been studying with Riddle every afternoon in the library since he had found out, but you still hadn’t improved whatsoever. You’ve been studying the same topic for what felt like hours. All the other students had already gone back to their dorms by now as even the sun had set for the day, but not you and Riddle.

“Even Cater was easier to tutor...”, Riddle mumbled under his breath. You were trying, you really were but now all you could focus on were the tears threatening to spill from your eyes as Riddle hovered above you pointing at blurry images and words on the textbook set in front of you.

“And then you have to... Hey, are you even listening?” You didn’t look up. You couldn’t look up at Riddle. You didn’t want him of all people to see you like this. You felt your cheeks being grabbed as Riddle forced you to look up at him.

Surprise flitted through his eyes as he saw the tears forming in your eyes. “I see... Well then,” Riddle took a seat next to you. “Let’s try a different method shall we?”

“Ah~”, you bit your lip, trying to keep your moans from slipping out.

“Good girl, you’re finally doing something right for once.”

Riddle continued to scissor his fingers inside your hot cunt while you struggled to hold your pencil. Your legs squeezing together pathetically, while he nonchalantly continued his torturous administrations under the table with your skirt hiked up and pussy juices flowing.

“Don’t forget,” Riddle leaned in close enough for you to feel his warm breath on the shell of your ear. “For every right answer, I’ll add another finger. You’ll like that now, won’t you? Slut.”

“Hngh~”, his fingers curled inside you, brushing a particularly deep spot bringing you dangerously close to the edge. You lost your grip on your pencil as it dropped to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Tch, pick it up, Y/N.”

“I-I, Riddle~” With glossy eyes and a tearful expression, you turn towards Riddle hoping he’ll take mercy on you and let you cum. But instead, you gasped in surprise as Riddle removed his fingers from your cunt and started to lick them off, one by one, slowly while gazing at your tear-stricken face.

“Why would I let a bad girl like you come when you can’t even follow a simple rule like this?”

You began to plead and whine as you begged for release; for Riddle to fill the emptiness that only his fingers could. He merely looked down at you with an apathetic look while he crossed one leg over the other watching, waiting for you to

“Then. Pick. It. Up”

You trembled as Riddle accentuated each word, but what did he mean by pick it up? Did you drop something? You can’t think of anything but the throbbing of your heat and how his fingers worked wonders in it. You looked at Riddle with trembling lips, wishing he’d tell you what he wanted so he’d let you cum.

A gentle hand was placed on your cheek as a small smile finally graced his pretty face. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any dumber.”

#riddle rosehearts x you #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts smut #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland fic #twst smut #twst x y/n #twst x reader #heartslaybul x reader #riddle smut #flavorita

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520cafe · 7 months

Text

━━ 24/7, LOVING YOU. kazuha x gender neutral reader

in which your boyfriend kazuha showers you with endless gifts and surprises for a week leading up to the 1 year anniversary of your relationship. he’s always thinking about you 24/7, 7 days in a week and 365 days in a year.

word count. 2.6k

content. disgustingly wholesome and fluffy, nicknames “love” and “dear”, established relationship.

“today is the day” kazuha thought to himself. starting from now, next week marks the first year anniversary of his relationship with [name]. all his planning and hard-work were leading up to this very moment and now, his efforts can finally blossom.

in the end, it will all be worth it. after all, he has you by his side.

MONDAY. 10:01am

your eyes slowly flutter open amidst the blazing, rosy rays of the sun shining on your face. even when your eyes haven’t completely adjusted to the morning light, you could already feel the loving gaze from your awe-stricken boyfriend.

“good morning, [name].” kazuha’s voice was deep and tired but, that didn’t hide the amount of adoration he has for you. it’s rare moments like these where his hair is not tied and is instead all messy with his half-open lids where you would feel your breath being taken away.

“kazuha, good morning. were you seriously just staring at me while i was asleep?”

“maybe.”

his honey-filled laugher surrounded the room when you lightly smacked his chest and buried your face amongst the crook of his neck in fluster. kazuha’s soft hands began to gently play with your hair as he melts deeper within your embrace, sleepily closing his eyes once more.

“what are you thinking about?” your voice comes out in a mere whisper. “what’s on your mind this morning, kazuha?”

“you.” his answer was sincere and straight-forward, holding no room for doubts but instead, was welcoming affection and pride.

lovingly, he delicately cups your cheeks as if you were the most precious person to him. bringing you closer to him, he places a soft kiss on your forehead as his crimson eyes were filled with tender love, inviting you to depths of his heart.

“everyday, i wake up excited knowing that you will always be part of my day.”

MONDAY. 11:26am

“my love, you may open your eyes now.”

kazuha removes his hands from your eyes and your eyes were met with a red and white checkered blanket laying on the grass with various fruits and pastries on top. around the blanket, surrounded a beautiful field of flowers ranging from different types and colours, with the cool breeze being the perfect company to tie the scenery altogether.

“well, what do you think?” he asked, loosely holding your finger as he notices your silent and rather speechless response.

however, instead of answering him, you excitedly intertwined your hands in his and pulled him towards the picnic that he has set up just for the two of you. that reaction alone satisfied kazuha, seeing your smile was already enough for him. sitting down beside him, your attention was instantly caught by a small brown book that was resting in the middle of the blanket.

12 poems for each month that i’ve loved you.

poems are essentially kazuha’s speciality and he knew that you took great appreciation into the poems he writes. kazuha loved your reaction whenever your eyes scanned each stanza, he loved the way you always asked questions on the meanings and metaphors and he loved how you were always there to listen to him.

your lips slightly parted just from the title of the book. kazuha took your hand in his and placed the book on your lap before he bought his face close to yours where your foreheads were touching.

“still, no amount of words could describe just how much i love you.”

TUESDAY. 1:06pm

“kazuha!” you exclaimed while holding onto his hand tightly for support, afraid and in a panic that you would fall down on the ice.

“[name] don’t worry!” kazuha chuckled, finding your reaction absolutely adorable and endearing, “i got you.”

for tuesday, kazuha decided to take you to the ice rink. in preparation for this day, kazuha dedicated days just to teach himself on how to skate. after all, he had ulterior motives for this day in particular that he was looking forward to. in his mind, with him knowing how to skate, he would get to witness you being more clingy and dependable towards him. you may find it embarrassing but, he couldn’t care less if all he saw was pink and love hearts.

“how are you so perfect at everything?”

you complained, despite how your arms were tightly wrapped around his in order to keep yourself stable on your ice. all kazuha did was laugh in response to this.

“[name], you know i’m not perfect at everything.”

“yeah you are! you’re even the perfect one for me.”

kazuha’s eyes slightly widens and he turns his head around to look at you with a surprised expression, he looked especially cute in this flustered state. it was now your turn to laugh at him. seemingly, the tables have now turned around.

“what? i like it better when i’m with you.” your eyes glistened once more, in absolute awe that someone as amazing and talented as kazuha is yours and is currently standing beside you by your side.

“[name]… you..”

it seems that kazuha’s heart couldn’t handle it anymore which was evident from the way his heart was racing for marathons, the way he turned his head away from you and the way he slightly covered his dusted pink face with his free hand.

“alright [name], you got me.” kazuha muttered, his cheeks still feeling warm and caught off-guard by your comment.

kazuha’s ulterior motives were successfully flipped onto him.

WEDNESDAY. 8:45pm

“[name], are you feeling comfortable?”

kazuha appears from the from the corner of the room with snacks before he joined you on the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning his head on your shoulder. he felt the corner of his lips curve upwards when you began to softly play with his hair, each strand felt silky as they were intertwined in your fingers, making him feel even more relaxed within your touch.

“of course, anywhere is comfortable with you.” you smile at him while placing your head on top of his and sighing, his presence itself being enough to calm you down.

“i’m glad, [name].”

after a few exchanges and playful arguments about what movie to watch, you two ultimately agreed on a romance movie (just for you to secretly brag about how much better you and kazuha are compared to the main leads of the movie).

and as expected the storyline, to you, felt entirely predictable and lacklustre. so why is it that kazuha was silently tearing up from the corners of your eyes?

“kazuha, you’re not crying are you?” you turned towards him and lightly poked his cheeks. you weren’t hallucinating at all, crystal droplets were truly forming in kazuha’s ruby-like eyes.

“no..” kazuha tried to deny but he was not fooling anyone and you knew him best.

melting at the sight, your laughter was like music to his ears as you intimately cupped his face and placed a warming yet reassuring kiss on his lips. it wasn’t long-lasting, it was only a quick peck, but this small action was enough to recharge kazuha and even drive him almost crazy.

“[name]..” kazuha whispered but, you placed a finger to his lips wanting to stay in this time-frozen moment with your most precious person.

WEDNESDAY. 9:52pm

coming out from the bathroom after a relaxing and peaceful shower, you found a message notification from your phone sent by kazuha. you were slightly confused, since he’s only just in the kitchen.

the message he sent you was a link specifically, a link to a playlist made by him for you.

a piece of me: listen to this when you miss me.

THURSDAY. 12:11pm

“my dear, how is it going?”

kazuha managed to sneak behind you and fondly wrap his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder in the process. you felt his hair slightly brush against the surface of your cheeks and his warm breath was tickling your neck. being caught off-guard, your face was shaded with the colours of nerves and panic.

you knew you had to do something otherwise, you would completely melt on the floor like frosting on a warm cake.

“it’s going well, did you bring everything?” you asked, fighting for your life trying to make your voice stable as if nothing was happening.

“of course i did—”

before kazuha could even respond, you used the whisk that was in the cake batter and rubbed some of the contents on your boyfriend’s cheeks. kazuha, who definitely was not expecting this, stepped back and froze for a few long seconds before his parted lips emerged into one that held mischief and interest.

“i see, if that’s how it is..”

in an act of revenge, kazuha flicked flour towards you and it landed on your shirt. you may have saved yourself from becoming a puddle on the floor but, you also caused a bigger kitchen war of throwing cake ingredients at eachother as a consequence of your actions.

completely abandoning the third-wheeling cake batter that was resting on the counter, the two of you were distracted and entranced in your own small world where it was just you two and you two alone.

FRIDAY. 1:34pm

“so close!”

the look in your eyes were shadowed with disappointment and betrayal when that loose rigged claw dropped the plushie oddly close to the chute. it felt as if time slowed down the moment the plushie began to descend back into the pile of other plushies.

kazuha sighed, his heart aching from the sight of your dismay. he slowly approached you and gently brushed his warm hands over yours, taking over the controls before he sent you a reassuring and comforting smile.

“don’t worry [name], i’ll get this for you.”

when kazuha inserted another coin into the claw machine, the loud music from the machine was once again booming as if to build tension and suspense. you leaned closer towards him, peeking at what he was doing. it was actually a smart idea; he was instead using the claw to tip over the plushie into the chute rather than trying to pick it up entirely.

however, his efforts were only fruitless. after all, this claw machine was most likely rigged.

you saw the way his cheek puffed up and the way his eyebrows were slightly furrowed: he looked adorable like this. kazuha turned around to face you after you couldn’t hold in your laughter due to his frustrated state.

“another thing we have in common: we both suck at claw machines.”

a wave of relief washed over you when your comment managed to make kazuha laugh too, you didn’t want him to beat himself up after the both of you fail to get a singular plushie from this definitely rigged claw machine.

“well, if you see it that way..” kazuha affectionately patted your head while his face leaned in closer. “doesn’t this mean that we truly are meant for each other?”

SATURDAY. 7:38pm

“kazuha...”

a breathless gasp was released from your slightly agape lips at the panoramic scenery that was in front of you; it perfectly pictured a scene from a movie that only the actors could experience.

but now it’s happening to you, all because of your endearing, affectionate and compassionate boyfriend who loves you unconditionally and is so in love, even infatuated, with you.

“[name], my love, what do you think?” kazuha whispered, his voice was so soft that it almost felt like a warm hug.

“kazuha.. it’s perfect.”

even the word “speechless” was not enough to describe the current state that you were feeling right now, and kazuha easily caught onto that. feeling satisfied by your reaction, he gently held your hand and pulled you towards the exquisitely decorated gazebo that was peacefully resting under the blue sea of glistening stars. fairy lights were hung from above and surrounding the gazebo; the lamps were placed in a precise manner and the white decorations made it feel like a snowy scenery.

“i’ve always wanted to do this with you, for so long.”

“… you don’t mean?”

as if on cue, kazuha swiftly placed your hand on his shoulder while his free hand snaked its way around your waist before he pulled you closer to him. with the soft music of the piano and sweet ambience in the air, you knew exactly where this was going.

“come on kazuha, you know i don’t know how to dance.”

“nonsense. [name], just follow my lead.”

his gaze was holding the purity of his words and his voice was tender and filled with all the love that was swirling in the air. before you knew it, he began to move slowly.

like a firefly, he began to guide your body in sync with the tranquil song in the background. even with his guidance, kazuha could not help but notice how stiff and tense you moved which he couldn’t hold back his chuckle at the sight.

“relax [name], look at me.”

catching you off-guard, he carefully held your cheek with his hand and made you look up at him; if love was a colour, it would certainly be the colour of kazuha’s eyes and the way he looked at you as if you’re the most beautiful person in the world.

“kazuha i don’t want to accidentally step on your—”

however, kazuha quickly interrupted you by surprising you with a sweet yet benevolent kiss on your lips before he placed his forehead against yours. this whole scenario felt like a fairy-tale that was written by cupid, where the ending couldn’t be more magical and lovely.

“my love, right now, it’s just you and i.. and i am all yours.”

SUNDAY. 8:47pm

“kazuha, let’s go here!”

you excited exclaimed as you dragged him up a hill that was above the colourful blurred lights of the inazuma summer festival, all kazuha was able to do was to laugh in response to your enthusiasm.

after hurriedly going up the hill, you sat down on the edge in anticipation while kazuha followed behind. in just a few minutes, inazuma city will soon be filled with vivid and magnificent fireworks that will light up the entire sky.

“someone is excited, [name].” kazuha felt energised and happy seeing you in such a state, as if your excitement is bouncing off to him in return.

“of course i am!—”

suddenly from the corner of your eye, a bright colour captured your vision. you immediately shifted your attention towards the sky and as if curtains drew, many-hued colours ranging from lapis blue to a blazing pink began to dance together in the sky and create a beautiful ombré that painted the sky.

it was gorgeous and even show stopping: just the way many shapes and forms were being elegantly fabricated in the sky like it was telling a story, or the way each image in the sky had an interpretative and imaginative meaning, it certainly caught kazuha’s eyes.

while his mind was full of you as well as poetry inspiration and metaphors, he suddenly felt a weight on his shoulders.

and there you were, completely asleep on his shoulder as a pillow which felt like home. kazuha sighed at the lovable sight in front of him, one minute you were extremely excited for the fireworks and the next second you were passed out on his shoulder.

kazuha understood though after all, this has been quite an eventful week leading up to the first year anniversary of the relationship. judging from your reactions to his little surprises and gifts, this week had been quite successful.

while you slept on his shoulder, kazuha slowly kissed your forehead in the midst of the story-telling fireworks before he leaned close to your ear and whispered.

“my dear, i will always love you forever and a day. happy one year anniversary.”

Yu’s words ━━ this totally wasn’t inspired by the song 7 (clean ver.) sang by the infamous main vocalist and center jeon jungkook from well-known kpop group known as bts nahh there’s no wayy. this took me quite a while but i’m glad that i finally finished! :D hope you all enjoyed me basically vomiting about being a hopeless romantic pffttt

#kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha x you #kazuha x gender neutral reader #kaedehara kazuha #genshin kazuha #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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celtic-crossbow · 7 months

Text

Series Masterlist

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Chapter 2

Chapter Warnings: Violence (Man on woman), just really horrible treatment of reader, allusions to sexual assault

You weren’t even sure what was happening. First, you had reached for the man’s arm— stupid, stupid, stupid, you knew better— and then you were on the ground. It didn’t hurt but it was startling. You kept your head down, moving slowly. Maybe Todd hadn’t seen. The stranger’s boot fell into your line of sight, just before Todd’s shiny loafers.

Shit.

Todd’s grip on your bicep was bruising. It would definitely leave marks, would have even before he yanked you up so hard that your head snapped back.

“What have I told you about touching the customers without asking?”

Your mouth moved without sound, surely making you look like a fish out of water. You really didn’t know how to answer. You knew better! Stupid!

“Hey, man, she—”

You should have expected the strike. You deserved it, really. It was the one thing that had been beaten into you over and over. Not all clients reacted as strongly as this one had, though. They would yell at you, call you names. Sometimes they’d call over Todd or even Big Jazz himself. None before had ever physically thrown you. Yet, from the stricken expression he wore, he had the nerve to feel bad about it.

You knew better than to argue. Talking back only made things worse. You had seen worse too many times before they had managed to break you. You didn’t make a sound when Jazz wrapped your hair around his fist to force you to your feet.

Through the small gap between your fingers, you saw the stranger leaving but he seemed reluctant; a haunted look in his eyes that you knew well.

“Hey!”

You lowered your hands but only slightly. Jazz and Todd would only make it hurt more if you were caught looking at the client you drove out.

“How much fer her?”

What?!

You staggered out behind the two men and fell against the building’s exterior to shield your eyes from light you had not seen in— wait, how long had you been there?

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Ya saw wha’ they was doin’ ta ‘er, same as I did!”

“It wasn’t our problem!”

“It don’ hafta be our problem now! She’s free!”

Free? You weren’t free. You had been sold. Auctioned off like livestock. A new boss, a new set of rules to follow. Never free.

“Maybe she can give us a ride then, Daryl, because otherwise we have a long walk ahead of us!”

“Man, jus’ get the bags outta the car!”

When the men grew quiet, you slowly slid your hands down your face, blinking a few times to let your eyes adjust. The sun was so bright, so warm on your skin. You’d forgotten what that felt like. Your clothing—or lack thereof— only allowed for more warmth to seep in, stealing the chill from your bones. You inhaled deeply. You didn’t even mind the stench of death that seemed to linger in the air; it did little to overwhelm nature’s scent. The sky, the trees, the birds; it was as if you were seeing it all for the first time.

“Ya alrigh’?”

You gasped, standing as straight as you could, but wobbled on your silver heels. You hoped your makeup was still okay. You hadn’t cried but the slap from Todd had probably made a mess of your eye. Hopefully, you’d be at least close to what he had wanted. If he tried to sell you back, Jazz would—

“S’yer name?” The man asked, his southern drawl thick but not unattractive. Even the layer of dirt on his skin had some sort of appeal. In fact, without ogling, there didn’t seem to be anything about him that was unattractive. Except maybe the permanent scowl he seemed to wear. He’d had it inside as well, save for when Todd had hit you and the moment just before he’d started the transaction. You’d never forget that look. Still, even now, there was a kindness in his pretty blue eyes that betrayed him.

You jumped when he snapped his fingers just in front of your nose. Shit. Five minutes in and he’d already have to punish you. You quickly lowered your eyes.

“Y/N, Sir.” You answered meekly. Never speak louder than Sir.

He merely grunted in reply, his friend approaching with a backpack outstretched. Maybe he hadn’t noticed you staring, though you found that hard to believe. You looked up from under your lashes and watched him sift through the pack to produce a half-empty bottle of water and a granola bar. He held both out to you, arching an eyebrow when you stared at the offering quizzically.

“It’s, um…it’s not lights out, Sir.”

“Name’s Daryl. This s’Rick. And wha’ the hell s’that mean?”

“Sir?”

“Daryl. Lights out. Whaddaya mean s’not lights out?” He looked as confused as you felt.

“I only, uh, eat at lights out. Sometimes in the, uh… sometimes in the morning if I did good the night before.”

“Th’fuck?” He sounded genuinely outraged. Maybe he meant to only feed you once. Maybe Jazz had actually been kind in his own way after all. “Y’ain’t gotta worry ‘bout all tha’ anymore.” He offered the food again, pushing it closer.

“Sir?”

“Daryl. Take it.”

With trembling hands, you accepted the items and held them close, not daring to open either until he had explicitly given his permission. “Thank you.” You whispered.

“Ain’t nothin’.” Daryl shouldered the bag, and pointed toward his left. “Nothin’ much down tha’ way ‘less ya got people ya might be lookin’ for. I’d say North’s ya best bet.”

“Sir?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, the other man— Rick— snickering behind him. “Daryl—y’know, don’ even matter. See ya, Y/N.”

“Good luck.” Rick gave you a curt nod before both turned and began walking the very direction Daryl had just said was a waste of time.

That really threw you for a loop. Was this some sort of test of your loyalty? Your obedience? Heels click-clacking against the pavement, you caught up and fell in behind them, keeping a respectable distance. Your throat burned and your stomach growled, but he hadn’t told you to partake of the food and water. Maybe he would once he saw how good you could be.

You watched him glance over his shoulder before sharing a look with Rick. He stopped and turned to face you. “Wha’re ya doin’?”

“Was that not enough space?” You asked sincerely. The man stared at you with the most bewildered expression. “Too much?”

“Nah, why ya followin’ us?” Daryl looked angry now, stepping the slightest bit closer to cast a frightening shadow over your smaller form.

“Be-because you own me, Sir.”

His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline as he floundered for a moment before settling back into the stoicism you assumed was his natural state. “Y’ain’t property. That place s’fucked up. Ya can go wherever ya wan’ now.” You stared at him, wide eyes blinking slowly. He didn’t say anything else before turning and starting away from you again.

“Sir?”

He stopped, shoulders tensing. “S’Daryl.”

“I, um… I don’t have anywhere to go.” Your voice was so small that you thought you might have to repeat yourself. Still, both men turned toward you yet again. “I…don’t remember how to be anything else.”

They shared another look before Daryl rolled his eyes and nearly stomped back over to where you still stood. “How many walkers ya killed?”

“Daryl.”

He held a hand up to silence Rick, actually looking a bit shocked when the other man shook his head and crossed his arms but said nothing else.

“How many?”

“None.” You answered just as quietly as before.

“Wonderful.” That was dripping with sarcasm. “How many people?”

You met his eyes again, suddenly terrified to answer. He was obviously irritated but that kindness was still there. You just didn’t feel like you should— or even could— lie to him.

“One.”

“Why?”

You took a deep breath and stood a little straighter, feeling your face heat up when his eyes dropped to your almost completely exposed breasts before snapping back just as quickly, like he didn’t mean for it to happen.

“One of Bigg Jazz’s men. He… he, um, needed to make sure I could do what they wanted. So he—” You trailed off, hoping he could fill in the rest. “I fought back. Killed him. That’s why I was treated differently from the other girls. He was Todd’s brother.”

His expression remained the same. It frightened you just how unreadable he seemed to be. He turned to Rick, apparently communicating his question without the need for words. The other man shook his head and put his hands on his hips, reminding you of your father.

“Don’t look at me. I wasn’t the one to start this.”

Daryl promptly raised his middle finger and dropped it before giving you his attention. After a few uncomfortable moments, he sighed. “What the hell m’I doin’? Alrigh’, fine. But eat tha’ so ya don’ keel over n’ take those off.” He was pointing at your heels. “Make too much racket.” He spun and walked toward Rick.

You nodded, just barely succeeded in containing your enthusiasm. You dared not smile. “Thank you. I’ll be real good. You won’t regret it, Sir.”

He froze mid-step, but didn’t turn. Shaking his head, he continued forward while you managed to remove your shoes and take a bite of the granola bar at the same time.

Ahead of you, Rick watched as Daryl passed him by, smirking as he fell in step beside him. “She’d better keep up if we’re going to cover any ground before making camp.” He paused, lips twitching in an effort at self control. “Sir.”

“Shuddup.”

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hermitscratch · 2 months

Note

ETHUBS + 8, you know what to do with this

Send me a pairing + a number! || Accepting

8. A kiss in grief, Bdubs/Etho, 936 words

Among the sound of breaking blocks, running water, and falling gravel, the survivors' communicators pinged in tandem. Etho dared to hope that his partner had earned his keep. Lizzie was gone, a glaring red smear in chat announcing her demise the result of fall damage, and from where Etho was, trapped in a cave system far underground, he had no way of knowing if Bdubs contributed.

He waited a moment. There'd be a sign, Etho was sure, a message, a bold confirmation that the deed was done, maybe even an echo of boisterous, proud, manic laughter. It was what Etho wanted, however impossible; Bdubs, head held high as he mined the survivors out of their cavern and proclaimed that he was one of them once more.

The communicator pinged again.

BdoubleO100 was slain by Grian

And that was that.

Ren had him by the hand as they dug their way out of the cave, Cleo at his back with fleeting, encouraging touches whenever he drifted a bit too far. They kept him moving. They kept him talking, offering condolences and advice, plans and promises. They got him above ground, cheering at the sight of the sun and heaving lungfuls of fresh air, but Etho found it no easier to breathe.

The grounding hand was back, turning him gently, stopping him before he could get any closer to where he last recalled the reds congregating.

"Where are you off to?" Cleo asked, but something in her voice sounded like she was already well aware, "The session isn't over for another hour."

Etho's mouth dried. "I, uh. I don't think this is something that can wait, Cleo." "Sure it can," Cleo said, not unkindly, but straightforward in a way that had Etho's guts in knots, "What're you going to do if you walk straight into the reds?"

"I won't," Etho reasoned, "I won't, they- there's no reason for them to double back, right?"

"Depends on where he- where the fight happened. I'm not letting you join them," The hand on Etho's shoulder squeezed, "We can't lose another, is all I'm saying. I can't."

Cleo stared, and Etho stared back until he couldn't stand the mirror he found there any longer. Her loyalties never truly faded, and if it wasn't for the need to press forward, to carry the memory of allies long since fallen and survive, she'd be as stricken as Etho.

Etho took her hand off of his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "I'll be back," He promised, "It's only for an hour." Outside of the session, the reds couldn't touch him.

Cleo looked him up and down, as if appraising whether his word could be trusted, until finally, "I'll hold you to it." She pulled on his hand, and when he leaned in, she kissed his cheek over his mask. "Give him that for me, then?"

It was the least he could do for her.

For Bdubs, when Etho finally found him, Etho would do much more.

"Of course you had to go and die somewhere this inconvenient," He said, short of breath from scaling the mountain Bdubs had been climbing when he died, an attempt at levity that fell short.

Bdubs was curled up on his side, the jut of two fatal shots piercing the gaps in his armor. Etho eased the arrows out of Bdubs' back so his body could be laid flat, and a shuddering breath tightened his stomach as he covered Bdubs' eyes with a softly-placed hand, sliding them shut.

It didn't suit him, the image of a warrior fallen on a battlefield. "You don't wear anything this heavy back home," Etho said as he loosened buckles and untied straps until the diamond plate could be set aside. Etho paused, and after staring for a moment, he shrugged off his coat and laid it over Bdubs' chest like a blanket. "Yeah. Yeah, you look more comfortable already."

Nothing answered. The sun was setting, and with dusk would come fresh dangers, but Etho laid down beside Bdubs and watched the sky darken.

"You know," Etho mumbled into the empty air, "I meant everything I said this morning." He turned his head. Like this, it was easy to imagine Bdubs was just sleeping, that any moment he'd crack a smile and agree, be proud of himself for winning Etho's admiration, "You were the best teammate I could have asked for. And when I-" He swallowed, cleared his throat, "When I said we wouldn't be friends, I- man, I hoped- I wanted so badly for it not to be you."

Etho rolled onto his side and ignored the way it made the suspiciously warm streaks on his face change course, "And now it's my fault you're not here. Heh, can you believe that? I'm gonna be kicking myself for ages. You earned that life and I didn't pull the trigger fast enough."

Etho closed his eyes and breathed, deep and chilly, pulling his mask down on the exhale. The snow fort was always cold. Bdubs wasn't, though, the brief immersion of being home gone the moment Etho reached a shaky hand to rest across Bdubs' waist. "It's still your life, I think, I'll keep it safe. Get a win maybe, give you something to really be excited about."

Without his coat, the snow seeped into Etho's clothes, leaving him cold and wet as he sat up. The sun had set. Session hours were over.

Etho leaned down, and kissed Bdubs' cheek. Then, his lips, and if a few tears dripped onto his face in the process, at least he wasn't awake to notice.

"Goodnight... partner."

#Ethubs #Ethoslab #BdoubleO100 #ZombieCleo #Angst #Hermitshipping #Trafficshipping #Last Life #MCYT #Hermitfic #Asks #randomly-reblogs #Bdubs #Etho #Astral Library #My Writing #I'm not sure I like how this came out but!#It sure did come out and that's better than nothing!

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sun-stricken · 5 months

Note

More protective dragon slayers please? 🙏

Gray watching the slayers hang out and go on jobs together: :(

Gray after being ‘adopted’: :| (secretly loving it)

Sting considering putting a gps chip on Gray only to find Juvia’s one already there and getting mad.

Sting: How dare she!

Gray: how dare you!

Wendy being the most protective.

Slayers getting jealous of Gray hanging out with Lyon. (Just wait until Natsu tells them about Galuna island).

Rogue uses Frosch to trick Gray into therapy

Someone comments on Gray’s nudity/makes suggestive comments and Wendy gets mad. Wendy: He’s too young!

My personal headcannon is that memento mori made Gray more demon so he’s got a bit of a taste for blood. He was going to keep it secret but after defeating Avatar one of the members were like ‘they’ll never accept you. You’re a monster!’.

Also that Avatar messed Gray up. He just casually mentions his initiation (ie torture) or Briar and Jerome being a bit too friendly, or not being able to get out a blood stain. And everyone is just wtf?

Sorry for the ramble! It’s just nice to get these ideas out

don’t apologize! i love seeing other peoples hcs!

i refer to the dragon slayers dragon as it or they bc i classify it as kind of a separate entity? same with grays demon

More dragon slayers beinng protective of gray for the soul! (these are more just them and gray hcs i have, but the protectiveness is implied)

TW IMPLIED SEXUAL HARRASSMENT

its a lot so vv

Gray gets sick a lot, and its never just a simple cold or small fever, its always smth vaguely serious

and the dragons absolutely despise it, they also despise that its not something they can just destroy

Every time Gray gets sick all their inner dragons are immediately running in circles with the need to make him feel better

He sniffles once or gets a tiny scrape and theres a multitude of crashes and yelling to find blankets, med kits, and trying to find the best spot for him to sit down at

Wendy is extra feral and protective during these times

(which is saying a lot bc her dragon is definitely the most protective normally, whether bc its young or bc theyre a healer so thats their job to protect doesnt matter, it just is)

she has bitten people for getting too close (ie. within 40 ft) to them, even if theyre in a public place

Shes also forgotten shes a healer multiple times bc her dragon was so hellbent on the good old fashioned hands on approach

During one of the times he was bedridden at home, they found an book with Isvan style recipes in it, then proceeded to try and make something from it

they failed, they are complicated recipes and they probably wouldve failed home ec

but its the thought that counts and count it did bc Gray practically threw himself at them in a hug when they told him what they tried to do

GOING OFF THE HC OF DEVIL SLAYERS SLEEPING A LOT THING LIKE CATS (ty @bluneko91 for the idea) i think Gray in general has always been the type to sleep anywhere and everywhere

but now he can actually easily get to those hard to reach places and nap, and hes a menace with it

a weekly occurrence at the Fairy Tail guild is half the dragon slayers frantically searching for their demon slayer, looking in his past usual haunts (at the bar, on a table, under a table, makarovs office, on the stairs somewhere, the more random the more likely)

only for him to be found on the rafters 100 ft off the ground

when they find him they have about a good 7 seconds of peace before they verge yet another cardiac event bc holy shit oh god hes gonna fall!!

another common scene is Gray sleeping (in less dangerous places) and having various token dragon slayer clothes covering him

The dragons asking Gray if he wants to go on a job with them, only for him to (reluctantly) decline bc Lyon is in town and they have plans

then proceeding to sulk the whole job

Natsu was sulking the most, and spilt what happened on Galuna

and suddenly Lyon and Gray had 5 fuming dragons following them

(and if Lyon got graphic threats if he ever fucked up again he never said anything)

Gray is a hit of a wanderer, not in a ‘getting lost/bad at directions’ way, but in a ‘likes to see the scenery/has a feeling and doesnt voice it, just goes with it’ kinda way

Hes done this enough times and is quiet enough about it the others dont realize till hes gone

On one of the jobs he took with Rogue & Sting they half jokingly and half seriously threaten him with a tracker

and Gray says that Juvia probably already has one of him

Rogue and Sting not having a whole lot of context on that asks what he means, and then gets a disturbing account of some of the things shes done

Lets just say the feelings they harbor for her and for the people who let it continue are neither kind nor pretty

they probably ripped the other slayers a new one when they got back

Contrary to popular belief, ice mages can get cold, it takes a hell of a lot more than an average person but it does happen.

Gray probs mentioned this once and now when it rains or snows-

Laxus throws his coat at Gray, Natsu offers to share his scarf and using his fire to warm him up, Rogue drapes his cloak around him

its a very soft image and i needed to share it

Gray starting to push the other slayers away bc hes struggling with his demon instincts and because hes scared hes going to become a monster and hurt them

them not taking any of that shit

reassuring him that he would never become something cruel and evil

hes becoming a demon, hes not a monster, not a murderer

Ppl are frequently gross about Grays stripping habit

its one of the only things that made him genuinely try to stop

People tend to think since hes so obviously confident in his body that its okay to touch him whenever and however they want

the dragon slayers are inclined to disagree

Gajeel breaking some guys arm after he wouldnt keep his hands to himself

Laxus spilling water on someone whose personal dictionary didnt include ‘No’ then repeatedly shocked them until they werent in reach

Wendy having to be (reluctantly, they just dont want her to get in trouble tbh) held back when someone keeps making comments on his body after he told them to fuck off

that did not stop her from giving them the worst insults and threats anybody has ever heard

[if she went back to find them again nobody would know, i mean, and they were perfectly intact! not a scratch on them! and who was gonna believe that a sweet girl like her would harm anybody?:)]

Gray has been threatened with being wrapped in bubble wrap after being injured so many times, which is crazy considering its Natsu of all people who says it

They have gotten really comfortable with eachother

and i mentioned once smth abt the slayers having little private hang outs (jobs or normal get together or ‘meeting’ type things at guilds)

during one of these he casually mentioned what he had to endure to be accepted into Avatar

“yeah, they locked me in a kiln like room for hours every couple days”

jaw drops galore

“i beg your fucking pardon.”

“oh yeah, dw tho, it usually overlapped with the deprivations days so i wasnt fully aware of what was going on, didnt even hurt”

“THE FUCKING WHAT”

*increasing volume of worried and angry sounds*

I think Natsu is also a total cat magnet, so when Gray is having an off day he’ll go in search for a cat

when they approach him, he picks them up and drops them in Grays lap and waits

it always helps him feel better

im trying to imagine Gray getting a date and them all trying to discreetly spy on it

“Gaj, the pole doesnt exactly hide y—“

“SSHH THEYLL HEAR YOU—!”

OH MY GOD IMAGINE THE SHOVEL TALKS

sorry this took a minute!! i have a lot to say but not enough words

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spacecowboyhotch · 3 months

Text

Boy Meets Cat, Boy Meets Girl

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

prompt: kid fic or pet fic

contents: the feelings that come w/ temporarily losing a pet, meetcute, flirting

wc: 1,334

an: another promotional fic for @moonknight-events! steven is just…one of the sweetest, cutest men ever. written w/ the Marc’s girls server in mind, iykyk!

DISCLAIMER: as a event runner i will not be entered in the drawing for prizes. this is promotional only.

SP BINGO 2024 | moonknight masterlist

She’s sitting on the steps one day outside the museum after Steven’s shift. He almost walks right past her, bumbling down the steps with a soft hum. It’s been a long day of being yelled at atop getting sleep that just isn’t restful. He’s exhausted. He’s unobservant.

He’s nearly past her when he hears it— a loud, scratchy meow that catches his attention. Steven stops in his tracks, blinking rapidly.

Had he just heard a cat? On the museum steps? Sleep deprivation really was getting to him, wasn’t it?

He turns towards the sound, sure that there will be nothing there, that he is just hearing things. But there she is, perched on the museum steps as if she owns the place. She looks like a little heap of snow— her fur is fluffy and a stark white color that contrasts with her dark eyes and pink nose. He lets out a little sound of surprise, and then she meows back as if she’s answering him.

He laughs, a bright and cheery sound. “Well, hello there little one. Lost are we?”

She meows again, this time a little softer and if Steven wasn’t mistaken, a little sadder. He softens, taking a few cautious steps toward her so as not to spook her. When she does seem skittish, staying in place despite him closing the gap he simply sits beside her on the steps.

“Do you have a name, little one? Can I look at your collar? Promise I’ll be gentle,” He says, reaching his hand out to her.

She leans forward on her front paws, sniffing at the back of his hand before giving out a soft purr. She bumps his hand with the top of her head, nuzzling.

Steven takes this opportunity to reach under her chin, scratching gently before he leans in to peer at her collar.

“Iris— what a pretty name for a pretty cat.”

Another meow as Iris bulldozes her way into his lap. Steven gives her a series of pats, setting off several purrs that he feels vibrating through her spine. She's so fluffy, so soft. He could pet her for all his days. It’s nice to have this companionship, even if it’s just a cat. Hell, it beats talking to the statuer at the fountain in the park and Iris hasn’t spoken a word.

You know for a moment there, I wondered if you were the goddess Bastet,” He whispers playfully, like he’s keeping a big secret. Iris simply meows, using her paws to slip down and lay across Steven’s thighs. “Aren’t you cold? Is that a silly question given your fur coat?”

Steven lets himself sit, idly petting Iris as he watches the sun slowly disappear behind the London skyline. He’s completely charmed with this cat, with the peaceful feeling her company brings. Part of him selfishly thinks about taking her home and keeping her as his own. But, he knows if he’s this fond of her in a short period of time her owner is probably grief-stricken to be without her. He’ll take her home for the night and use his off day to pursue leads on her owner. Perhaps Marc could help with the tracking. For tonight though, he has some company and the idea has Steven rising to his feet, Iris in tow.

“How’s about we head on home and watch a movie? Are you a fan of Meerkat Manor? Or will seeing them scurry about get you revved up?” He whispers, ignoring the weird glances he’s getting from passersby.

As expected, Iris simply gives out a soft meow, snuggling further into Steven’s hold. He grins, raising a hand to pet her head as he rounds the corner, effectively running into someone.

“Iris! There you are. Oh my god, thank you. Thank you,” You gasp, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

If Steven thought he was charmed by Iris, he must come up with a word that holds more meaning at the sight of you. Your cheeks are tear-stained, eyes a mixture of happiness and guilt. Your brows are pinched together, and he has the urge to reach up and smooth out the wrinkle between them. The urge to soothe you. Even during the short walk, Steven had imagined his reluctance to give Iris back to her owner, but that’s all melted away now that you’re right in front of him. So, so beautiful.

“You’re Iris’ mum?”

“Yes. Fuck, thank you so much. I can’t– I don’t know what I would’ve done without her. I owe you.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. I simply stumbled upon her outside the museum after work. I was gonna start looking for her owner tomorrow, imagined it was too late. But look at you, as diligent as ever.”

“The museum? What were you doing there?” You ask Iris before looking up at the man to whom you practically owe your life again. He’s very handsome, a little tired-looking but his eyes are warm, and his hair is fluffy curls. She’s everything to me,” You explain, squeezing Iris to your cheek, doing some nuzzling of your own.

Iris has clearly learned her affectionate manners from you.

Steven’s mind quickly wanders, wondering what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of your affection. He bats the thought away, flushing. “I can imagine, she’s a little charmer. Plopped herself right in my lap.”

“I’m surprised she got this close to you, she’s incredibly picky. She must sense that you’re a lovely person.”

“Well–I– I’m glad to live up to Iris’ standards. She seems to have good taste. Animals sort of choose their owners don’t they?”

“Thanks,” You murmur shyly, feeling your own cheeks fill with warmth. “I know that folks can say being a pet parent is cringy, but I really am lucky to be her mom. She has such an energy to her.”

“Warm. Calm,” Steven supplies, reaching out to pet Iris’ head, if only for the last time. She nuzzles into his hand and he smiles.

Your eyes track his hand, still a little surprised at how easily Iris is letting him pet her. She had hated almost every person you’d brought back to your apartment except a handful of friends. But, any romantic prospects had quickly made themselves scarce given your mean, overprotective cat.

“Exactly.”

“Well Miss Iris, I guess we won’t be getting to watch Meerkat Manor after all will we? Perhaps your mum could show.”

“Meerkat Manor?”

“It follows a little family of meerkats through the desert. Their struggles, their connections, their enemies. All sorts of things.”

“I’ve always been a fan of animal docs.”

“Yeah? I could recommend you loads of them.”

“I would really like that. I don’t think I got your name?”

“Steven.”

“Steven,” You repeat softly before giving him your name. “It’s really lovely to meet you. This is bold of me but…maybe we could see each other again?

Steven’s mouth drops open, eyes wide in surprise. “Really?”

“I told you I owe you and well– Iris seems to like you a lot. Maybe I could make you dinner as repayment and we could watch some meerkats live their lives.”

“I– yeah. Yeah, alright, I would love to.”

You and Steven quickly exchange contacts. He gives Iris a few more pets before rocking back and forth on his heels.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Sound alright?” He asks, voice hopeful.

“Sounds great,” You confirm.

You shift Iris into the crook of your elbow, and to Steven’s surprise, wrap him in a one-armed hug as you whisper him a soft thanks. His response is delayed but he hugs you back, surrounded by your warmth and soft scent. After a few beats you pull away, giving him a smile as the two of you exchange temporary goodbyes. Steven makes his way back to his flat with a wide grin, grateful that Iris had brought the two of you together. Cat in arms, butterflies in stomach you walk home feeling much the same.

moonknight taglist: @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb , @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @campingwiththecharmings, @whatthefishh

#as promised from the poll…yes it’s a little early mostly bc i need something to distract me #steven grant x reader #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fluff #moonknight fanfiction #moonknightevents #arson writes

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whirlwindimagines · 1 year

Note

Fluffy oneshot of Vash proposing to his s/o 🥹

Well how could I refuse this request? <3 nice and cheesy just for you guys <3

‘It’s like the sun came out’

Vash x Reader

Vash fiddles with his prosthetic nervously, his arm was fine really but he didn’t know what else to do with his nervous energy. You were out shopping wanting to restock on supplies before the two of you headed out again.

He offered to secure a room for you both for the night, grateful for the alone time, not that he wanted to be away from you! Vash just needed some time to think. He stopped messing with his arm to dig through his coat pockets, almost dropping the small box when he pulled it out.

Opening carefully, he sighed with relief to see the simple ring still tucked safely in the ring box, this is what he needed time to think about. What to say to you, how to even ask you, he could count on one hand the number of times he’s almost had then backed out at the last moment.

What if you said no? He closes the box and sets it on the table with a sigh, Vash knew he was overthinking, he loved you and you, him. God, you would start shouting it from the rooftops if he even thought about doubting your care for him.

Placing the box back in his pockets, Vash stood he agreed to meet you outside the hotel so he could show you the room and then maybe find a place to eat. Leaving the room and down the stairs, he spots you in the lobby his gaze softens as he watches you look out the window the sunlight casting a soft glow over you making you ethereal, he didn’t think he could be any more in love with you.

You turn feeling eyes on you, and your eyes light looking over at Vash. Raising an arm to wave at him, he quickly joins your side. Grasping your hand in his and giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. You know Vash isn’t one for public displays of affection, he's worried about someone recognizing him and then using you to hurt him. You’ve told him time and time again, that it didn't matter who saw that you were proud and happy to be with him. Vash could be so set in his ways about that, but you knew he did it out of love, so you would respect his wishes.

“Shall we eat?” you asked, taking a step closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his. “I saw a cozy little diner, in the middle of town and thought you might like it.” He blushes at your proximity after all this time, you could still fluster him over the littlest things it was sweet.

Vash nods and the two of you head out of the hotel, side by side hands brushing every once in a while, he seems a little nervous, you're about to ask but he grabs your upper bicep, pointing towards the diner, “Is this it?” distracted, you nod leading him in and getting a booth in the back of the restaurant it's private which is perfect for the two of you.

Vash helps you into your seat, and you roll your eyes at his wide smile as he sits across from you. “Such a gentleman” you coo at him, as you pick up a menu, one of his hands goes to rub the back of his head with a nervous laugh, picking up his own menu. “I try,” he says hiding his face behind it.

A waitress comes by to take your orders and the two of you order something simple, the waitress leaves “What's on your mind? You’ve been spacing out a lot” you ask grabbing his hand across the table, he smiles at you nervously. “I guess I've just been thinking about us.” “Us?” you prompt, for a moment you are worried, what was going through his head? Was something wrong, was he unhappy with you?

He must see the look on your face because his own face looks panic-stricken, he reaches for your other hand to hold them both in his, “Nothing bad! I promise! I was just thinking about how Lucky I am that you are so willing to stay with me and well put up with me.” He ends this with a chuckle, and you frown, “Vash I don't just put up with you, I love you. You know that don't you?”

Before he can answer, food is placed down in front of the two of you and Vash drops your hands, “Let's talk about this later, okay?” you nod, digging into your food and sticking to lighter topics, however, your mind keeps going back to what he said. The both of you finish quickly, the waitress comes back with the bill but before you can pay Vash beats you to it, giving you a cheeky smile as he does.

Vash helps you out of your seat, and the two of you leave the diner heading back to the hotel. Vash grabs your hand swinging it between the two of you, and you can't help but laugh as he does. You want to ask, but you also don't want to ruin the moment. You yawn as Vash slows his pace, “Tired?” he asks, “It's been a long day.” you reply, as Vash stops his pace letting go of your hand in the process, he comes to stand in front of you. “Want me to carry you?” he teases.

You smirk, “Sure.” he starts to stutter, not expecting your answer you laugh waving your hand, “Okay.” he said quietly, turning around and crouching, now it's your turn to blush and you don't even know why. Placing your hands on his shoulders gently and then slipping them around his neck, you jump as he hooks his hands under your knees and stands.

“Handsome and strong, I'm so lucky!” you tease, watching his ears go red, he pretends to drop you and you let out a yelp arms tightening around his neck, Vash laughs loudly at your reaction. You huff, but can’t help but laugh as well.

Vash carried you back to the hotel, and you hop off once the two are you in front of the door, noticing that no one was around you lean in and give him a light kiss on the cheek. Vash opens the door for you and you head in while you thank him.

Leading you to the hotel room, you swipe the hotel room key from Vash’s hand with a smirk and enter the key in the lock to unlock the door. You head in with Vash on your heels, once in the room, you collapse on the bed with a groan. Vash sits at the end of the bed untying your shoes and yanking them off, “you don’t have to do that Vash.”

He takes off your other shoe, “it’s fine you relax.” Once your shoes are off you turn on, you’re back sitting on your elbows to watch Vash take his own boots off, he turns to look at you and you pat the space beside you, “Want to continue our talk.” you ask quietly, Vash nods taking off his red coat he folds it and places it at the end of the bed before sitting beside you.

Vash grabs one of your hands holding it in his, “I just been thinking about how lucky I am that you're by my side, that you love me even when I don't deserve it.” you turn to interrupt, but he shushes you so he can continue speaking, “Let me finish, I just want to thank you for sticking by my side no matter what, and that I want to continue to be by your side and you mine.” You rest your head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand.

“Loving you is easy Vash, I don't want you to think it's not, it's the easiest thing I can do.” You reply softly, you hear Vash sniffle, and you turn your gaze to him giving him a smile when you notice the tears in his eyes. “You don't need to cry it's the truth,” you say lifting a hand to place on his face, holding his face gently. “Close your eyes,” Vash whispers you do so, without question you trust Vash with your life.

He moves, and you place your hands on your lap as you hear him shuffle around the room. Before the bed dips beside you again, you don't open your eyes, “Hold out your hands.” you do, as he places a small box in your palms, “You can open her eyes.” Vash whispers his voice is shaky, opening your eyes and looking down at your hands you gasp softly eyes filling with tears.

Sta in your hands was a delicate ring box, open and inside a simple golden band. You look at Vash eyes wide, as takes the box from his hands and takes the ring out holding it out to you, “You don't have to say yes right now, but would you marry me?” Vash lets out a yelp as you throw your arms around his neck holding on to him tight and start to cry.

“Yes! Yes, Vash of course!” you can hear him let out a shaky breath as he wraps his arms around you holding you tight. “Really?” he asks quietly his voice is strained; you can tell he's trying hard not to cry. You cup his face pulling back, smiling widely at him “Yes, I would love nothing more than to marry you.”

Vash grabs your left wrist pulling his hand off of his face, and with shaky hands of his own places the simple band on your ring finger. Once it's on you pull him into a kiss, he's crying a lot now but you really don't mind you know you are too. Pulling back from the kiss you smile brightly at him, as Vash does the same resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you.” he whispers against your lips, and you laugh softly, “You don't need to thank me, I love you Vash more than anything.” and God do you mean it.

You close your eyes as Vash kisses you again, smiling into the kiss you press in close to him. Vash pulls back placing a soft kiss on your forehead, giving you a bright smile and pulling you close. The two of you resting in bed holding each other close, you admire the ring on your finger. You don't think you could be any happier than at this moment with Vash, you are truly thankful you met him, and hope to give him all the love he deserves.

#vash #vash the stampede #vash x reader #vash x you #vash imgaine #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede imagine

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year

Text

TEASING: ii

part i

Eddie x Fem!reader

W.C 5k

tw: NO MINORS, Teasing, edging, blowjobs, hickies blah blah blah you get it.

s/o to all the people I made read this to make sure it was good enough — @jadequeen88 @lunatictardis @b-irock 🖤🖤

The next day at school, you could feel a pair of eyes burrowing into your skin, burning holes into the back of your head. You kept your chin held high the entire day, avoiding Eddie’s glare at all costs. Knowing you had won the little game he had started. A sense of pride spreading from your chest to across your face, you couldn’t stop smiling.

Eddie was quite the opposite. Girls didn’t tease him. He was the one to call the shots. But you, you disrespected him. Taunted him, teased him— and he loathed you for it. He was embarrassed, made a fool of— and he wouldn't forget it, wouldn’t let you get away with it.

Driving home last night with a rock hard cock, he had tried to get himself off for what seemed like hours. Pumping himself furiously, his dick raw and red, he just couldn’t do it. He pictured your pretty lips, wrapped tight around his length. The silk of them rubbing back and forth against his ruddy head like it was a tube of lipstick. He thought of the way your delicate hands stretched to fit around him, the way you moaned around him, biting into his thighs, as your orgasm peaked. Your eyes looking up at him through your lashes as you teased him again, and again. He was out of lotion, his hand and wrist were cramping, sweat was pouring down his back, shirt already off, bottom lip almost bitten in half, the fitted sheet pulled from the mattress— inching further down the bed with every angry groan and thrust of his body in pursuit of trying to glimpse the tiniest bit of relief. But nothing happened. Frustrated beyond belief, he stomped into the kitchen. Sweat pants and boxers rode low on his hips, linoleum creaking beneath his heavy footsteps. He punched your number into the phone— lighting a cigarette as he cradled it with his shoulder. His hair was askew, cramped curls jutting out in every which way. He wanted you to know how much he was suffering. How badly you had fucked up his night. Maybe the sound of your voice coaxing him would help— give him some sort of release.

His heart leapt when you answered, only to crash and burn when you simply stated, “I’m asleep Munson, leave me alone.” And hung up.he cursed your name, slamming the receiver into the wall until it broke, can’t wait to hear that ass chewing from Wayne, he thought to himself— Eddie threw himself into the shower, angrily washing his hair, and body, trying like mad to avoid the pressure building in his lower belly as he forced himself to think of something else, anything other than the pain that ached through his body.

The night was miserable. Having spent most of it outside on the porch smoking cigarette after cigarette. Sulking into the tattered, sagging, brown couch—the skinny, feral trailer park cats keeping him company as they tipped over the neighbors garbage cans, scrounging for the last lick of a carton of vanilla ice cream. He stayed on the couch til the early peaks of the hazy yellow sun glimmered across the hail damaged tinned roofs of the poverty-stricken homes before he started getting ready for school. 6:30, 6:56, 7:15, 7:23 and he couldn’t wait any longer. He fumbled through the pocket of the jeans he wore yesterday for the few crumbled dollars, and made his way outside, starting the old van, driving to the gas station in search of some cheap, barely edible breakfast burritos.

With the burritos dancing around his stomach and a swig of Yoo-hoo slurped on his lips, Eddie sits in the parking lot—staring, waiting, half crazed eyes as he waits for your car to pull in. Body pumping with false energy— adrenaline from being so irate about his current blue balls situation, your car finally pulls into the lot and eddie makes his move.

All the hours spent awake chain smoking, fuming mad— he thought of the perfect things to say, things that would make you break, make your pussy clench around nothing, make you so feral and horny for him that you would be begging for him by the end of the day. He hops out of the van, attitude cranked up to full blast, charm at an all time high.

You eye his van before he even sees you, butterflies flutter in your stomach, a quick ache of feeling like shit is about to hit the fan. Ignore him, I can do that. So you do, when he slams his van door and approaches you twiddling his rings on his hands and stomping towards your open car door, you act like he isn’t even there. His velvet smooth voice purring out your name doesn’t phase you. Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, and knocking him in the chest, you simply shut your car door and walk inside.

The game has only begun.

His temper is unmatched. Blood boiling over to the surface as you pretend he doesn’t exist. You spend the morning laughing with friends, head thrown back— the expanse of your neck dancing along with the sunlight craning through the biology room windows. Three pencils have snapped in his grip as he tries, for the first time ever, to feverishly take notes. Anything to get his mind off the way your legs are crossed and the fact that your skirt rides higher every time you re adjust them. Now you’re chewing gum, blowing soft pepto bismol colored bubbles with your luscious lips, the same ones that were wrapped around the thick of his cock last night when you teased him and left him with swollen balls. Each pop from your gum and smack between your teeth has Eddie’s dick twitching in his jeans, rubbing raw against the itchy fabric of his checkered boxers. His jaw is aching from the forced detachment, mouth drier than any cotton mouth he’s experienced, tongue stuck inside his cheek as he forces his gaze from your legs. When your pencil drops and you fetch to reach it, bending at the waist, as you crane to reach out for it rolling along the tiled floor, your fingers gently grazing the ground as they finally connect to where the pencil lays, Eddie thinks he’s going to have a heart attack. The button on your shirt pops open exposing the swell of your breasts, the baby pink lace of your bra nuzzled against your soft skin has Eddie’s head spinning. His eyes are following your heaving chest, watching as your tits jiggle under your bent body. He’s fully hard now. It's not long before he’s tilting on his stool, to get a better look— one leg off the ground, and he can almost smell your perfume. Two legs in the air, and he’s smelling the shampoo from your hair, and finally all four are air bound as Eddie crashes to the ground in a puddle of leather, chains and shame.

You don’t bat an eye at him or his theatrics. Simply raising your hand to answer Mr. Gordon’s question about how many quarts of blood an average human has in their body. The heat from Eddie’s cheeks could be felt around the room. Counting down the seconds til the bell rang ending the period and his embarrassment, Eddie gathers his things and stomps out of class in a whirlwind of leather, messy curls and flushed red cheeks.

You: 1 Eddie: 0

Lunch isn’t any better. You make it a point to sit beside Jeff—across from Eddie, not next to him as you usually would. Eddie tried to calm his nerves, you’re still avoiding him like the plague, twirling your hair through your fingers pretending to be interested in the way Jeff talks about Black Sabbath. Eddie’s flicking pretzels into Mike’s hair— a makeshift way to distract himself from the way you have your fingers cloaked around Jeff’s arms asking him to flex his muscles.

Your low murmurs into Jeff’s ear have him adjusting himself in his chair. Your charm is thick, and Eddie can’t stop staring at the way your lips dance on the shell of Jeff’s ear, as you whisper to him. The ache in his stomach is back as you lean back and fix the collar of Jeff’s flannel, fingers skirting around his shoulders as if you were playing Mozart. Your black fingernail polish glistening in the sun, shining tiny flecks of glitter as they walk across Jeff’s shoulders, rubbing down his chest. Eddie feels like he’s going to vomit at any second. White hot rage pumping through his veins as you continue your teasing banter, licking your lips, popping grapes into your mouth one by one, sucking on the sweet juices and letting your tongue brush against your lips as if to not miss a single drop.

Maybe if he just talked to you, you would respond? “So, y/n. Are you excited for Hellfire tomorrow night?” he says nonchalantly, praying it’s passing as casual.

“Hell what?” You dismiss, still not turning to look at him, but instead threading your fingers and feeding Jeff a grape with your other hand.

“Uh umm.. Hellfire?” Jeff adds, “Y’know, Hellfire club, we m-meet on Fridays.”

“Oh, yeah—that,” you snicker, “I quit.”

“What do you mean ‘I quit’” Eddie mimics back to you.

Ignoring the question, you turn to Jeff and whisper in his ear, squeezing his arm and squealing as he stutters through an answer to your own question, “how are you the sexiest man in Hawkins?” When it happens. The tin of Eddie’s lunchbox beats down on the table with such a force it dents the side, concaving his metal tin full of weed and plastic baggies.

“Enough.” Eddie shouts with flared nostrils and a booming voice. His eyes are wide and the muddy browns of them are replaced by pure hatred of onyx, absorbing every color and fading them to black as he glares straight through you. You had finally crossed the line. Made a fool of him in front of his friends. His chair is pushed backwards cascading to the ground with a loud snap of hardened plastic hitting the tiled floor. One fist clenched around his beaten up lunch box, the other ridgid hanging by his side. “Outside, now.”

You reposition the foot you had propped up on Jeff’s crotch as you lean into him, taking a spoonful of his pudding and placing it into your mouth as you look at Eddie, batting your lashes slow and licking the cold metal of the spoon as you pull it out of your mouth slowly, teasing, taunting, unholy movements of your tongue. “I think he’s talking to you, Gareth,” you quip, motioning to him with the spoon.

Gareth doesn’t move, frozen with fear over Eddie’s reaction.

“No,” he seethes through bared teeth, “I’m talking to you, let’s go.” He motions his head towards the door walking closer to you and Jeff.

“I know you’re not trying to talk to me like that,” you fume, eyes still boring into his as you switch the spoon pointing from Gareth to Eddie, “so please, enlighten us,” you say, folding an arm beneath your chest tucked into the elbow of the other that is now resting on the side of your face, glaring back at Eddie as your tongue jabs to the inside of your cheek, “who the fuck, are you talking to?”

The table goes silent, Dustin looks as if he has seen a real live ghost, his skin the color of the pale walls, sticky with sweat on his upper lip, Mike is counting water marks on the ceiling tiles, and Jeff is dumbstruck, eyes wide and a slight look of horror set on his face.

Eddie doesn’t give up and you don’t budge— a standstill in the cafeteria that would make Wild Bill itch for his pistol. The tumbleweeds can practically be seen as you both stare each other down waiting for the other to draw first. Eddie gives in, narrowing his eyes and lowering his chin as he speaks, “I’m gonna count down from three before I jump on this table and tell the whole school about last night— unless of course you want to just leave nicely, like a good girl, and talk to me.”

“What’s there to tell Munson?” You chastise, standing up so you’re practically nose to nose with him, egging him on with the smell of your perfume and the sheen of your lipgloss, those lips alone would kill him, “the begging part, or the part where you were whining?” A devilish smile seeps across your lips and spreads like wild fire, avoiding your eyes as you stare him down, the lunch table erupts with oo’s as Eddie yanks you hard by hand away from the lunch table. The squeak of his boots and the click of your flats echo throughout the cafeteria as he pulls you out the back door. “Let go, Eddie!” You’re slapping at his arms as you try to wiggle from his grip.

“I just— I need to know, ” he hisses, once you made your way to the worn down picnic table that he used for making his deals in the woods, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The coals of his eyes still raking over your body like fire.

“What are you talking about Eddie?” you smirk, the facade of taking the upper hand still playing safe across your lips.

“Jesus H Christ, I do not understand you! One minute you’re all over me sucking my dick and the next you’re shoving me out of your door and moving on to Jeff. What the fuck?!”

“Oh kiss my ass,” you huff, rolling your eyes and breathing out, “it hurts doesn’t it?” you provoke, prodding his nerves with the lick of the words on your tongue, “..being teased.”

“What?” Eddie exaggerates the syllables of the short word, voice raspy as he continues, “I never teased you, baby.”

He didn’t get it, and he wouldn’t unless you had explained it to him from your point of view, but this wasn’t a subject to be learned in school, no— this was a lesson to be taught by the hard truth of reality, and two very stubborn people.

“Sit down,” you demand, pointing to the picnic bench, “now.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie stammers, looking dumbfounded. You roll your eyes and drag him by his vest, fingers clutching around the sun faded denim, nails scratching a Megadeth patch, and shove him down hard on the bench, the picnic table groans at the force of his body being dropped down onto it.

He leans back on the picnic bench, man spreading and his elbows resting on the table behind him, eyes dripping with desire as you approach him, “What d’ya think big boy?” You croon, undoing the buttons on your top and shimming it down your arms as you face away from him, turning to reveal the pink lacy bra he had been daydreaming about since Biology, “think you need some relief?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, the desire and hunger pitted deep inside, angry from being forced down again, “h-here? Like right now?” You nod slowly as you walk towards him, one slow tantalizing step at a time, your shirt thrown to the autumn foiled ground.

“Is that what you want? Hmm? Want me to put that big fucking cock in my mouth?”

“Yes— please oh my god, baby I am— I need it.” Eddie whines, shutting his eyes and putting his hands together in a silent prayer, as if this mother fucker has ever stepped foot in a church aside from the day he was baptized.

“Beg.” Groaning, as you put your hands on either side of him on the bench, licking the slope of his neck and blowing on it gently, Eddie lets out a guttural moan, pistoning his hips up as you bite his neck. “I want you to beg for me to touch you.”

“Babe, I swear—please, I’ll do anything! Anything at all! Please it—it hurts.” He whines. You continue kissing his neck, deepening the marks with bites until his neck is purple. Branding him as yours, painting him as your weak begging soul desperate for your touch. He’s falling apart at the seams, moaning so loud a local hunter swore to friends later at the Hideout that it was an injured 6 point buck, finding out later it just was two horny high schoolers. He’s shaking beneath you, as you straddle his slim waist, digging your knees into his hips as you slot your pussy against his bulging jeans. His long hair tangled against the peeling paint and splintered top of the picnic table as his head was thrown back in pleasure.

The pace you’re setting is torturous, damning him to all seven circles of your teasing hell as your tongue paints his neck, hips grating against him riding him slow and hard. Your tits are pushed up against his Judas Priest shirt, nipples perky and pointed from the cold, cutting into his burning skin.

“Oh princess, oh fuck—I’m gonna c—”

“No you aren’t.” You immediately remove yourself from his lap, standing abruptly and swiping your saliva from the corner of your mouth.

“No, please I can’t— please don’t do this to me.” He’s whining again, face full of anguish as you giggle at his discretion.

You smirk, “don’t do what Eddie? I’m just making you feel good.” Blinking at him with full lashes and innocence dripping from your eyes.

He’s panting as if he just ran a mile, sweat is pouring down his back the same way it was last night. He’s tired and slowly losing his mind watching your tits bounce wildly in your pink lacy bra as you back away from him.

“Bullshit, you know what you’re doing— don’t tea—“

“Tease you?” you offer, crawling towards him on all fours. The sultry way your body is moving has him gasping for air, tits squished together as you crawl to him, a glass of water in the desert to a lost soul isn’t needed as much as he needs you right now. You sit on your knees in front of him, stretching out your back and letting your hair flow behind you, arms tucked at the back of your neck to showcase your curves, a wonderland of soft skin and peaks and valleys in the dips of your body. Your feet are tucked underneath you— the squish and rustle of leaves dance around you as you adjust yourself. His knees are bouncing with anticipation, his face is torn with want and a pleading wrinkle between his brows. You rub his thighs up towards his slutty waist and scratch the dark denim with your nails on the way down to his knee caps. You lay your head against his knee, one hand stretched lazily against his inner thigh, writing your name with your nail against the denim, ending with a heart right by his overly full sack. “Oh baby, I’ve only just begun.”

Eddie has never been more excited and elated to hear the sound of a zipper coming undone, brass teeth disconnecting to spread open to a blue pair of checkered boxers, his aching, ruddy cock one step closer to your mouth or even your hand, he’d take either at this point as long as you touched him, finally releasing his pent up anger, almost 16 hours worth of blue balls able to let go to the heavens. He swears he’d take up bible study just to have your touch on his dick.

“My, my… what have we here?” you seduce as you admire his length, pressing the fabric of his boxers around his dick to outline it with your finger as you drag your nail along it, a paint brush sweeping and defining a fossil from eons ago, you keep this up any longer and Eddie will be a fossil, a visual aid skeleton to scare kids away from using recreational drugs.

He hissed through his teeth, a sticky pool of cold pre cum dotted his boxers right where the tip sat. “Please baby, please.” Eddie prays, begging, pleading.

“Mmm more begging,” you announce as you slowly lower the waistband of his boxers, revealing the thatch of curls around his pretty cock. Your eyes dart to his, he looks delirious, miserable and almost sad, it turns you on, fuels your fire to see him like this. “Makes me wet just hearing how pathetic you get.” Licking your lips you ease out his girthy cock, tears spill from Eddie’s eyes at the contact of your hand around him.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his head lull back and his eyes roll into his skull, all the colors of the rainbow dance and crowd his vision with white blurs as he tries to steady his breathing. “Oh Jesus, mmm.”

You stretch your fingers around him, lightly tugging along his length and pressing your plump lips to his reddened aching head. You swirl your tongue around it, soothing the pressure built up and tasting the last bits of precum on your tongue.

“M-more, please, mm fuck,” Eddie’s shortened nails are scratching at the bench beneath him, eight scratches clawing through decades old weathered wood decayed from abandonment and abuse of stoners fucking in the small enclosure of high trees and thick brush. This was, however, Eddie’s first time having a sexual experience out here, he had thought about it many times. A faceless girl with your body and voice bouncing on top of him as he lay flat on the top of the picnic table.

Your mouth skates down his shaft and your lips curl against the thick vein running underneath of his cock, slotting it between your lips as your tongue slips out to taste it. As much as you loved teasing him, Eddie was very well endowed. The biggest dick you’ve had the pleasure of wrapping your lips around, and he was gorgeous. “Y’ like this? Watching my pretty little mouth rubbing on your cock?”

“Y-yes, oh shit—” he moans, he’s a fucking mess, writhing beneath you and you haven’t even fully sucked him off yet, “‘m gonna fuckin explode, need more please, please I swear I won’t tease you anymore.” He lifts his hips from the bench to drive more contact into you, but you pull away, and he whines, chest heaving with a pout as you chuckle.

“Fuck you’re needy.” You taunt as you lick a broad stripe from his balls to the tip, spitting generously when you get to the top, and paint it down his length with your hands, he sucks in a breath as you pump him. His begging continues, and you’re trying hard not to laugh at the shit he is spewing from that gorgeous mouth if his. You’re almost certain he promised you the keys to his van when you finally have enough of his whining and dive in. Opening wide and immediately hollowing your cheeks as you suck him deep into your throat, tongue sitting pretty against his balls as you lick them and breathe through your nose.

The noise Eddie makes resembles a hallelujah chorus. Stars are spinning and falling from the galaxy around him. Hell could open at this very moment and Eddie wouldn’t bat an eye. He has never felt anything better than your mouth— wet, hot, deliciously soft and ooey gooey like a ban of under-baked brownies. Better than his first time getting high at 14 and one hundred times better than his own hand or any other filthy whore he had been with, looking for a discount on his famously rolled joints.

This is heaven, the pearly gates are staring him in the face and rolling their metaphorical tongue along his cock, wrapping him in a hug of cotton candy clouds and sugar coated spit, sucking his soul straight through his dick and selfishly keeping it.

You pull back, feeling all of his girthy length extract from you, dragging against your throat slowly and releasing him with a pop. Your hands replace your mouth and jerk him in twisting motions as your mouth suctions along his tip, tongue swirling and twirling around his reddened head as he moans with pleasure, muscles completely relaxed, melting into the picnic table.

He’s babbling incoherently as his hands find purchase on your hair, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. A gentle reminder of how sweet this needy man child is. You pump him slow, as your mouth works around his girth, slurping and massaging his dick.

His breathing speeds up and you know he’s close. He tries to hide it, pushing down his excitement but keeping his face trained on you so he can finally get the release he so desperately craves.

But you can read him like a book.

And you aren’t done with him yet. You pull away from him just as his dick starts to twitch.

Your panties are dripping, seeing this sexy ass man whimper and beg for you to touch him is hotter than you could imagine.

“No!” He whines, “ No no no no no pleeease —please! I’m begging— I’m going to— fuck! I’m dying. I need you. Please please!” Another tear rolls down his cheek at the empty lonely feeling around his cock, the cool air stinging at his wet length.

“Ah ah ah,” you tut, wagging a finger towards him in a windshield wiper motion, “you’ll cum when I say you can.” You stand and throw a leg over his lap facing him straddling his lap again. Hiking up your skirt and letting your dripping clothed cunt slide around his cock you grab his hands and place them on your tits as you grind down onto him, throwing your head back, Eddie kisses your neck, sucking a bruise into it as you twirl his curls through your fingers. You moan out into the void of the orange and red lined trees, birds taking flight abandoning their posts as you both grind against each other.

“F-fuck baby,” Eddie groans against the heat of your neck, “you’re so fucking wet.” Pulling your head back you look at him, the facade you had been carrying all day breaking away as you start to slip. Your belly burns with a knot that’s unraveling—one that Eddie tied inside of you all those weeks ago. His lips are slick from his own spit, curls are swaying and bouncing as you move against each other, on the same page for the first time. Fuck he’s so hot. He holds your hips and grinds you down onto him harder, your clit brushing against the friction of your panties and his thick cock has you speechless.

You're both needy for each other now. You kiss him, hot and deep, all tongue and plump lips. All this teasing and you had never felt his lips on yours. They’re softer than you imagined, he tastes like cheap cigarettes and 10¢ fruity flavored gum from the gas station sold in packs of five sticks. He twists your nipples and holds you by the curve of your neck where it meets under your chin, driving his hips harder against you. “Eddie,” you moan into his mouth, tongue dragging along his delicious lips, sucking the spot where his cigarette always hangs loosely from, the taste of nicotine biting your tongue, “m gonna— fuck— I’m gonna cum.”

He licks into your open mouth, as you close your eyes and lean your head back, “I know baby,” he reaches down and rubs your clit with his thumb, “cum for me, I’m right b-behind you.” The pressure of his thick fingers and girthy cock on your pussy builds and the knot unravels. You moan louder than you ever had, holding onto Eddie’s shoulders so you don’t convulse off of him. He comes too, holding you tight to his body as warm spurts of his cum shoot against your pussy, painting your skin and panties creamy white as he finally releases his pent up 16 hour hell. Every curse word is rolling from his tongue as more tears stream down his face. He’s a free man, no longer bound to his own body, his balls finally drained and definitely lighter. He’s exhausted, he’s been awake for too damn long, mind sick with worry and regret, dick aching from the boner he had for the better half of an entire day. A bruise sets in his back from all the commotion against the picnic table, one he’d wear proudly for weeks to come.

He presses kisses into your shoulder as you lay lazily against him. Breath ragged in his ear, sweat shined foreheads and cramping muscles. Knees scratched up and bleeding from the roughness of the bench. Your blood mixed with his nail scratches on the bench, a permanent testament to the best orgasms you had both ever received— in this life and future ones yet unlived.

“By the way,” Eddie finally speaks, after endless moments stroking your back with his eyes closed breathing you in, “I only teased you because I like you, like a lot.” His admission lifted the sag from his shoulders and floated high above him.

“Well since we’re admitting things,” you voice barely above a whisper, your eyes dancing in slits as your finger traces the letters printed on his shirt, “I only joined Hellfire to be around you.”

“Oh that’s not a secret sweetheart, you’re really fucking bad at it.” he teases, tickling your sides.

You squirm under his grip, slapping his arms to get him to stop. “Knock it off Munson or I’ll quit for real!”

Eddie pulls you away from him with mock surprise, “You wouldn’t.”

“Have you learned nothing from this?” You ask, booping him on the nose, “the lengths of petty I will go to, are no match for you, Munson.”

“Clearly,” Eddie spits, “you’re a deranged brat, I wanted to spank you during lunch after watching you feed Jeff like a baby.”

Your eyebrows pull into a quirk,, “I’m real simple to understand babe,” you explain, kissing Eddie’s neck, “don’t fuck with me or in your case, maybe just fuck me.”

“Mmm, can I take you out after Hellfire tomorrow?” Eddie asks, grinning from ear to ear.

You suck a breath through your teeth, pulling back to look at Eddie, “I don’t know, I think I have a date with Jeff..”

“Oh fuck you,” he replies, rolling his eyes with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest.

You pry his arms away from himself and lick a stripe from his collar to his ear, biting his lobe and whispering, “When and where, big boy?”

Taglist: @sweetsweetjellybean @alanamarie @word-wytch

#eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie fan fiction #eddie smut

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gretavanlace · 10 months

Text

Anathema (part 1)

Jake kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, angst, violence, dark themes, horror themes, illusions to oral sex, digital penetration, etc

Born of this incredible ask…please keep those off the rails requests coming!! I’ve taken some creative liberties as always

It’s plagued you for months, this incessant, rhythmic, thump thump thumping.

The first night, it had dragged you out of a fitful slumber. Nudged it’s way right into a strange, unsettling dream you were wandering through. The sound became the backdrop, keeping time as you stumbled through an unfamiliar room with no doors until you clawed your way conscious and embarked on a sleep deprived, desperate, search for the source.

The second time you were lying prone on your stomach, nursing the sting of a sunburn. Worn down and exhausted from a day at the lake with too much sun and beer, and not enough sunblock. The sheets felt scratchy beneath you, dragging over your UV beaten skin like fingernails dug in just a little too deep. Annoyed and drained, you hadn’t been able to muster the energy needed for the hunt, and instead, had willed yourself to ignore it until it shuffled over into white noise territory.

The third happening had pissed you off, for lack of a more elegant description.

‘What the fuck is that?’ Had been your frustrated hiss into a dark apartment with no one to answer your query but yourself. Again, you had searched, leaning in close to appliances, pressing your ear up against wall after wall. Again it had proven fruitless. Was the noise coming from inside your own head, you began to wonder. It seemed plausible. Hell, it was beginning to seem likely.

To prove your sanity, you asked neighbors about it, receiving only blank, confused stares in reply. When it got to the point it was happening each and every night, you’d implored a friend to stay over and help you get to the bottom of it.

Clear as a bell it had reverberated through your apartment - wet, organic pulses of sound that made you think of a heartbeat, but not quite.

She had heard nothing, and simply suggested you run a fan at night with a shrug.

A good idea?

Perhaps.

In theory.

However, and you know this sounds crazy, every attempt has been carried out in vain.

Fans? Each one stricken with a smoking motor the moment day ticks over into night. The radio, drifting classic rock softly into the darkened space? Staticky signal that inevitably fades into silence. Noise machines? Broken straight out of the box. Television? Fell off the wall though securely attached. Ear plugs? Missing - pair after pair.

It is as if the sound wants to be heard.

There is an old water stain that occupies the space above your head when you lie awake in bed at night, and if you stare at it long enough, your eyes begin to blur and it looks as though it’s floating. Undulating into languid, shifting, shapes. A faded, brown cloud painted across dingy white paint to keep you company when sleep evades you.

Tonight finds you like most nights do; lost in that disgusting stain, aching to block out a sound you can’t be sure is really even there. Does it exist if you are the only one capable of hearing it? It seems as waste - something occupying space in the universe, real and extant, solely for you.

It seems closer, and something about that makes an unease prickle up your spine. Real or imagined, it is far too near. You’d like to climb out of bed to escape the muted pounding, but it will only follow.

There is a change taking place, though you can’t decide how you have come to understand that truth. This night is pivotal. A shift of great importance is materializing. Salient and inescapable. Grave and arousing in your desire to understand it.

Still, you can’t shake it, no matter how badly you want an answer to your torment - the horror that lies beneath. Whatever is becoming of this night, it isn’t pretty, and it isn’t good. It is dark. It is malicious. It is shadowy malevolence incarnate slithering into the room, dank and feral, like a diseased organ rotting in the corner.

There is something else there, too. A familiarity. A comradery. It too was adored and held in high esteem once, only to be cast aside. Forgotten. Abolished. A favorite child replaced by a soft, pink, newborn babe.

Oh, the ugliness that can be born of love so beautiful.

“I was never beautiful.” The voice comes like a backwards echo. Falling into the space around you strangely, a chilling embrace you burn to scramble out of.

You want to listen to it all your life and to never have heard it at all, all at once. It is horrific, like nails raking back and forth along a dusty chalkboard…and yet, it is alluring. The most alluring. Gorgeous and wrong, like a curse word in a language you don’t speak.

You’ve darted up into a tiny crouch against your headboard, frightened and thrumming like a rabbit hunted and cornered with nothing but a blanket clutched in your shaking fists to protect you from….

…from what?

“You aren’t beautiful, either.” The voice sounds out once more, treacherous and lovely. “Angelic package, all smooth skin, and pink, wet places to cradle a cock, but you’re ruined on the inside. Fucking ruined.”

Cold sweat - you’d always chalked it up to lazy descriptive prose. A way to convey fear without thinking too hard about what fear really is…how it feels, how it takes up shop in one’s body.

How wrong you were…and how awful it truly is. You feel akin to an unwelcome houseguest in your own flesh. Cold. Clammy. Sticky with sick, terrible chills.

Go away. You think silently. But take me with you.

“Fool.” The voice disapproves, mockingly. “Take me with you. Shut up, you’re all alike. One taste of something that is bigger than your small existences and you’re falling all over yourselves to come along for the ride. Fucking leeches.”

Tiny orbs, black and offensive to the eye, are gathering in the corner of your bed, materializing like a fluid swarm from underneath, until you feel like your heart will actually rip apart inside your chest.

The fear is crippling, and also, the only real and true thing you’ve ever felt.

Slowly, like a nearly dormant hive of wasps, a shape begins to form. It’s strangely sharp around the edges - that’s the only way to describe it, though it makes no sense. It’s like tiny needles sinking into your retinas, except, it hurts so badly it almost feels euphoric.

You want more, and more, and more, of that unnerving pleasure-ache, so you watch…drinking it in, even as you quake in terror.

A hum, cousin to a whispered wail, like demons screaming along the strings of a warped violin, sounds out. “Ah, so she likes the grotesque sinew better than the pretty muscle. I’ve a glutton for the underbelly before me. My favorite.”

Do his eyes take shape first, or do they simply steal the show? You know nothing but their flashing, reptilian stare. Icy in their chocolate warmth in a manner that shouldn’t be, shifting with each rapid blink. Pupils so blown the black eclipses all else one moment, then slivered and whittled down like a feral cat’s the next. Blurred over white with a translucent, protective lid and then suddenly clear as crystal, and just as stunning.

His flesh draws focus next. Shape shifting in texture with each minuscule twitch of muscle. It is without blemish and tempting, you find yourself longing to reach for it; but it is hideous as well, flashing and rippling with something that brings scales to mind below the tan expanse. Something lies beneath and you know without doubt that you’d likely not enjoy seeing it.

But which is the facade? The beauty? Or the unholy creature it shrouds? And does it even matter?

Discs of silver are draped around his elegant neck; clasps obscured by mahogany waves that sway against his shoulders. Doubloons pilfered from the abyss of Davy Jones’ locker. Plucked from the pockets of those lost to fickle, frigid waters, and fashioned into strange jewelry. Though you have no knowledge that this is their origin, only that they are mesmerizing, just as everything about him seems to be.

He steps closer, shoving the bed aside with a bored flick of his wrist, rather than moving around the wooden post at the foot.

It’s then that you notice his hands. Wide, menacing palms, delicately agile fingers that move through the air like he is conducting the orchestra of all things.

Rings carved out of metals you can’t identify are adorned with ancient gems you don’t recognize. Shimmering stones of indigo and cerulean, bioluminescent and alive in their glow, winking and glittering under your stare, soothing you with their wicked loveliness.

One - and you’ve already decided it is your favorite - curls up around his thumb like a spiraling root, green as seaweed. Connected, is a thin thread of iridescent aquamarine blue, that leads to a cuff of silver around his wrist etched deeply with hieroglyphs. It disappears beneath a sheer cloak of still blue that flutters as though caught in a soft breeze.

Upon the opposite wrist, a woven wrap of ivory rope - primitive and time worn. He follows your inquisitive gaze and softens slightly at your curiosity. “It tethers me to the sea, little fish.”

Flashes of majestic, gentle whales floating in navy waters as they sing, spark through your mind. He seems to see, and it perks an oil slick smile curling at his lips. “Further back. Before there were hands clutching quills, scribbling to record time, the salt waters were choked with slippery, filthy, things. Monsters. That, is the sea I am bound to. It still exists somewhere that isn’t here. So save your pretty notions, if you would, as I am so tired of them.”

You choose not to think about it any further, lest he grow angry with exasperation…what if he were to leave? But, shouldn’t you want him to go?

Those hands, worthy to rival history’s greatest artistic creations, end in razored, terrifying claws, and he catches you watching them, fear wild in your eyes, as he saunters closer.

“Do I frighten you?” There is a hiss tucked away behind a sensual rasp…the serpent sidewinding through the grass, eager to taste your sin upon its forked tongue. “Do these frighten you?” he drags a claw along your thigh, slitting it open so cleanly you could glimpse bone if only you bring yourself to look. There is an absence of pain, but you cry out anyway.

“Hold your tongue or I’ll slice it from your pretty mouth.” He sighs, bored already with your all too human antics. “Speak quietly, and I will listen. Scream, and perhaps I might enjoy it enough to give you reason to carry on so.”

He flicks through the blood trickling down your leg, speckling it against your chest. “I asked if these frighten you,” he clicks his claws together and the sound doesn’t match the action…they bring to mind bells made of glass.

You find yourself shaking your head, and even more strangely, you find that it’s true. You’re no longer afraid of them. Intrigued seems a more apt description now.

“No?” His tongue sweeps across his plush bottom lip. You shudder to find that it is, in fact, forked. “I’ve just split you open so deeply I could bend and suck the marrow from your bones and you look upon them with devotion. Are you stupid, or simply gluttonous for agony?”

Sensing neither answer will bode well for you, you choose trembling silence.

“They can be anything I’d like them to be,” he’s strolling around now, pacing like fire licking along a back and forth trail of gasoline, idly tapping at you, toying in the blood that still seeps from your painless wound.

“Givers of unimaginable pain. Lenders of mercy. Silver like our dear friend, the moon. Dripping red as though I’ve buried them into your heart to wrench it from your chest.”

You’re hanging on every word…he is a sinful prophet and you would bow and wash his feet with your tangled hair, even if they were cloven hooves.

“I can drift them through you, a sacred thread through the eye of a needle. Tear you to ribbons without so much as a wince of pain, as you well know,” he nods at his handiwork, where you remain splayed open and spilling blood, albeit slower now. “Or, I could rip holes through you, dull and jagged, until you were suffering in unthinkable torment. Pain of which you cannot fathom. Pleasure greater still.”

You’ve settled down into a gentle writhe you can’t seem to quiet. He arches an eyebrow with what seems to be festering fondness that somehow borders on distaste.

He exhales and the room suddenly smells of something unfamiliar. Something that makes you picture sinking down into cold, silent, depths. Black ocean floors, alien creatures. Solitude. Death. End.

Your chest tightens with slow panic, you’re drawing oxygen deep into your lungs, but could you still be drowning?

“How long?”

“How long?” You borrow his phrasing, confused. It is the first time you’ve truly spoken to him and words you’ve known all your life taste foreign on your tongue.

Those seductively predatory eyes blink alive like diamonds tumbling under golden light. Is it the sound of your voice that has affected him so? The fact that you have calmed enough to squeak out a question? Or something else entirely?

A shuffling noise sounds out, like the swollen tail of a fat and famished crocodile lumbering along the edges of a vile swamp. He is moving closer, but there is nothing dragging the floor behind him. He’s fabricated the sound, you realize. He is building a world. He wants your fear.

Fine. You decide, spine straightening almost imperceptibly, he may want all he likes, but he won’t have it.

“Mind your thoughts, little fish.” He warns, “I can hear each one clearer than if you’d spoken them aloud and I’ve a nasty temper. If it is your fear that I want, it is your fear that I will have. If it is the useless cunt between your legs that I fancy, I’ll have that, too. Now, answer me. How. Long?”

He takes pity and plants the seed of understanding in your muddled mind. How many nights have you spent alone, he’s pondering. How long since hands have charted maps along your body?

The thought of hands touching you draw your attention back to his, and you’d like to say never. You’d like to be his, completely his, never spoiled by one who came before. Looking at them makes you ache. The way you believe he would touch you makes your stomach roil with revolt. You are both repulsed by and desperate for it.

“Strange, aren’t you?” His chin cocks and the blue light of the moon catches his face. He’s breathtaking, but still, there is what lies haunting and hidden, to contend with. It waits just below that pretty, deceiving surface, a riptide sent to drag you down. You won’t fight it.

“I hide away in your room, night after night,” he bends down and snakes his cool tongue along the frantic pounding of your jugular. The fork catches your earlobe and makes you cringe, but you refuse to cower away. “Drive you just shy of completely mad…” he licks at you again. “And still, I can smell it - how your lovely cunt weeps for whatever I might see fit to slip inside.”

Your body shakes violently, but out of fright or want, you can’t decide.

“She’d gladly open up for whatever I offered, would she not? The blades that tip my fingers? The entire fist of my claw? This tongue you seem so disgusted by, my cock - even if it landed, heavy and cruel, upon the floor, cracking the very foundation beneath your feet. You’d take it, would you not? You’d welcome the pain of my pulling you apart, destroying this pretty package from the inside out, and that is not a question. I’m a spy, little fish, and I know.”

Suddenly, you hear it. Has it been there all along? No. No, certainly not…but there it is - thump thump thump. It’s closer than it has ever seemed no matter how avidly you chased it. He watches the feverish fury come alive in your gaze and he seems beyond entertained by it.

“You…” it hisses, low and accusatory, out of you. A verbal pointed finger of rage.

A smile that doesn’t meet his eyes bares his teeth. They are perfectly straight and white as driven snow, but there is something odd about them, too. “Oh, how I’ve enjoyed watching you descend into madness every night, driven slowly insane by the sound of my cock pounding for you.”

Realization wraps itself around you - a clingy lover you can’t spurn. The sound had danced with a hint of familiarity all along, like a heartbeat, but not quite.

“You’ve been hiding here? Watching me?” You latch your grip around the reins of your voice, fighting for control of it. Still, it quivers. “All this time?”

“My business is none of your own.” He’s grown bored with your questioning, though you’ve only just begun. “I have watched you, and I will watch you still, if I so choose. What leads you to believe that you have a choice in the matter?”

Sickeningly, you relish it - his disregard for your opinion. You’re not sure what that says about you, and you’re not sure that you care.

“Why?” The words hushed out of you, small and weak though you so badly wish for strength. “Is it love that keeps you coming back?” You wish for love more than strength.

“Love?” A laugh barks out of him, halting and nasally. “I love the way you twist and turn in your sheets when you touch yourself because you think there’s no one to see. I love the way you sound when you cum. The way you flush with shame when you realize you’ve made a mess and the neighbors might have heard. I love the way you smell when you’re afraid…like an apple perched upon a stick and candied in terror. I love the way you think you’re looking for a sound that drives you to distraction in the dark, when in reality you are simply refusing to see.”

He knows you and has seen you engaged in the most intimate of acts. You hate it. You love it.

“Close your mouth before I fill it.” The admonition shakes the rafters of your soul, and he looks exquisitely pleased with himself. “Would you enjoy that? Do you like sucking cock, or is it an obligatory act? A means to an end to be spat out and rinsed from your tongue?’

“I—“

He shuts your mouth with a sharp glare, “I don’t ask questions because I care to hear your answers. I ask them because I enjoy watching you squirm. You’re delectable when you’re uncomfortable.”

“Besides,” his knee is sinking into the bed now, crawling closer like a spider readying to wrap you in wet silk spun from his body. “If I want to know if you enjoy a cock in your mouth, I’ll shove mine down your throat.”

He waits until you seem to shrink in on yourself. “Good. Now, find your silence and perhaps I’ll tell you how I came to be this thing. Would you like to know what found me before I found your bed?”

A slow nod gains strength, encouraging this unburdening that seems to be gaining momentum. It’s true that a current of thought has been rushing steadily behind all others in the back of your mind…the wonder of what he is, how he came to be, if he plans to hurt you, or turn you - whatever that might mean.

“Little fish wants a grim bedtime story? A horrendous tail to quench all that obscene, voyeuristic need that lives hidden inside you?” He reaches down, mouth hovering so close to yours you can taste the salt and clove on his breath, and heals the wound he inflicted…simply sealing it up with an upward drag of the same steely claw that inflicted it.

The creation of the gash hadn’t hurt, but the healing of it brings to life an indescribable pleasure inside you. The serotonin floods your brain, thick and heady. You’ll chase this feeling for the rest of your days, you just don’t know it yet.

“My name was Jacob,” he begins. “He who supplants or follows after. I did not live up to my moniker. My father was a great man. Long gone in a war time doesn’t remember. I was meant to carry a legacy of nobility, strength, pride. I did no such thing.”

His tongue, now pink and soft, wet and delicious, laps over the sweet spot he has sussed out along your collarbone. Fork mended in order to soothe your unease.

“I enjoyed the chase of indulgence, instead. Catered to my own desires and no one else’s. My mother wept for her lost child with his selfish soul. My brother, born but a few moments before me, tried to drag me back into the fold, but I wanted none of it.” His hand is on your stomach now, tickling those frosty, shining blades ever so gently over the fluttering muscles there.

“No,” the bridge of his nose sweeps along your jaw as he inhales his next meal of carnal indulgence. “I wanted none of it. I opted instead to chase the sweet embrace of a brand new cunt to kiss my cock night after night…”

The admission squeezes an aching, ravenous, moan from your chest. You’re disturbed and terror-stricken, but it’s a feeling like none you have ever experienced before and you want more and more and more. More, more, more, worse and worse, uglier and uglier.

“I spotted her along the shores of Iteru. Her skin caught the light as she sunbathed, like the tiger’s eye I wore on a length of twine around my neck. Her hair, black as pitch, her eyes darker still. She seemed to be watching me, calling to me, and I went to her.”

Jealousy has reared her hideous head at the thought of him wanting her, but he drives it right out of your thoughts by slipping two fingers inside you, curling them and calling forth a cry of wanton bliss. If the claws are still there, let them leave you torn and bleeding, for you never want this to end.

“Having nearly drowned in that very river as a boy while fishing for perch, I never ventured near. My brothers fished those waters, but I hunted gazelle to make my contribution to the family table at night. But she was a blue flame, and I, the ignorant moth who wanted to flutter my wings between her legs.”

Deeper his touch sinks, searching out a place you hadn’t even known to exist. “Jacob…” the name claws at your throat as it escapes but he merely tilts his head, watching you with fascination as something ripples beneath his cheeks. It reminds you of snakes breaching soft seas, shaking your shoulders with a shudder of disgust.

“That was my name.” He corrects, fucking you into a cloudy, desperate haze with only his hand. “Don’t use it again, and do not ask what I am called now. It matters not.”

As though turning the page of a deranged picture book, he carries on. His voice raking with an underlying vibration you can’t place.

“I was terrified of water, and I should have been terrified of her. But I went to her, and without a word, she spread her thighs and I fed her my cock until she was spent and nearly asleep on the muddy shore. Her father heard her cries. Had I covered her mouth, perhaps I would’ve rotted to dust in a tomb long ago, as I was meant to.”

You have reached for him, and he has allowed it, and now you’re clutching at his cloak, threatening to rip holes into its silken waves.

“Her father was a tyrant. Evil and cruelly protective of his beautiful, only daughter, who enjoyed the hands of men more than she worried about snaring one to wed. He carried magic in his veins, but no honor.”

You’re close, far too close for his liking, and his hand retreats to play in circles over your quaking inner thighs as you whine and plead with him to make you cum. He quiets you sternly and carries on.

“He sentenced me to eternity in inky, prehistoric waters. Doomed to swim them as a horrific, sickening thing…one that would never again turn the head of a pretty girl lying in the sun. But she held magic in her blood as her father did, weaker than his, but there all the same. She gifted me the shell you look upon now, so that I might still indulge, from time to time, in what I love so well.”

Your voice comes strong and sure, more confident than you have ever known it to be. “Indulge, then.”

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