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freedomfireflies · 8 months

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SnakeBite*

Summary: The third part to 404*

The one where Harry is good for more than a good time.

But he's still good at that, too.

Word Count: 5.2k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Oh, come on…please. Please, don’t do this. Not right now. Not today…please.”

With a deep breath, you stick the key back into the ignition and try again. Waiting anxiously for the sound of the engine roaring to life. A sound you desperately need to hear more than anything.

Instead, all that follows is that familiar clunking of something heavy before there’s a rather shrill buzzing you can’t quite place.

Fuck.

Exasperated and woefully defeated, you take the key back out, groan, and drop your forehead onto the steering wheel. “This is not happening.”

Truth be told, you should have seen this coming. This isn’t the first time your poor car has made this unsettling noise, and perhaps it’s your fault for ignoring it for so long. You hadn’t meant to; you just didn’t realize it was this bad. Or that your car was this old.

Now, you’re trapped in the Juno Incorporated parking lot on a Friday afternoon with no way of getting you or your car home.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t even bother to lift your head as Harry’s voice carries in through the window. “Nothing. Go away.”

You hear the sound of his boots scraping across the concrete before they stop, and you feel a large shadow fall over your side of the vehicle. “Can I assume that god awful noise came from this hunk of shit you call a car?”

Leaning back, you huff as you look over. “I’m sorry, do you want something?”

Harry smirks, arms crossing over his chest as he juts his chin toward you. “Pop the hood, let me see.”

“Yeah…no.”

“Come on,” he pushes, a few curls dancing across his forehead from a soft gust of wind. You realize he looks different outside of the lab. Normal, almost. It’s unsettling. “You wanna leave, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but knowing you, you’d probably cut my breaks.”

“If I were gonna take you out, I would have done it by now.”

“Oh. Wow. You’re really instilling me with a lot of confidence, thanks.”

He steps back and motions toward the front of your car. “Fucking relax, Tinkerbell, and just pop the goddamn hood.”

Regretfully, you do as instructed before leaning out the open window to watch him walk toward your engine. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I know enough,” he replies, using the back of his hand to push on his glasses before bending down.

“That…is not helpful.”

“Well, I’m your only shot. Everyone else is gone.”

“I can call a repair guy.”

He shakes his head once. “Won’t get here in time. It’s rush hour on a Friday. You’ll be here for hours if they even show at all. And chances are, they won’t be able to schedule you in till next week. So, unless you’re planning to sleep here, in your car, can you please shut the fuck up, and let me focus?”

You feel your expression morph into a scowl as you unclick your seatbelt and step out. “I’d rather sleep in my car than trust you to fix my engine.”

You notice his eyes roll, but he’s amused. “Well, I can’t fix it. Not here. I think it’s your spark plugs. They tend to wear out faster in older cars. You’ll probably have to get them replaced.”

Scurrying to stand beside him, you glance over your engine and the internal workings of the car with a heavy sigh.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble beneath another strained groan. “And let me guess, it’s gonna be expensive.”

“Probably,” he agrees, glancing over. “But it’s not like you can’t afford it.”

Your eyes narrow. “I know I can afford it, I just don’t like dropping thousands of dollars on something so dumb.”

“Spark plugs aren’t dumb,” he retorts while reaching for your hood to slam it shut. “You need them to fucking drive.”

“Yeah, but having to pay for a rental car, manual labor, and a tow truck is dumb,” you point out. “And this is the last thing I need right now.”

His eyebrow lifts but he doesn’t ask for elaboration. Instead, he begins to stride across the lot toward a dark, black Harley, leaving you and your crisis behind.

In turn, you reach for your cellphone to look up local tow trucks and mechanics that might be able to help you out.

To your dismay, most shops are already closed for the weekend, except for one. And after a very lengthy and frustrated discussion, you learn that they won’t be able to come by until much later tonight. Which means that all your hopes of having a nice, relaxing evening are for naught.

Once again defeated, you slump back against the side of your car and drop your head. “Well…great.”

Harry’s smirk returns as he glances over and straddles his bike. “What?”

“I’m stuck here until midnight,” you mumble, running a palm down the side of your cheek. “You were right, everyone is booked.”

“Shit,” is about all he offers while pulling his helmet over his head. “That sucks.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Welcome.” He revs the engine, and just like that, the bike roars to life. The loud and somewhat startling sound echoing across the parking lot as you flinch.. “So, what’s the plan, Princess? You gonna call an Uber and come back later?”

“I can’t,” you shout over the noise. “I have to be here in case they come early, or they’ll leave.”

Through the open visor, you see him frown. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

He studies you for a moment more, and you feel your skin grow warm under such a scrutinous gaze. Like he’s looking for something written between the lines of your face. “Well…make sure you lock your doors.”

“No shit.”

He smiles again before flipping the visor shut and steadying the bike with his leg. You stand back, ready to watch him speed out of the lot and onto the street, but to your surprise…he simply sits there.

In fact, a good sixty seconds pass before he suddenly slips the helmet off his head, sighs, and thrusts it toward you. “Get on.”

You blink. “What?”

“Get on the fucking bike, Tink,” he repeats. “I know a bar we can hang out in till they get here.”

“I…I just told you, I can’t leave—”

“You can see the parking lot from inside,” he interrupts. “If they show, we can just run back over.”

You step closer, drawn to his proposition, although still wildly confused. “Uh…okay. Why, though? I’m fine to just wait here.”

He looks at you, the grassy green behind his glasses somehow softer in this natural lighting. “S’not safe,” he says simply, shrugging one shoulder up. “Be better to wait somewhere public, and I don’t really want your death on my conscience.”

And you aren’t exactly sure what to say. Because you think this may be the nicest thing he’s ever done for you – even if it’s still a little odd – and you don’t want to spook him by doing the wrong thing.

But as you debate a response, he shakes the helmet at you again, rather aggressively. “Tink, get on the goddamn bike, please. I’m wasting gas here.”

With a huff, you snatch it from his hand and join him on the Harley. The helmet slips on rather easily, and once you’re sure it’s snug and secure, your eyes trail down his back, unsure of how to proceed.

You don’t exactly want to…hold him. Or touch him or straddle him. At least, not outside of the way you do in secret. In broad daylight. Where people could see.

In fact, you already feel as though you’re grinding against his ass from how small this goddamn seat is. Almost too close for comfort as you catch a subtle trace of his cologne and feel the warmth from his body.

But motorcycles don’t exactly come with seatbelts, and if he were to take a sharp corner, you might end up pancaked on the cement.

“Tinkerbell,” you suddenly hear him call over his shoulder, voice raised to carry over the growl of the engine. “Just fucking grab me, it’s fine.”

You glare at his curls, despite knowing he can’t see you. “I’m good.”

He snorts again before he’s suddenly reaching back, grabbing onto your wrists, and hoisting your arms around his middle.

You’re tugged forward, your chest pressing to his spine rather forcefully as he glances back.

“Pussy,” he murmurs, releasing the clutch until the bike jolts forward and takes off through the parking lot.

With a rather shrill squeal, you tighten your hold on his broad frame, and bury yourself between his shoulder blades. The sensation is exhilarating and frightening all in the same moment. The rush of wind, adrenaline, and the way he leans around the corner before taking off down the street.

You think you feel his chest vibrate with laughter, perhaps from the way your nails are scraping down his shirt. And despite your increasing terror, you find that you feel oddly…safe with him at the handles.

Not even two minutes later, he’s pulling into another parking spot on the other side of the street, right in front of the aforementioned bar. It’s a bar you recognize, one that a few of your other coworkers often frequent from time to time.

In fact, this is the exact same bar you and Harry first hooked up in all those months ago.

The memory makes you smile.

“What?” Harry asks as swings his leg over the side and stands up. “Why are you grinning like that?”

You quickly wipe the smirk from your face while wrestling the helmet off to hand back. “Like what? I’m just smiling, calm down.”

“I don’t like when you smile. It freaks me out.”

“You’re really rude, you know that?”

“What? I’m just being honest. You have a lot of teeth. It’s weird.”

You glower at him, swatting his chest as you brush by. “Bite me, Harold.”

“With what? Your teeth?”

You feign a snubbed gasp – to which he chuckles – before striding into the bar, leaving him to follow behind.

The large room is loud and crowded with people, the smell of alcohol and bad decisions clinging to the air. You make a beeline for the counter, exhausted and overworked and already annoyed by Harry’s future comments before he can even make them.

Like—

“Really? An appletini?”

With a deep breath, you look over while the bartender turns around to begin prepping your drink. “Yes, really. I like apples. And it’s delicious. And the color is fun.”

He rests an arm on the edge of the marble bar and leans in. “How incredibly boring of you.”

Once again, your expression falls flat. “Are you gonna be this fucking annoying the whole time? Because I’d rather wait by my car and get murdered.”

“I make no promises.”

“Clearly. And let me guess, you’re gonna order something cool and manly like a scotch on the rocks.”

Harry’s eyebrow quirks up before he smugly turns toward the bartender and calls, “I’ll have a SnakeBite.”

You can actually feel your eyes roll all the way into the back of your head. “God, you’re fucking pretentious.”

“Thank you,” he says with a smile, and you grit your teeth. “Will you relax? I haven’t even had a drink yet and you’re killing my buzz.”

“I’m not killing anything, I just can’t stand you.”

“No? Ouch. I thought we were friends.”

The sarcasm is evident, but you huff, nevertheless. “For the love of god, shut up.”

“What?” He nods his chin at you. “S’just a drink, don’t be so sensitive.”

“I’m sensitive because you’re annoying.”

“No, you’re sensitive because you’re wound up,” he retorts, eyeing you closely. It makes your skin crawl. “When’s the last time you got off, Tink?”

The inquiry makes you step back, almost as though trying to avoid his judgment. “None of your business.”

“So…couple weeks ago? In the closet, with me?” He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “That’s a long fucking time, Princess. No wonder you’re so uptight.”

Your mouth drops open, ready to scoff your resentment and perhaps a quippy remark before he suddenly steps forward and lowers his voice.

“Bet it’s achy, huh?” he coos, and the slight air condescension and sympathy makes your head spin. “Bet you hump your little pillow every night trying to get it done, yeah? But it never works, does it?”

Stunned and left without much remark, your lashes flutter.

He moves closer. “See, if we were friends…I’d offer to take you into the bathroom and help you out. But since you think you can do better…go ahead.”

He leans back while you gape at him. “I’m sorry…go ahead and do what?”

“Find someone,” he answers, glancing around the packed bar. “Take ‘em into the bathroom and let them bend you over the sink.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“Why not?” His eyebrow raises. “That’s the whole reason people come to bars. To get drunk and fuck.”

“Well…that’s not why I’m here.”

“It could be.”

“Harry…no—”

“Why? Seriously, why not? You need it.”

“I don’t…you’re so fucking rude, I don’t need to get off—”

“Coming is good for your health. And for your unfavorable attitude—”

“Oh, you are so fucking—”

“Rude? Annoying? Doesn’t make me any less right.”

You clamp your mouth shut and step closer, letting your gaze travel the expanse of his face. “Come on, Harry,” you murmur softly – salaciously – as his breath seems to catch. “Do you really think…you could watch me with some other guy?”

His expression twists, his mouth already forming around something else snappy and crude.

But it seems to get stuck on his tongue when you suddenly reach out and trail your fingers down his chest. Moving in until there’s only a single breath between you.

“Do you really think…you could watch me touch them?” you whisper, glancing down to your hand as it grazes over his pec. “Or know that they had me dripping down their cock…the way I always drip for you?”

He wants to fight you. Wants to snort and look away.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. He’s mesmerized by the power you so easily stole from him. Undone by the sound of your voice taunting him with an idea he can’t seem to stomach.

“Wanna know I’m whimpering their name the way I always whimper yours?” you continue, smoothing your other palm up the back of his neck. Squeezing just hard enough to make him straighten up. “Wanna see the marks on my throat from where they held me—”

“Easy,” he warns lowly, reaching up to snatch your wrist. But he doesn’t move you. “Not here—”

“Why?” You push up onto your tiptoes and let your lips ghost over his. “Who’s gonna see, hm? Who’s gonna care?”

His lashes flutter, eyes traveling down to your mouth. “Are you this desperate for it, Princess? Wanna fuck me right here in the middle of the bar? Make them watch?”

You smile, head tilting until the tip of your nose dances across his cheek. “Maybe,” you nearly purr. “Bet you like to be watched. You always like watching me.”

And maybe he knows you’re merely playing a game. Teasing him just to throw him off track and test his patience.

But he plays along, eager to see where it might lead. “Can’t help it,” he replies calmly, smirking himself. “Y’just always look so pretty when you’re three fingers deep in your cunt.”

“Yeah?” Your nails scratch at the soft curls near the nape of his neck. “Funny how I can make myself squirt better than you can.”

He exhales a rather sadistic chuckle while his arm reaches to loop around your waist, pulling your chest flush with his. “I wasn’t trying to make you squirt.”

“No?”

His head shakes once. “No. Trust me, Tink. If I wanted to…I would.”

“Then maybe you should.”

His lips part just enough to tease you with a taste. “Maybe I will.”

“Yeah? Right here? In front of everybody?”

Another grin. “I could. Be so fucking easy, too. Bend you over the bar, pull your soaked little panties down…spread you open so they can see how much of a dirty little cumslut you are.”

And perhaps this started as a ruse, but just the thought and the tantalizing way he speaks breeds a new inspiration.

“Cause you are, aren’t you?” he asks quietly, large hand pressing hard against your spine. “My dirty, fucking Princess? Get all wet and weepy from just a couple words?”

You swallow a whimper trying desperately to come free.

“Should I check?” he whispers, now subtly moving you over until your back meets the counter. “Hm? See if you’re as wound up as I think you are?”

You rifle through your list of responses but find that you have none to offer as his fingers delicately begin to trace the edge of your jeans. Provoking you further.

You reckon you should probably stop him. Point out what an idiotic idea this is and remind him that he’s still very much in public, surrounded by people.

But his body blocks you from most of the crowd, and nobody else is close enough to notice. And you suppose that even if they did look over, they wouldn’t exactly be able to see or understand.

His eyes flick to yours, looking for hesitation. But when he finds none, the corner of his mouth twitches up into a pleased smile.

“Dirty Princess,” he teases, sliding his hand into your pants as subtly as he can while you quickly glance around for prying eyes. “That’s right, Tink. Look at them.”

The feel of his cold fingers against your warm skin is like ecstasy, sending a rush of adrenaline straight down to your toes.

You gasp quietly to mask a whine, vision going hazy as you watch him study you.

“Oh, sweetie,” he tsks, smoothing his touch through your folds. Spreading and stroking as you reel. “Poor fucking thing. Did’ya get yourself all wet for me?”

“No,” you manage to reply, heart hammering against your rib cage when he smirks. “I was watching TikTok’s of Andrew Garfield earlier. This is for him.”

“Ah,” he hums, but he’s wildly amused, hand still cupping you gently before he swiftly pulls out and leaves you to wilt. “Well, in that case…”

He steps away, fingers tucked between his lips as he pretends to turn around.

However, before he can get far, you manage to capture a fistful of his shirt and yank him back to you.

And you kiss him. Without reluctance or fear. You kiss him, and you sigh against his mouth, and swallow his surprised but greedy moan.

His hands are on your hips, squeezing and pulling, desperate to tug you further into his frame.

You go willingly, becoming pliable in his hands. A few people cheer from beside you, raising their glasses and whistling like drunken animals.

But it makes you both smile, suddenly unencumbered by the ideas of what people might think or who might see.

And it’s strange to feel so at peace in his arms. Unnatural almost to find relief in his lips or safety in his presence. Because this is still the same Harry that would let you drown before he jumped in after you. That would rather tell you off than tell you he likes you – even as an acquaintance.

You’re not enemies, per se. You imagine you’re both too old for such childish rivalries. But he’s cruel and rude and blunt. His ego rivals the size of the moon, and his lack of care and inhibitions is proof that he could never be who you’d need him to be.

But that’s okay, you realize. You find serenity in the sadistic, strange behavior. Because it means you don’t have to commit to giving him anything more than what he deserves.

His tongue leaves a quick lick to yours before he pulls back and studies you from behind the dark frames of his glasses. “I need to fuck you.”

And you almost laugh at the frank way he speaks. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” His palm slides over the curve of your ass, squeezing it one, twice, three times. “Meet me in the bathroom.”

“Ew, no. I’m not fucking you in a crusty ass bathroom in a sketchy bar,” you retaliate with a scrunch of your nose. “Pick somewhere else.”

“There isn’t anywhere else,” he huffs. “Unless you really do want me to fuck right here in front of everybody.”

“That’s not funny.”

“M’not trying to be funny. I’m trying to fuck you.”

“Well…try harder.”

His eyes narrow. “Fine, you wanna fuck me on my bike?”

You blink. “Okay, that’s really not funny.”

“What?” He’s grinning again, and you hate the way his dimples pop out. Hate how charming they make him look. “Come on, I ride the bike, you ride me.”

You snort as you turn around to take a sip of your drink. “I’d rather get herpes.”

“Wow. Classy. Real fucking classy—”

“Admit it, you’ve had it before—”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“Well, you can’t. Remember?”

He scoffs. “Then where the fuck do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. Literally anywhere else?”

“Well, I’m not taking you back to mine.”

“No? You don’t want me to see the bridge you live under?”

“Troll jokes. Funny.”

“Thank you, I thought so. It’s very fitting.”

His expression falls flat before he sighs and steps closer again. “Meet me in the fucking bathroom,” he repeats quietly, “and let me fuck you. Let me make it better.”

You want to remind him – again – that a dirty bathroom in a crowded bar isn’t exactly the best place. You’d never get a moment of privacy, and the position would most likely be wildly uncomfortable.

But suddenly, none of your reasons seem to matter. Because it hurts to be away from him. Actually aches between your thighs, forcing you to swallow thickly.

So, instead of responding with an actual answer, you simply take his hand, and drag him through the crowd.

You catch his smug smile – and resist the urge to slap the glasses off his face – before yanking him into the hall and toward the bathroom.

You both stumble through the door, already back on each other’s lips. Kissing, and groping, and groaning as you work to get the lock flipped.

You pause for only a moment to make sure the single stall restroom is in fact empty while Harry uses this as encouragement to begin nipping down the side of your neck.

Your nails scratch down his scalp and he moans against the heat of your skin, exhaling his relief and lust all in the same breath.

His touch is firm – pointed and almost painful – as he pushes you back toward the wall. You gasp when you meet the cold, hard cement, lashes fluttering from the force and the sound of his belt coming undone.

He nods his chin at you, entertained by your fascination. “Come on, Princess. You’ve seen my cock before.”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you murmur, swallowing thickly when he pulls himself out. “Before I change my mind and find somebody else."

He scoffs with a smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

He gives himself a few pumps, growing harder in his palm before he lets go and moves his attention to your jeans. He’s got them down your legs and pooled around your ankles in under thirty seconds flat, your panties soon following suit.

But he teases you for just a moment. Because of course he does, the sadistic fucker. Needing to hear you beg for him before he actually gives you what you both want.

“Harry,” you huff, glancing down as he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “We don’t have time, and the floor is dirty. Just do it.”

“Just do it? How romantic,” he snorts before obliging and straightening back up. “Thought girls liked foreplay.”

“We do, but not in gross, dirty bathrooms.”

“Fine. Next time.”

And for some reason, the casual way he refers to the future makes your head spin. You always assume the two of you will continue from time to time. But hearing him promise to take care of you again…

It’s almost…nice?

Pushing the thought aside, you begin to turn around, hands pressing into the wall to brace yourself in preparation for what comes next.

But just as you’re getting comfortable, he suddenly grabs onto your hips, and spins you forward once again.

“No,” he murmurs softly, pretty green eyes trailing down your face. “No, I wanna see you this time.”

“Oh,” you whisper, skin growing hot as he steps between your legs. “Okay…?”

He grins lightly before reaching up to trail his thumb along your bottom lip. “I like watching you get all sappy when I fuck you. The way you grin when it feels good.”

Suddenly, your pulse starts to stagger. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like your smile.”

You suck in quiet breath. “I thought it creeped you out. That I had too many teeth.”

He chuckles to himself before taking hold of his cock and bringing it closer, trailing it between your legs. “You do. But that’s what makes you so beautiful.”

You think he must be out of his mind. Lost on the idea of sex and pleasure and SnakeBite’s. Tipsy and not all there. Because the Harry you know would never say something like that to you.

But you suppose you don’t really know Harry at all.

With that final thought, he hoists your leg over his hip, and begins to push in. It’s slow at first. You’re tense from the surroundings, from the loud sounds of the bar just on the other side of the wall, and from his admission.

But he loves it, cursing through gritted teeth before surging forward to kiss you. “Tink, you gotta fucking relax. Y’know I can’t do it if you don’t let me in.”

“Try…trying,” you pant, head falling back against the wall with a thud. “Sorry. Just go.”

He frowns, eyes rolling as his glasses begin to slip down the bridge of his nose. “M’not gonna go if you’re not stretched, Princess. I’m not trying to hurt you—”

“I don’t care,” you argue with a soft whine. “Really, I don’t care. Just go. Make it hurt.”

He releases your leg to slip his fingers just below your jaw, forcing your eyes on him. “Stop. M’not gonna do that, just relax.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your mouth. “Come on, sweetie. Know you can do it. Know you always take me so well, don’t you?”

You nod fervently. “Yes…yeah, yes—”

“Then take me,” he whispers, his free fingers finding your clit. He rubs, and presses, and pinches until he feels you begin to unwind. “There you go…there she is, that’s my girl. S’better, isn’t it? Yeah? Gonna let me in now?”

You can’t exactly speak, already lost in the pleasure and the fullness his thick cock provides as it pushes past your walls and settles nearly in your belly.

The sound you make is depraved and eager, and it makes him smile. “That good, huh? So fucking cute how cockdrunk you get.”

“Shut…up,” you huff before reaching for his hair. “Faster.”

“Faster,” he repeats to himself, hips pulling back just to snap forward. “Always want it fast, don’t you? Never want me to take my time.”

“Cause I don’t want your dick in me longer than it needs to be,” you retort, but you both know that’s not true. “Fucking hurry—”

With a sharp and sudden thrust, he changes the pace. Obeying your command for fast and hard as your bodies shake with pleasure and force.

And you imagine it should feel quite strange to be so enamored by one man – one cock. But here you are, panting, and gasping, and whimpering as he fucks you against this bathroom wall. Ignoring the pounding of the fists against the door from people wanting to be let in.

He kisses you. Kisses all of you. Your lips, your cheek, your chin, your nose, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Tugs on your skin with his teeth before flattening his tongue against the tortured flesh.

His hand dances underneath your shirt. Palm smoothing up your stomach and over the cup of your bra. Slipping just far enough inside to knead you in his grasp. Make you whimper and push closer.

And he’s so warm. All of him is warm and soft and strong. He smells like mahogany and sex, and he feels like ecstasy.

You love his hands. The veins in his arms, the bulge of his muscles. The tan of his skin and the way he holds you.

He might be infuriating, but my god is he fun to look at.

“Fucking shit,” he snaps, readjusting his angle to make sure he’s fucking into you just right. “So fucking good, Tink. You’re shaking, sweetie. You close already?”

You can’t respond with words, instead clenching around him in an effort to prove his point.

He smirks, quickly reaching up to push his glasses back into place. “Good. Want you to come all over my cock, baby. Want you to soak me. Can y’do that for me, Princess? Can you soak my cock?”

You think you know what he means, but truth be told, you aren’t sure if you can. You’ve only done it twice before – by your own hand, not his – and you wonder if you’d even be able to like this.

But the question is answered for you when he moves just enough to find that sweet, spongy spot that unravels you faster than lightning.

He hits it over and over and over – perhaps without even realizing – and when you suddenly begin to cry out his name…he understands.

He watches as it happens, aiding in your pleasure by spitting on his fingers and bringing them down to your clit.

The ministrations are ruthless and beautiful, and it almost distracts you from the gushing between your legs, and the way you soak his thighs.

“Shit,” you think you hear him groan, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “So fucking good, Tink. Yeah, just like that. That’s good, baby, keep going. Give me all of it. Fucking all of it, sweetie, yeah.”

And just before you can go sliding down the wall out of pure exhaustion…he follows. Pressing his chest into yours to keep you upright as he spills inside your pussy, creating a bigger mess than before.

Everything is wet and sticky and warm. He’s breathing into your neck, holding onto your body so tight, you imagine you’ll see memories of him tomorrow.

And you stay, just for a moment. Learning how to take in air again and waiting for the feeling to return to your muscles.

“You okay?” he finally asks, exhaling the question into the sweaty skin of your throat. “Didn’t break you, did I?”

Your smile is lazy as you shake your head. “It would take a lot more than you to break me.”

And he laughs. In the kind of way that makes you clench around him again.

Which only makes him laugh harder.

“I fucking hope so.”

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hedgehog-moss · 1 year

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Writers who use imitative harmony + the movement of their language to evoke meaning are so great to re-read once you’ve learnt this language, if you’ve read them in translation before, it feels like the best reward. I’m reading Annie Proulx in the original for the first time, and so much of her writing style was just not salvageable by French translators (< my condolences), because she intertwines sound with meaning so often, at least in Close Range, and French just doesn’t sound the same! so by translating the meaning you’ll sacrifice a lot of the style... It reminds me of a haunted house book in French that also made me think “haha RIP translators” because it made great use of sound—a lot of “u / eu / ou” to create a sort of sinister howling effect in some sentences, and one sentence about a closed door used “i” and “rr” sounds to give an ominous “creaking open” sensation without actually opening the door in the text...

This kind of thing always makes me reflect despairingly on how many authors I’ll never get to appreciate fully as I can’t read them in the original, but I’m glad to re-discover Annie Proulx at any rate! I mean compare the sound of a phrase like “a hundred dirt road shortcuts” to the French “des centaines de raccourcis, des routes de terre”... First of all the English phrase sounds clippety-cloppy, it sounds like hooves on a dirt road in a way that’s very hard to preserve in a language without syllable stress, but also the French language demands that you turn it into ‘a hundred of shortcurts of roads of dirt’, so it’s best to dilute it into two phrases, and you just lose the clippedness. It sounds less tight, more leisurely.

Same for the phrase “the tawny plain still grooved with pilgrim wagon ruts” vs. “la plaine fauve encore marquée des ornières laissées par les chariots des pèlerins.” That’s a 54% expansion ratio and once again you turn the tight clippedness of ‘grooved with pilgrim wagon ruts’ into ‘grooved with the ruts left by the wagons of the pilgrims.’ You just can’t avoid it, French words have to hold hands in a long procession rather than being stacked like pancakes on top of one another. And sometimes it makes for lovely stylistic effects too (*), but it doesn’t fit the style of a text like this one, which uses rhythm and sound in a very un-French way—rhythmicality in French tends to rely on long flowy phrasings rather than the potholed ruggedness this story demands. (I saw a NY Times article describe it as Annie Proulx “mining the ore of language out of a gritty Wyoming rockscape”)

The rhythm of this whole bit is so neat, you can snap your fingers along with it: “hard orange dawn, the world smoking, snaking dust devils on bare dirt, heat boiling out of the sun until the paint on the truck hood curled, ragged webs of dry rain that never hit the ground, through small-town traffic and stock on the road, band of horses in morning fog...”

The French version is not finger-snapping material but you can tell the translator did her very best to preserve the author’s intention by creating interesting rhythms in French as well. For “hard orange dawn” she could have kept close to the original with, say, “la dureté orange de l’aube” but instead she chose to turn ‘hard’ into a four-syllable adjective (éblouissante / blinding) to end up with a noticeable rhythm—“les aubes orange, éblouissantes,” one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four (and she made ‘dawn’ plural for the same reason.) She wasn’t able to preserve the g/r alliteration of “GRooved with pilGRim waGon Ruts” (although her translated phrase also has a lot of R’s) but she did preserve the ‘sss’ alliteration of “Smoking Snaking duSt” (“pouSSière Serpentant Sur le Sol”). Even with languages as close as French and English, for every stylistic effect you can save you have to sacrifice a few, or replace them with opposite effects which align better with your language’s notions of literary style (like with the orange dawn bit, doubling the length of a tight phrase so it can sound rhythmical).

You can tell all throughout the book that a lot of thought and care went into respecting Annie Proulx’s writing choices and you still end up with sentences that sound and move so differently. You get to see the limit of translation when authors fully lean on their language’s syntax and melody to help convey meaning, like poets do!

(*) Re: English stacking words and French linking them—this reminds me of an essay I read by an English translator of Proust who despaired of this difference in the opposite direction—saying some long, descriptive phrases in Proust with articles & prepositions linking words, and commas linking phrases with regularity, read like telling the beads of a rosary. And the sensation (or a lot of it) had to be sacrificed because English just does not use as many linking words as French, information is conveyed in a more economical way, so a lot of these sentences with a hypnotic rhythm like “the A, of the B, of the C, whereby the D, of the E, on an F” were often not achievable with English syntax or created redundancy (e.g. having to use ‘that’ or ‘which’ 5 times when French used different tool words). But he said he did try to form sentences that had this continuity, and meditative quality.

I don’t have a conclusion to this post other than to say something precious will be lost if human translation is replaced by AI translation, because literary translation involves creativity and ambiguity and aesthetic considerations and a dimension of instinctual feeling for your own language and the original style, and I don’t think any amount of data and processing power and artificial neural networks will yield the flavour of literary quality that emerges from human sensibility and care, from someone reading a sentence and thinking “this feels like hooves clippety-clopping down a dirt road” or “this feels like rolling the beads of a rosary” and starting from there...

#language tag #not sure if imitative harmony has the same meaning as harmonie imitative now that i think about it #in french i was taught that it’s a broader more ‘diluted’ stylistic device than onomatopoeia #as in writing 'bzzz' about an insect flying is onomatopoeia #writing a sentence about an insect with several 'b' and 'zz' sounds here and there is imitative harmony

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hidtired · 14 days

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Unfortunate Timing Prologue

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: You found out your pregnant early into your relationship with Daryl Dixon. To make matters worse? The apocalypse happens a few days later! (not fully canon)

5.7k words

Warnings (Pregnancy, gore, smut, reference to abuse, violence, fluff, walking dead stuff, ect.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 etc.

Pre Apocalypse

You had moved to a small town in Georgia to get away from your parents. Your Aunt Mary had a little boutique and offered a job. Your parents didn’t like you weren’t married yet, not even dating either. So they have been shoving men at you for the last few years. They thought by your age you should have been married with kids. They wanted grandkids. Your brother was married but him and his wife struggled with fertility. The final straw was trying to get you into an arranged marriage with one of your father’s business buddies kid. You had only just turned 30.

It had freaked you out how your parents made it seem like you didn’t have a choice. So you packed your bags, your mother pleaded for you to not go. You broke the lease to your apartment and left without telling them where.

You like the simple life you were leading now. Helping your Aunt's business. You lived with her because she was a widow with no kids and wanted the company. You had some interesting neighbors across the street. You had just driven into the driveway taking notice of a man fixing his truck. It was hot outside and his arms were covered in grease.

You walked into the kitchen where your Aunt was doing dishes. You decided to help making idle talk about how the shop was until you looked out the window to still see the sleeveless man. Your Aunt caught you looking, "Thought you came here to get away from boys?" You smile shyly at being caught, looking back down and handing her a wet plate to be dried. "Never said that... Just the one my parents choose. Didn't have time to look for a date when men were thrown at me randomly by them." Your Aunt was amused to say the least. "That's Daryl Dixon, him and his brother live there. You have to watch yourself with a Dixon. But Daryl has helped me with a few things that broke around the house. He replaced the battery's in the fire alarms for me a week before you came."

You gave her a sideways look, "You trying to set me up now to?" Mary laughs, "Fine fine, granted I do bake something for him every time he does something for me. Could just have a sweet tooth." You look back out the window, ‘Daryl huh?’

It was a week later that you got a call from your brother. You went on a walk to take the call. He was anger that your father was on him for a kid because you had disappeared. The pressure had turned to his wife who was already having a hard time with infertility. It was when you were walking back to the house did the conversation get heated.

"Grow a back bone and yell at them Mathew! Why are you coming at me for!?" He responded with his own venom, "Why couldn't you just do what they asked! But go ahead die alone for all I care!" He ended the call abruptly after. You clenched your teeth tight and closed your eyes trying to compose yourself. A voice called from across the street, "Ya doin alright over there?" You turned to see Daryl beer in hand with the hood of his car open. You sighed shoulders sagging, "Sorry for the yelling." Daryl pick up another beer showing it off to you, "Sounds like ya could use one of these." You put your hands to your hips before deciding to walk over. You grab the beer he handed you with a smile, "Thanks..."

You cracked the can open taking a sip. Daryl stare at you for a second before saying something, “Yer boyfriend causing you trouble?” You chuckled at the thought, making a small face of disgust at it even, “No, that was just my brother being an ass.” Daryl took mental note of that ‘single’. He huffed and looked back down into his trucks hood. “Oh trust me I know how that is.” You look at him as he refocused his attention to his car, ‘That’s right, that’s what your Aunt had said.’ You lean against the truck. “Your Daryl right? I’m Y/N” Daryl looked back up at the mention of you knowing his name, “Oh so ya heard bout us.” He sounded a bit disappointed at the thought. You lean to look inside the car, smiling over to him, “Only the things my Aunt said.” He perked a brow at that, “Who’s yer Aunt? What she say about us?”

“Mary.” You pointed over your shoulder to the house, “And she mentioned you might have a sweet tooth.” Daryl looked over to the house of the lady he often did things for, her niece chiming in again. “Always see you fixing this truck across the street.” He pulled a red rag from his back pocket wiping his hands, “Ya damn thing always seems to be breakin.” He took notice of the girl fully now. You took slow sips of the beer he gave you while starring into the hood. “Well if I have any trouble with my car I know who to ask.” You looked up to him with a shy smile. “I’m useless when it comes to knowing anything about cars.”

That’s how they both started talking. You watching him fix a couple spark plugs while talking about things. Getting to know each other a little. Like how you were helping Mary with her shop. “Ah, so you just moved here.” You nodded, “Mmm about a month. Have no clue where anything is and have no friends so…” you shrug. A breeze started as evening was setting in. Daryl hesitated before saying, “I could show you some local spots.” He bit the side of his thumb nail waiting for an answer. You had bit your bottom lip looking up at him and smiled, “Sounds like fun to me.”

He was worried for a second he messed up, “There’s a bar that everyone knows, real popular on Fridays.” You nodded while looking at him staring down at your watch seeing you had been talking for about a hour. It was getting late so you slowly started to walk backwards to your house. You smile with a glint in your eye, “Sounds like a Date… see you Friday!” You waved and all he could do was look on with wide eyes. Did you just- “Pick you up at 8!” He yelled. He was in slight disbelief at the out come. Had you been flirting with him the whole time?

You had handed him a tool before he could even ask. You had known how to do it all along and played stupid to talk with him. He smiled down as he closed his hood. ‘Oh you were trouble.’

When Friday came he was kicking himself. This was unlike him to go on dates. But he wouldn’t deny he liked you. You were also looking forward to a date for the first time in a while. Preferring it more than being tricked on to one with some guy your parents liked. Daryl probably didn’t fit that kind a guy they would. Oh but your kind definitely. Your Aunt watched you try on an outfit before deciding to go with a floral casual dress that went to your knees. She gave you a smug look and you only rolled your eyes. You had a long black jacket over you, knowing it was already cool outside.

Daryl knocked on the door and off you went in his truck to this bar. He was slightly nervous when he saw you dolled yourself up, and for him? He had lied to Merle where he was going and doing. He was desperately trying not to blow this, “Ya look pretty…” he had said it at a stop light looking over to you. It’s everything a girl wants to hear, and it sure made you smile.

When they got to the bar the bartender seemed confused to see Daryl with a girl. He was normally there with his brother. Mostly to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid he had noticed. “Well if it isn’t a Dixon, tell your brother he still owes me for the glass he broke.” Daryl cringed at the mention of his brother. You just simply took a seat on a stool. “What can I get you two.”

You had a few drinks you’ll admit. You tried a classic drink that the locals had. You were grossed out at the drink causing you and Daryl to laugh. He only had a drink with the need to drive you both home. You had tried to play pool but decided you were a little to inebriated at how many times you missed the ball entirely. You were standing in a corner of the bustling bar talking. You held a bow empty cup dying laughing at a story had told you about his childhood. Sometimes kids dumb actions, like jumping off a shed in a hero outfit, were just funny. You had lost a little balance at your laughing and place a hand onto Daryl’s chest. He only looked down to you putting a hand to your waist to steady you. You had tears of laughter in you eye, you fanning your face to no ruining your make up. He was definitely enjoying this more than he wanted to.

You had been at the bar for about 4 hours with Daryl. You now walked leaning into him in the parking lot. He had an arm around your shoulder leading you to the car door. He started the car and looked over to you, “Should have told me ya were a lightweight.” You gasped offendly, “Lightweight! I’ll have you know I’m just tipsy.” He looked at you questioningly humming. You relaxed into the car seat, “Ok, I’ll admit I haven’t done this in a while- might be a little rusty on the drinking game.”

You both continued to joke around until getting to the neighborhood. He back up in your drive way to later drive into his own. Him doing that thing with his arm as he back up. You bit your lip at the sight. When he parked and looked at you you spoke, “Thank you for this Daryl, I had fun.” He nodded, “Was my pleasure…” you had slowly moved closer crossing the middle seat. He looked down at your flushed face, mostly done by the alcohol. That liquid courage probably giving you the strength to grab him by the chin and slowly kiss him. He leaned into it grabbing your hip. You pulled back with a bashful smile,

“Same time next week?”

He had fully smiled at that, “Ya bet your sweet ass. Now get out of here miss ‘tipsy’.” You giggle wiggling your way out of the car. Waving goodbye with a stupid smile on your face. He felt his heart skip a beat, ‘oh he was real screwed…’

That night he even thought back to how you were looking at him on the way back. He had caught you leaned against the window with hooded eye. When he looked at you, you tried to fight a smile. Oh and how could he not think of the kiss. His hands dragged down his face at the thought.

This went on for a little over a month. You would see each other throughout the week but Fridays you would go out. Small touch’s and kisses here and there. It wasn’t until you ended up back at that bar that things changed. You were only 2 drinks in. You sat in a booth with Daryl. Head on his shoulder and hands intertwined under the table. You pulled away getting up, “I’m going to get another drink and you a beer. Then I’ll wipe your ass in a game of pool!” Daryl chuckled, “Let’s hope you can hit the ball with your cue this time.” You stuck out your tongue at him while walking to the bar. You had only been waiting for your drinks when a man slide up next to you.

“Whats a pretty thing like you doing with a Dixon? He blackmailing you?” The man held a sleazy smirk. You only look at him with disgust ignoring him. It was when he put his hand to your arm pulling you closer did you talk to him, “Hey back off!” The man’s grip tightened, “What you a hooker or something? Only way a Dixon could get some pipe is by paying for a slut.” You had yanked your arm from him, you falling back a little before landing against someone behind you. A arm rapping around you, you recognized it instantly, Daryl. His voice growling and rumbling against you, “Back off my girl.”

The man who was bothering you only rolled his eyes, “Maybe keep your slut on a leash-“ You had felt Daryl lean forward behind you before you even saw him sock the guy in the face. You had gasped and turned to push Daryl back from the guy. He stumbled and held his nose. You whispered to Daryl, “Ok it’s time to go…” You tried to push him closer to the door but the jackass decided to spit out another comment, “Ya let your bitch drag you away pussy!” You felt Daryl lean forward and resisted you leading him backwards but you spoke softly up to him, “Please…” His eyes briefly met yours. He looked back up to the guy who was probably drunk but, Daryl’s blood was boiling with rage. He relented at your plea and walked out the exit.

He was quiet as he walked back to the truck. Walking a little faster ahead of you. When he got into the drivers seat you had said his name but he wasn’t listening. He put the key in the ignition, turning it on but your hand rested onto his arm and you said his name again, “Daryl…”. He slumped a little and turned the car back off. He slowly turned to look at you. You scooted closer into him. You closed your hands around his face so he would look at you. You gave a small smile, “Thank you.” You gave him a quick peck before leaning back to look at him.

He signed and placed his forehead to yours talking a moment. He thought maybe he was gonna scary you off at the out burst. He whispered, “Hope I didn’t scare ya.” You chuckled shaking your head, “They opposite really. I was scared of that guy and then you came and I felt ok again.” He inhaled a breath before I closing his arms around you. He pulled you into him more and you rapped an arm around his back. You sat there for a moment before you spoke, “Soooo, Your girl huh?”

Daryl froze in place. Didn’t even register he said it in the moment. He pulled back from you, mouth agape, stuttering before he gave up at trying to say anything. You placed a hand into his hair playing with a strand of hair, “I’m your girl?” You had almost whispered it. Daryl cleared his throat, “Will you be?” You let out a breathy sigh,

“Yeah, thought you’d never ask.”

That is when you officially started dating. Sat in the truck, in the parking lot, making out for a good 10 minutes.

You were enjoying the new found established relationship. Over the next week was filled with your Aunt seeing you cuddle on the couch watching a movie. You had even managed to give him a small haircut in his bathroom, “Hmm, I think you would look good with long hair.” Sometime you would find yourself in Daryl’s room laying on his bed just talking when Merle was away.

Speaking of Merle he had later found out when at the bar that his baby brother started a fight over his girlfriend. He had thought nothing of it until he asked his brother if it was true. When it was confirmed he laid hurtful comments at him. ‘No one can love someone like us!’ ‘Like you really?’ It was a definite damage to his ego. But some of the things he said about you rubbed him the wrong way. It made him defensive, ‘She a good lay?’ ‘got you pussy whipped.’ They had yet to even cross that line.

You know understood why Daryl had not wanted you to met his brother at first. He made rude and sexually comments to you. Often either being sexist or racist any time near him. You mostly tried to say clear of him.

Then there came the drama that followed from your parents. Apparently your Aunt let it slip to your brother you were with her. He told your parents and now here you were getting a call from her shop. You picked up the business phone and before you could even spit out your prepared greeting you heard your father’s voice boom over the phone. “Now you listen to me little lady you’re coming back home!” You pause shocked. “Your little tantrum is done and you will do as you’re told!” You could hear your mother in the back telling him to calm down. You to in a breath and replied calmly, “Dad, I will do no such thing.”

He was yelling more. You had caught something about a wedding date and some name before your mother took the phone from him. “Honey, you need to come back home ok?” You really couldn’t understand why, “No Mama I like it here.” She went to go on, “We are just doing what we think is best for you. We just want you to be happy with a husband.” You had enough snapping at them for the first time, “You want what’s best for you. If you wanted me happy you would have listened to me! I’ll have you know with the time I’ve been gone I finally feel free. I even got a boyfriend!”

Your mother gasped, “In the town you’re in! What redneck white trash could you possibly find out there!” You were surprised at the way your mother spoke. But you were also mad at it. You angrily replied, “His name is Daryl Dixon! Fuck you! Never call me again!” You hung up seething. You had closed the shop a little early.

After the call from your parents you walked to the bar. The bartender seemed surprised seeing you without Daryl before asking, “Your usual?” You nodded with an appreciative smile. While waiting for the drink you noticed Daryl’s brother with a few other people. You ignored him deciding you would have the one drink and go home, not really in the mood to deal with Merle.

You had just finished your drink when you heard a commotion behind you. Merle and another were arguing. It was getting really heated. You had stood about ready to leave when the other guy threatened Merle, “I’ll kill you for this!” When you had turned Merle was smug looking and unaware of the knife being pulled from behind the man’s pants. You had yelled, “Merle!” In a panic you lobbed your glass at the man. It shattered over his head sending him to crumple to the side on a table. The knife slipping from his hand and landing in front of him. Merle looked down at the knife before looking up to where the glass came from, spotting you. You were shocked with your mouth open looking at the man holding his head in pain, before looking back to Merle. The few other men that were sitting with them getting up displeased.

Merle realizing he was out numbered started to run toward you. He had grabbed you by the arm and dragged you with him to the exit. The bartender yelled as you got dragged away. “Hey!” You had yelled back before the door closed, “Sorry Lawrence I’ll pay you back later!” Merle was still dragging you along to his motorcycle. The door had swung open and the angry men started to pursue you both. Merle had yelled at you when you pause to look at the door, “Get the fuck on!”

You had hopped over the seat and sat behind him. Not having a moment to hold on before he started to speed off. It wasn’t until he pulled into his driveway that you started telling him off.

Daryl had heard Merle’s motorcycle pull in but he wasn’t expecting to hear you yelling right after it. “Goddamn I’m already having a shit day!” When he walked out the front door to see you telling Merle off as he just sat there on his bike silently taking it. He had never seen his brother not throwing words back at someone. “Are you an idiot!” Not even that got a reaction from him. Daryl knew that would normally get replied by violence. It wasn’t until he spoke did you turn at his voice, “The hell is goin on?” Your anger soon crumpled into tears, you were overwhelmed and maybe a bit scared still body pumping with adrenaline. Daryl almost got whiplash at the sudden mood shift.

That didn’t stop him from hugging you as you started to cry. He shot a look to his brother who still sat on his bike. Merle looking weirded out at the sudden tears. "The hell you do ta her?!” Merle rubbed the back of his neck, "May have got into a bit of a fight at the bar with some folks. She kinda stopped me from being stabbed." He had felt you shaking in his grasp now. He knew you hated conflict, told him about the pit that would form in your stomach. But you stopping Merle from being stabbed? "How she do that?" Merle chuckled, "Threw her glass across the room! Knocked him clean on his sorry ass." He seemed almost impressed by you.

Daryl started leading you back toward your home. Daryl turning to yell back to his brother, "Whatever man piss off." He had gotten you into your house before you spoke, "My Aunt went on her Cabo trip with her book club friends. She'll be gone a week... stay?" He gulped, "If ya really want me to." You nodded, "I don't wanna be alone." He saw you were scared.

He lay next to you in your bed after you calmed down and ate dinner. "Want to talk bout it?" You moved closer to him leading him to put a arm over you. You sighed into him, "I was at the bar because I had a rough conversation with my parents. Somethings were said. Their the reason I moved here, to get away from. I saw Merle and then the knife- then all those men chased us." Your hand rose to pinch the bridge of your nose, "Just been a- a shit day." You move to look up to Daryl's blue eyes a smirk rising to your lips at the worried and tight look he was giving you. He relax a little at your attention. He dragged a hand up your arm to your face, "Merle seems to think your a badass now." He himself was a little proud to hear what you did. You grunted into his chest, "He'd better. Saved his dumbass."

You were talking for a while after that. Seeing the clock blinking 1am now. You were sleepy but enjoyed talking to him to much to fall asleep. Sleep was pulling at your eyes and a question that should have been a inside thought slipped out, "Why haven't we had sex yet?" Daryl was a little taken back but not to shocked at the question, he hummed, "Honestly not a clue, I like you to much to mess anything up." Maybe the tired feeling was making his lips a little loose to. He paused before continued, "I've only had meaningless sex. Nothing with feeling behind it." He smirked down to your hazy eyes, "Why? You tryin to get in my pants?" You chuckled adding a little shrug, "Perhaps. Take me out to dinner and we'll see how the night goes from there." That made Daryl's heart beat a little harder. Of course he has thought about it before just didn't know how to act on it with you. He held you a little tighter to him, goofy smile to his face, "Yes Ma'am."

Take you out to dinner he did. Nothing to fancy but by the end of that night you offered him to follow you inside. You were laughing while bumping backwards into things as you both kissed. You stripping buttons down his shirt when he paused face looking uncomfortable. You stopped at the look. He sighed squeezing his eyes tight. Reminding himself it was you. "Uh sorry, just forgot to mention- just look fer yourself..." You softly pulled the shirt down off of him. Revealing scars along his body.

You dragged a finger along one. You look up at him with round eyes. He looked away before saying, “M’ Daddy was a drunk.” You intake air and release it at the information. You leaned down and kissed the scar you touched. Everything turned slow from that point, more sensual. He rolled into you at a pace he never had before. He was used to chasing a feeling, getting it over with. But every time he would push into you he couldn’t help but love the groans you made. You sure loved the noises subconsciously coming out of him as well. You would move up into him. The slow motion had sent you crazy. Leading you to claw at him begging for more. He didn’t go faster but harder.

Your moans filled your bedroom. Daryl was sucking on your neck while rutting into you. He was huffing out air and grunting in exertion. The tight clench he felt around him damn near knocked the wind out of him. He had pulled out and rested his head on your chest while trying to catch his breath. You dug your hands into the back of his hair.

That night lead to many more like it. Which is what lead you to the current situation going on. You were in the bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test. Not just one but three. You sat on the floor contemplating, 'How did this happen?' 'Do I keep it?' 'How do I tell Daryl?' You and Daryl had been only officially dating for 3 and a half months now. The first test had you in denial, the second had you begging. The third had you close to acceptance. At least you weren't ugly crying anymore. Before anything you needed to tell Daryl. So you called him over saying it was urgent.

He opened the front door and jogged to your room seeing you crisscross on the bed looking distraught. He kneeled down at the front of your bed looking up at you. You took in a nervous breath before talking, "If you need a moment after I tell you this, its okay, I wont be mad." Daryl's heart dropped to his ass, 'were you about to end stuff between them?'

"I'm pregnant."

His eyes slowly widened and he looked down to your stomach then back to you. He abruptly stood up then paused again. His mind moving a mile a minute but also not at all. The one thing to click was "A father? ME?' He slowly walked out the room. You sat there with tears burning in your eyes watching him leave the room. He paced back and forth hand running into his hair. The fight or flight in him was telling him to run, he was overwhelmed. Then he heard a small sniffle come from the room he had just come from. That stopped him in his tracks. He thinks he loves you. You both hadn't gotten to saying it out loud to each other. He didn't know what love felt like but this was what he imagined it to be. He hated to see you cry. Made him feel like maybe he would to if he didn't fix your tears. When he heard you he slowly made his way back into the room. Realizing you were most likely as terrifies as him, more so even.

You felt his arms around you making you cry harder. You had run the possibility of him leaving in your mind. Fully aware of his lack of a good father in his life. When you pulled away to look at him he also had tears going down his face. It was the first you have seen him cry. You had now put your arms around his middle and pulled him down to now lay on top of you. You had a tight hold on him and he you. You both calmed down and you knew he wasn't leaving, then he also whispered into you, "I've got ya. Both of ya."

It was rough that first day. It didn't feel real. You told Daryl how you were going to make a appointment in the morning. You asked if he was wanting to go with. He had slowly nodded deep in thought. You had said they could talk about everything in time.

You both had time.

You had an appointment in a week, the receptionist suggesting you go and buy prenatal vitamins before then. You also broke the news to your Aunt, she was supportive. Saying she would love to help with anything you needed. You and her walked a few blocks to a small store connected to a pharmacy. You looked to the shelves of pills. You held two big bottles, different brands, of prenatal vitamins. The sound of screaming alerting you to a disturbance in the store. You turn to your Aunt with a questioning look. You both peaked around the aisle spotting someone on top of the other, a fight perhaps?

Gun shots to your left making you jump. You turned seeing a man backing down the aisle beside you shooting rounds into a woman approaching him. You witnessed the women not even flinch to each shot. Your Aunt pulled you by the shoulder backwards down the lane. Another person who was pale with foggy eyes rounded the corner. It grabbed your Aunt and before you could blink took a bit out of her neck. You watch in horror as she dropped to the ground with that person on top of her. Blood from her throat being ripped out had splattered across your face. You screamed terrified. The lady the man had been shooting at now turned the corner from the aisle they were in. Now she was covered in blood though. You look down to your Aunt who had stopped moving. The thing taking notice of you. So you ran.

You had just seen your Aunt being brutally murdered. You ran out the door of the building pill bottle still in hand. You saw people running, cars crashing. Others getting hit by cars. It was a nightmare but you felt like you need to keep moving. You ran down the road back to your house. Dodging anyone covered in blood.

Daryl had kicked the door open to your house. Merle was packing stuff into the truck across the road. He screamed your name looking for you anywhere. When he couldn’t find you he ran back to the car, “I can’t find her!” Merle rolled his eyes, “Forget about her! She probably died someone where let’s get are asses out of here!” Daryl yelled back at him with rage. “THE IS NO WAY IN HELL IM GOING ANYWHERE WITHOUT HER!” The yell had shocked Merle. Daryl had never talk to him like that. “We can find you a new lady we gotta go!” Then Daryl did something more unexpected. He shoved Merle back. He had hit the side door of the truck, Merle was about to hit him when he yelled, “She’s pregnant man!”

Daryl had a panicked and pained expression on his face. He started to stuttered out, “I-I gotta go look—“ The sound of his name being yelled from a distance made him turn in the direction. He was relieved to see you running full speed toward him. His relief flooded by panic at the sight of blood painted across your face and cloths. He ran the rest of the way to you. Crashing into each other in an embrace. You struggled to regain breath after how long you were running. Daryl had held your face seeing were the blood came from. Tears forming in your eyes, “It’s not mine…” Merle’s voice cutting in, “Come on love birds we gotta go now!”

Daryl lead you to the car opening the door and making you jump in, “Stay here I’m going to get some of your stuff.” He ran off back to your house and Merle started tightening the cables to the bike in the back. He sat down in the driver seat and looked over to you. You had two pill bottles on your lap and you stared at your hands shaking. He then noticed all the blood on you and decided to keep his mouth shut. Daryl ran back throwing a duffel bag in the back before going to the passenger side. You sat in the middle still a little stunned. Like a bird who flew into glass.

Daryl’s arm went behind your head resting on your shoulders. You leaned into him. Merle had started to peel out of the space driving off into a direction. You heard little of the talk between them. Choosing a quarry they know to get away from the towns and head into the woods.

All you knew was the world was changing.

Part 2

Feedback welcomed and requests open!

Sorry for mistakes I to eepy its 2 am. I'm dyslexic and struggle with it and normally reread 10 times to fix mistakes but this is so long I wanna go to bed.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x female reader #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #norman reedus #angst #fluff #smut

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velvetures · 7 months

Note

Heya I absolutely adore your writing and I would looove to request something like the “vulnerable” fic you wrote about ghost, but for könig instead. So much fluff and so many praises for our pretty boy, since I feel like he would show us his face but he’d be really anxious and self conscious about it. Feel free to decide if u wanna add nsfw content or not, I’m happy with whatever :))

Touch starved, intimacy craving cod boys will be the death of me 😔

Thank you in advance c:

Defenseless

a/n: so sorry I'm answering this so late, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless 🩶 this isn't the most in-depth... but I really tried to get the feels of it. summary: The Colonel has been stated as having something up his ass for nearly a week. no tw's that i know of...

The Colonel had been unusually insufferable for over a week at this point.

Barking demands, snarling at everyone in his path, making a total bloodbath out of the one mission assigned to him, and practically punishing all of his men during the two training sessions he’d deemed mandatory. He was on a tirade unlike anything you’d been witness to before, and there was hardly a place to escape from him. That only place being the garage which you had not-so-coincidentally been holed-up in after receiving a vehicle that was for less of better description… utterly fucked. But budget apparently didn’t allow for a replacement, so you’d been sent out to fix the helpless machine.

You didn’t necessarily consider yourself “co-workers” in the normal sense. You didn’t share office memos, or even work in office cubicles that shared a flimsy divider. The majority of your work with him came down to managing the transport to and from the base to their mission insertions. Be it helo or armor-truck, you were licensed and proficient. It gave you one of the most important jobs on base… Transporting the most dangerous men that KORTAC could throw at an enemy. And their massive, intimidating, hooded Colonel was included.

“I heard him chewing into a private’s ass for standing in front of his office door while he was sitting inside… with the door shut.” You overheard one of the mechanics chuckling from underneath of an LUV that had a leaking brake line.

A couple of the other guys joined in the conversation, ignoring your presence for all intensive purposes. You could only imagine that they were doing so simple because of how well attached you were to König in a more personal relationship. It had been nothing but professional and regulatory, but the sight of you lingering around the Colonel for more than absolutely necessary raised plenty of eyebrows around base. It just worked out that you had your entire top half of your body twisted in the engine bay of an MMPV that had taken enough IED damage to need a lot of maintenance and replacements. A pain in the ass you had been fussing over for hours just today; not even thinking about the fact that you’d been engrossed in the job for nearly a week.

“What’d you think Major?” One of the men calling out to you brought your attention away from a replacement coil-on-plug system sitting in a box, not touched yet on the wheel well to your right.

“About what?” You feign interest, not wanting to be caught listening in on conversation.

“The Colonel,” He clarified. “You seen whatever it is that has a stick up his ass sideways?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t make a habit of checking the Colonel’s asshole…” If it’s not clear in your tone that you’re quite finished with the conversation, he doesn’t take notice.

“You’re pretty close with him aren’t you? Can’t you put in a good word for everyone on base… he’s practically frothing at the mouth!”

“I’m not a damn veterinarian either, Johns.” You warn, losing a bit of your patience.

It was one thing for König to swing his weight around like they were suggesting… it was another for him to have been struggling with something far more stressful than normal. Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time a soldier took out frustration of the job on his fellow officers. Especially if he got a reality check that displayed just how fragile the system really was in times of actual strain. Not that you’d even had the chance to see him since this “tirade” began, but you could only imagine that something more than the obvious was going on behind that bleach-stained hood over his head.

Girly gossip from the small group of mechanics went on long into the evening. Theories stretching from a mission gone bad to some kind of personal insult from a superior. While the solutions to his “problem” oftentimes resulted in some kind of reference to his sex life being dry, or outright nonexistent. It all sounded ridiculous to you between cranks of your socket wrench or the occasional shrill of an impact drill.

Thankfully you could shut out the sounds for the most part, but by the time you’d found a decent stopping place, the sky outside the hangar had blackened for the night and the temperature dropped far enough that your breath misted in front of your face. It was plenty late enough to head back to your quarters and get enough sleep before being right back under the hood at first light without feeling totally miserable. You didn’t expect to run into the Colonel on your way back to your room.

From the way he walked alone, you could tell that he was exhausted. The toes of his boots skimming the ground a little more than normal, as well as the slight hunch is his typically unforgiving posture. König looked like he’d had his ass kicked before being asked to dig his own grave and crawl out of it. Hearing everyone complaining about his sour mood made even more sense than before, and you couldn’t blame him for sharing around the misery. Besides, he was one of the highest-ranking people on base… it was his reluctant responsibility to deal with people almost every second of the day.

He deserved a damn break…

“Hey! Colonel!” You called out just loud enough to make him stop. Begin careful enough to not just call him by his first time in the case that someone was listening in. His head snapped in your direction and he stiffened for a moment before recognizing you in the dark shadows of the night and parking lot lamps.

“Major…”

Chills rose on your skin hearing his roughened voice rolling your title off his tongue. He wasn’t the slightest aggressive, and you couldn’t quite decide if he was just sparing you his anger, or just worn himself down too much to care. You jog the distance between you, feeling some tension in your lower back from being bent over that damn truck all day. Hopefully it wouldn’t make König’s notice… he was always very particular about injuries or overuse with his direct-connection officers.

“Wie war dein Tag?” His eyes crinkle at the corners like he’s smiling under his hood.

At least that’s what you imagine he’s doing.

“It was alright,” You nod giving him a smile. “Working on your MMPV. It’s in a hell of a state, and I’m not sure I can fix her.” You mutter a bit quieter, mind drifting to the vehicle and the limited amount of actual repairs you could do without needing some additional parts or funding allotted for the repairs. König seemed to pick up on it for a moment, but he also ended up having half of his mind somewhere else for the time being.

“I understand…” You couldn’t be sure if he meant simple exhaustion or a shared feeling of being much in the same state as your armored car. “I’m certain with your attention, it will do more than survive the blow.”

You giggle softly, resting your hands on your hips and digging your thumbs into your lower back as nonchalantly as possible to hide the way your digits pressed and rubbed at the immense pressure building right above your hipbones. Your shared mental and physical abuse wasn’t the slightest bit new. It always felt like when you got to see König for any respectable amount of time something was wrong with one or both of you. Normally, it made for plenty of good jokes and light teasing. A good one didn’t come to mind, and the Colonel didn’t appear in the mood for banter either. Really, his voice didn’t even sound like it wanted to be present. Fading in and out of gravelly and growled tones between German-accented syllables.

“Are you retiring for the night?” His blonde eyebrow raised up above the ripped eyehole of his mask. You spared a glance at the roof which shielded your quarters from the elements. Damn near two-hundred yards away, as well. You hated thinking about the walk.

“Yeah, I figure I should head that way. It’ll take me fifteen minutes to get there if I don’t drag myself across the concrete like I want to.”

König chuckles lowly, bringing another smile to your face. You hoped it was a decent relief from what was bothering him so badly to make base feel like a war zone. The thought of being his first sign of something positive in days only intensified your joy of the thought. He takes his own glance in the direction of your rooms and then looks back to you with something of an appraising edge. Even scanning the immediate area for good measure before visibly losing some of the façade hiding his exhaustion.

“Drill in the morning?” He asks quieter, nodding his head for you to follow alongside him.

“No. Just working on that damn truck…” He chuckles again, giving you a softer look out of the corner of his eye.

“You can always stay with me,” He says quite a bit more offhanded than the offer really was.

There was no fucking way regulation would stand for it even if it was nothing more than a platonic pajama party. The mere thought of “the Major” and “the Colonel” being spotted leaving the same bedroom after a night alone would have them both court-martialed and discharged. Yet König handed out the offer easier than he could hand out candy to small children on Halloween. It spun you for a loop. Resulting in your feet welding themselves to the ground and your eyes widening as you turn to look up at him in question as to if you’d actually heard him correctly.

“Stay with you… stay… like, overnight?” The sentence alone felt so forbidden yet enticing in your mouth. König shrugs. A little more of his tension developing in his shoulders as you visibly see himself second-guessing such an intimate thing quite randomly.

“It was just an offer, Major.” He clarifies. “My quarters are much closer to your garage… and I’ve got everything you might need for one night away from your own bed.” He added with a soothing kind of tone.

But it left you just as anticipatory. He wasn’t this forward. At least, not in such a personal way. He didn’t phrase things this… domestic, directly and he sure as hell hadn’t ever thought to try it on you above all others. There was something more to this, and it wasn’t just due to the distance to your own quarters compared to his. A benefit for him lingered somewhere just below the surface of truth he’d been willing to speak about. Naturally, you weren’t about to take the first step in pushing him. So instead, you took the choice of playing the long game and allowing him to take the lead.

He is your superior officer, after all.

“You know… I might just take you up on those amenities, Colonel.”

His eyes crinkle again, giving you a second opportunity to wonder what his pretty mouth must look like when he smiles.

“If you stay, my rank stays outside. I don’t prefer answering to a title in my own home.” His low voice rumbles with an affectionate tone. One that makes you nod your head automatically, like he’d whispered some spell over you.

“Of course, sir.”

His quarters weren’t what you expected.

Instead of the typical grey walls and standard furniture, he’d went about the process of either collecting some more personal things or brought them from wherever he’d lived before now. The bed was actually massive, swallowing your position that a king size bed was more than large enough. The four posts around it had been stained a dark, ash kind of color over heavily grained wood. A desk sat over against the wall underneath of the one window in the room and while it was stained the same color, carved designs on the drawers and feet were different from the bed frame style. The walls were void of any pictures or art, bit there was enough personal touches scattered around that it pieced together a bit more of the mystery behind the Colonel’s personal life.

“It’s really nice,” Your compliment falls into the room softly, almost like you’re attempting to keep the atmosphere untouched by your presence. “Where’d you get all of your things from?” It wasn’t until after asking that you realized it might be too personal of a question considering his attitude.

He looked around and shrugged. “Antique stores,” He ran a gloved hand over the top of a nightstand next to him. “I liked the idea of fixing things… and I had the knowledge of how to do it.” Your insides twisted in interest at the idea of König being well-versed in woodworking. Images of the massive man knelt down with sandpaper and reaching the smallest nooks in the carved wood. Meticulous. Unwilling to take a shortcut… it made more sense the longer you thought about it. He walked up behind you and rested his hands on your shoulders gently, letting out a deep breath.

“I didn’t… invite you here just for convenience.” He admitted a bit shyly, fingers twitching to squeeze your shoulders just a little harder.

Ah, there it is…

“What did you let me in for?” You reply, turning to look over your shoulder and up at him with a friendly little smile. “Because I know it wasn’t for chocolates on the pillows and breakfast in bed when I wake up.”

Those big, dark, eyes glittered a little. Framing just a small bit of humor in an otherwise dark, painted and highly guarded expression in a well-defended man. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Hs ability to find some softness in an otherwise harsh and cruel world of voluntary service to country. A damn shame he’d found this world instead of another one that would be more welcoming… less bloody… but then again. You’d also found this world too, even if it was your pathway to simple drive into warzones instead of running into them with a rifle and a desire to be the last man standing.

“I need some… help.” He could see the question and concern on your face, but instead of even uttering a single word, he just moves away from you and sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes polarize away from you and down to the gloves that he began struggling to get off with slightly trembling hands.

You debated. Tossing around so many ideas in your head that you began dropping them. Juggling too many problems and possible solutions all at once. Hoping that he would speak up, or give you some sort of help. König wasn’t the best talker. Never had been really, but often he’d give away something that let you in on the issues in his mind. He was a stone wall tonight. Sitting like a marble statue with nothing more than softened eyes looking away from you with a palpable desire for help; yet no ability within himself to say how. The first thing you didn’t like was that he still had on all of that gear. Between the flak jacket with all of his spare mags, the helmet, steel-toed boots, multiple holsters and a slew of other things, there was far too much on him for you to get close enough to finding a crack in that armor.

“Can I?” Stepping closer, and pointing towards his helmet you ask gently, testing his comfort. He just nods, not even willing to look up at you to check what you were even wanting to do.

You unbuckle it carefully, not wanting to tug on his hood and sit it down next to him on the bed. But right as you sit it down, you see him reach up and tug the material off to drop it down inside the helmet. His blonde hair is a mess. A bit sweaty and matted down from a days work, it falls over his forehead and down to his nose. It softens the stark color of black face paint smeared over the whole top half of his face. The process of breaking down the soldier piece-by-piece takes less than five minutes, and that even included a small fight over whether or not you should be allowed to take off his boots due to how “demeaning” he felt it would look to have you kneel down in front of him like that. Thoughtful as you found the idea, you still pointed out he was your superior officer and it only made sense that you take care of the “unimportant” tasks for him. What you really didn’t know what that he watched you unlace his boots with every intention of letting you know that it felt even more intimate than letting you be one of the few people who could see his face in typical circumstances.

“That’s better… right?” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair to try and unstick the hair stuck together with sweat.

He nods. “Ja, viel besser.”

You smile at his German, sitting down next to him close enough that your thigh presses against his and your shoulder rests tightly next to him. “How about you take shower? I think washing off the day might help out a bit.”

König shakes his head no and quickly decides on a better idea. One that ends up with you laying flat on your back and a 6’10 man laying with his head on your stomach and his body nestled between your legs. His arms stay bent by his sides, resting weight on his elbows to resist laying his entire weight on you but his hands palm both sides of your ribs intentionally. His fingertips pressing between the dips of your ribs and the warm exhale of his breaths fanning against your stomach. It feels uncommonly desperate. Sensing the undeniable behavior of a man needing touch. Closeness from another human instead of the victory of a battle alone, or the knowledge that he’d lived another day without dying a horrible death. That thought alone has you wrapping your arms around his head and holding him tightly. Cradling him as well as you can to make him feel safe and protected even though his feet are hanging off the bed. Your heart pinches in regret that you’d not thought of coming to see him sooner. At least defending him in front of the others who’d been hellbent on making him out to be an asshole for having such a rough week.

Fuck.

He’d almost groveled like a puppy on its belly for you to touch him.

“You smell like cinnamon,” He mutters with his mouth slurred in the extra fabric of your shirt. “I like that… reminds me of my mother’s cinnamon rolls.” The memory is audible; softening his words and making that German accent thicker with exhaustion and comfort of being wrapped up in your arms.

You giggle very softly, pushing his hair off his face. “I’m surprised I don’t smell like grease.”

“Nein… du riechst wie zu hause.” His reply is gravelly and warm.

You close your eyes and settle back against the bed. “You know I don’t know German well enough to understand that…” He laughed softly, squeezing your sides with his massive hands.

“Do you think I’m not aware?” A laugh escaped you and as a retaliation you tapped the top of his head in a small, soft, shun. “I like saying things to you in German… it makes saying the truth easier sometimes.”

When his hands slid further under your body to fully encompass your waist, he buried his nose into your stomach and took a deep, relaxed breath. Nuzzling tighter into you and rubbing his face into your shirt like he was attempting to rub his scent and face paint off on your shirt. Neither option sounded the least bit bad. Wishing that he would fully immerse himself in you if it would make him feel better. Ease that misery festering in the back of his mind. Beginning to settle in, you started running your fingertips up and down his back. Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt as you went, and tracing out the defined lines on his shoulder blades and rippled lats stretching over his ribs. Each pass either smoothing the pads of your fingertips, or giving him a slight scratch with blunted nails. Earning some German mutters and contented grumbles vibrating against your stomach.

“Du kilngst… wie ein… bär.” Your German feels quite juvenile, but König’s short huff of amusement gives you enough satisfaction that the lighthearted jab had reached him. He nips at your hip with his teeth, making you jump in surprise and giggle nervously.

“Isn’t there a saying… ‘don’t poke the bear?’.”

“I thought you were a King, not a bear?”

He shakes his head, a little slow on a comeback. “Either way, I’ll prove my dominance.”

You chuckle softly. “Don’t bother, I’m more than content to stay just like this.” You hum, returning to the smooth up and down movement of your hands on his wide expanse of a back.

“I’m happy to stay like this as well,” He mutters, stretching out a bit more. “However, I don’t like where you are.” Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly, you freeze for a moment.

“I can move if you’d like?”

Suddenly a bit nervous that you’d not been playing this situation properly. He shifts a bit, putting more weight back onto his knees with a small grunt before snatching you up far enough to roll you onto your side and settle himself behind you as if you weren’t any bigger than a teddy bear meant for pure comfort and warmth. A muscled and tattooed arm vicegrips your chest and the other arm slides under your head to prop up your head. Instantly turning the role of comfort you’d been happy to provide into a much different situation.

“Can’t do much laying like this.” You protest a bit, attempting to turn over to face him so you can at least return to touching him.

“No, you fit right… shaped to me.” He slurs; tightened his grip and shook his head, resting his nose right in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under your shirt and reaches up far enough to rest his forearm against your chest and make a half-collar around your neck with his hand. He feels hot to the touch, and while you would’ve shied away from any other man touching you in such a way, König doing it felt right. As if there was something connecting you to him other than a simple recognition of the desire for a human connection that wasn’t painful. A different kind of dominance, creating a safe place for himself, but also for you in the way the curve of his hand fit right at the base of your throat.

“Touching you like this… it makes me feel more powerful than any firefight I’ve won.” He states, further resting his upper body against your back. “Like all of the mistakes i’ve made were worth making; just so I could have a moment to feel invincible laying in my own bed.”

It’s deep. Touching. Reaching right down into the bottom of your soul and wrenching it with an iron-grip so warm that you feel a heat rise in your throat.

“That sounds like something you should tell a woman you love, not just me.” You whisper, sliding your own hand under your shirt to hold his hand.

As if he could, he attempts to pull you tighter against him.

“I just did.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated <3

#könig #könig x reader #kortac #konig mw2 #konig cod #anon ask #anon answered #anon <3 #velvetures #velvetures writes #anon request

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seat-safety-switch · 4 months

Text

There is a sort of obsession among a certain kind of car owner with original parts. They want to keep the original engine, no matter how bad things get. They insist upon replacing every busted-ass interior clip, every bit of undertray, the original hood insulation, and even that annoying little spring that flew off into a workshop sometime in the 1970s.

For these folks, "numbers matching" engines are an essential requirement. Any car that's had a new engine thrown into it at the neighbourhood Goodwrench back in the 80s is an abominable, compromised car. They would never do what I do to rebuild a car. My technique is abhorrent to them. What I do is this: I visit the junkyard, find the cheapest motor I think will fit, and then bodge chunks of scrap stolen from the railroad together until it actually fits. Some days, you're lucky if I get an engine of the same make.

All this is to explain why occasionally I have a Soviet tractor engine, or an old mail-truck four-banger, or a small wad of starter motors in an elaborate belt-driven configuration, in the front end of my car. Whatever makes motive power and gets to work: I'm not too picky about "original," because original is what blew up and left the previous owner stranded. I don't owe it anything for being the first one to fuck up.

Now, sure, this does compromise the resale value of my cars a bit. Any collector is going to take a look at a 1978 Plymouth Volare with the approximate mileage of twelve moon missions on it, and decide that the 1976 Slant Six stuck into the engine bay is where all the money leaked out of it. Not at all the old "thin ice" sign that went missing from a nearby lake and is pop-riveted to the floorboard. Not the eight-track player zip-tied into the place where the passenger seat once sat. And certainly, most definitely not, the diesel locomotive turbocharger occupying most of the engine bay.

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vampuplove · 1 month

Text

my tmnt iteration 🐢

yoshi aka splinter found the 4 turtles inside a crashed TCRI truck. the mutagen from broken canisters covered both him and the turtles mutating them. it is implied that when struck by the truck the blow killed yoshi but the mutagen restarted his heart and mended any injuries, reviving him. the turtles aren’t biologically sister as they are of different species and therefore from different clutches. as turtles they had anywhere between months and a day age difference but when mutated it translated into human years explaining the 2 year gap between mikey and leo/raph but the age is estimated and instead of birthday the turtles celebrate their mutation day. splinter eventually discovered an abandoned metro station that was never opened and decided to stay in there as their home. the station had a small cafe area and public restroom and thankfully hasn’t been cut from the city’s power and water grids. april met the turtles when they were 7 and she was 16, splinter left them in an alleyway while looking for food and supplies and april stumbled upon them. at first splinter was really freaked out when he saw april but when he realised she was friendly and didn’t mean no harm they got to know each other and sometimes april would come down to the lair to babysit the turtles while splinter was out. she eventually introduced the turtles to pizza when she brought a box with her and they fell in love with it.

the designs are mid show of sorts that are after the barn arc

leonardo: a bellinger turtle with leatherback sea turtle genes. the eldest and the most aquatic out of all the turtles. likes spending her time swimming in the flooded metro tunnel situated in the centre of their lair. she got a similar virus to what regular bellinger turtles have making her slowly lose her vision as she aged. that did not stop her as she learned to rely on her other sense and acquired a 6th sense of sorts to help her get around. her blindness doesn’t hinder her in combat and actually makes her more capable of moving around in the dark than her sisters but still she cannot see faces so instead she maps them out in her mind by touching them with her hands to memorise them. she has shell cell just like everyone else except it is modified to show in braille. in her free time she enjoys listening to music or audio books and if her sisters are around listening to tv while one of them describes the action on the screen. she has physical hatsune miku memorabilia like figures and plushies that she can touch. leo can still see in blurs of colour but no matter what donnie tried she couldnt help her vision. she is self conscious of the scars given to her by shredder and tries to cover them with a hood. while still agile and strong she has issues with her right knee and wears a knee brace. her element is the ocean waves

raphael: a red crowned turtle with cherryhead tortoise genes. she is the second eldest. she is the worst swimmer but makes up for it in physical strength. the piece of her plastron was cracked during an accident while they were small and the lore for the gold tooth is yet to be decided. the flame carving on her plastron was made by mikey. she is extremely protective of her sister and although gets jealous by assuming that leo is splinter’s favourite still loves her very much. has a tortoise named spike a small brine shrimp tank. she was the first to meet casey and thought back against her drunk father. her element is flame

donatello: a painted turtle with softshell turtle genes. she is the middle child and spends most of her time in her lab. she built the heat lamp above the sitting area where her and her sisters like to bask and relax after a long day. her shell was crushed by rocksteady and bebop but fortunately with leatherheads helped bring her back with a new metal carapace to replace her old on. sarcastic and cool headed, her personality resembling 87 raph. her love language is random niche gadgets. she is the next most aquatic after leo and sometimes joins leo for a swim. her element is lightning

michelangelo: the most creative out of all of them and has a lot of hobbies ranging between art and crafts to cooking and skateboarding. is the glue of the family with a spunky attitude and quick thinking. although the worst fighter out of her family she still can handle herself in a fight. has an orange tabby cat she named klunk that she found while looking for scraps at a junkyard. she can be a little absent minded but she is definitely not unintelligent and takes great offence to anyone babying her. her element is constellations

#tmnt #tmnt fandom #tmnt iteration #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt au #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt donatello #vampuplove’s tmnt #tmnt art #tmnt design

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thesightstoshowyou · 2 months

Note

I....I want...period sexxx with the evil bug dilf...please... *offers a tribute*

Damn, I literally cannot believe I haven’t written this before now. Asa is perfect for period sex. Tribute accepted.

Also requested:

Let’s combine ‘em.

Downpour

Asa Emory (The Collector) x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Dubcon elements, established “relationship,” period sex and blood obviously, cunnilingus, D/s dynamics, degradation, Asa doesn’t know what aftercare is, yes I’m obsessed with that jean jacket and work pants outfit he wears at the end of the Collection.

The sky opens up a block from home. Ferocious rainfall soaks you to the bone in seconds and collects in the plastic grocery bag you carry. You jog up the sidewalk as fast as you dare in the torrent, your boots slapping through puddles that wet your jeans until they cling and chill your flesh.

You almost don’t see the truck through the downpour, but when you spot the old Ford parked in front of your house, you skid to a stop, rain all but forgotten. Heart now hammering frantically in your chest, you squint and find the cab empty. A glance at your porch does not reveal any hooded figures awaiting your arrival.

He’s already inside, then.

How he keeps getting in is beyond you. There are two deadbolts on your front door, you don’t keep a spare key hidden outside, and you are meticulous about locking all your windows before you leave for work. Still, this does nothing to deter him. If you asked how he does it, you’re certain he wouldn’t tell you. Your “relationship” does not involve this kind of conversation.

Swallowing thickly, you tentatively take the last few steps up your front walk. The old porch stairs creak under your feet and your palm slips on the dripping handle when you twist. The front door swings open with a squeal.

He left it unlocked for you.

The noisy deluge outside quiets when you shut the door behind you. The inside of your home is near silent, save for the rain pummeling the shingles and the clock ticking on the wall. What you can see of your living room is illuminated by the warm glow from a single lamp, its soft light shining directly on the chair beneath it.

As you strip off your soaked coat and shoes, thick water droplets audibly splattering to the floor, your eyes locate the dark hair of the motionless man resting in the chair, his back to you. The slither of paper—pages turning in a book—is audible in the relative silence.

“You’re late,” his gravelly voice announces. He still doesn’t turn to you.

“Had to stop by the store,” you murmur, doing your best to keep the annoyance out of your tone. If you had known he was here, you could have let him know you’d be late. But, you have yet to even learn his phone number.

You say none of this, however, your gaze instead falling to the little bag now dripping onto the floorboards. The corner of the package within glistens in the low light, having met a similar sopping fate as the rest of you. How are you going to break the news to him that he came all this way for nothing?

“Uh, Asa—

Abruptly, Asa clears his throat and stands, the book in his hand dropping to the side table with a quiet thud. Reading glasses follow with a clatter. Your eyes trace his back and you see he is wearing a jean jacket and tan work pants, like one would wear while working outdoors. Field work must be part of his job at the University.

Finally, he turns to face you. The look smoldering in his dark eyes forces all the air from your lungs. Any speculation of who he is beyond what you know of him vanishes, replaced by the prickling of your skin. Broad shoulders nearly fill your narrow entryway as Asa stalks toward you. It takes all your remaining willpower not to shrink back against the door like a frightened animal. Christ, he scares you, but….

Your heart leaps into your throat when he drops his glittering gaze to the bag at your feet. At least now you won’t have to tell him. He’ll spot the package of pads and work out for himself that your time of the month has arrived, and then he’ll leave, thoroughly repulsed.

Asa’s chest rapidly expands in a quick inhale. Slowly, his gaze creeps back to yours. The room seems to lurch and your stomach drops from the intensity in his stare. That’s not disappointment you find in his eyes.

All at once, he invades your space and this time you do stumble back against the door. Warm, calloused palms slip under your top to possessively grasp your waist and his lips are inches from your own when you utter a breathy, “Wait, I’m on my—

The words die on your tongue when Asa draws back slightly. His predatory expression freezes you in place and the fingers on your waist dig irritably into your skin. Deep in your belly, heat blossoms until your thighs ache with want.

Yes, he scares you, but his uncanny ability to drive you wild with need overrides all fear.

“Did I tell you to speak?” he asks, his tone colder than ice.

Hastily, you shake your head. You squeak out a “No, Sir,” when Asa raises a scarred eyebrow. You’re going to end up with some new marks if you keep fucking up.

His jaw tenses before he dives back in to claim your mouth in a bruising kiss. He swallows your surprised gasp as his fingers deftly work your rain-soaked pants open. Asa startles you when he kneels and rips your pants and underwear off your legs with one, quick yank.

His impatience is palpable as he lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder and immediately dives in to drag his tongue along your bleeding slit. You choke on a cry, your fingers flying to his crown. They hover there, centimeters from digging into his hair and you thank whatever deity is watching over you that you hadn’t touched him. The punishment that would have earned you….

Asa sucks your clit into his mouth, his hum of approval derailing all thought. Your hands raise over your head to grip the transom frame for balance while his own hand presses against your chest, fingers splaying out to keep you still. He laps at you with fervor, like the scarlet dribbling down your thighs is the first meal he’s had in days. Your hips roll in time with his tongue, your moans rising in pitch as you inch closer and closer to the edge.

Hearing it in your voice and feeling it in the way your thighs quiver, Asa snaps out a strained, “Cum. Now.” You can’t even respond, your tongue losing its ability to form words when your eyes roll back in your head. Pleasure rolls through your belly, tidal waves of ecstasy.

“Fffffuck-fuck-fuck-fuck—t-thank you, thank you Sir,” you whisper through the haze, barely remembering your manners. Asa instantly jumps to his feet, fingers now tearing open his own pants. Across his mouth violent red is smeared, like a lion who just tore into a fresh kill.

For a moment, you are bewildered. You’ve never been with anyone who was willing to eat you out on your period, let alone with such unbridled enthusiasm. Indeed, he seems more eager than usual to engage in his weekly habit of fucking you stupid. The thought makes your toes curl.

You are not given long to ponder before Asa lifts you clean off your feet to pin you to the door with his body weight. You wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he grips handfuls of your ass and lines his cock up with your slippery entrance.

He surges forward, instantly burying himself to the hilt in your cunt. The resulting shriek is muffled by his shoulder. Your overfilled, overstretched muscles spasm and ache, your back arching in an attempt to ease the hurt.

Asa grunts and his teeth find your ear to coo, “Oh, did that hurt?” You can hear the smile in his voice, but can only respond with a strangled whine. Asshole—

Your knuckles blanch, such is the grip on his shirt when he viciously snaps his hips. A groan slips from your gritted teeth because, god it hurts, but you’re also certain you’ll die if he stops. Your slick hole, wetted by blood and arousal squelches with every sharp thrust and fills the entryway with the debauched sound of your need.

In your ear, Asa pants. Your lips find bare skin at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. It’s difficult to kiss him with the wanton moans and mewls spilling unchecked from your mouth, so you just scream them into his flesh instead. Pain is a memory. Only mounting ecstasy remains.

“I think you like bleeding all over me,” Asa growls, his bared teeth set against your ear. His words send you barreling dangerously close to the precipice all at once, almost too fast to stop.

“Sir, p-please!” you cry, your voice tight, every muscle in your body seized to keep you from climaxing without permission.

A breathy chuckle greets your plea, followed by a snide, “Already?” When you squeal in desperation, he relents. “If you must.”

You careen off the peak, molten pleasure rippling through your gut and setting your skin ablaze. “Thank you, Sir,” leaves you as a relieved groan. Appreciation for his mercy takes top priority, after all.

Your blissful reprieve is short-lived; you realize too late that Asa is still rock hard within you. A yelp leaves your panting mouth when he rips his cock from your still twitching channel and all but drops you on the floor. You’re flipped onto your front, hips lifted, face smashed into wood by a wide palm on your cheek. He’s back inside you so quickly your dazed mind hardly registers the change.

Then, you’re screaming all over again as Asa hammers you into the floor. The wet slap of bloody skin reverberates off the narrow walls while your fingers scrabble for purchase along the floorboards. Your palms slip in puddles left behind by your drenched clothes, so Asa’s fingers dig into the meat of your hip to keep you in place.

He leans over you, his frame covering yours to growl near your ear, “We worked on this last week. Let’s see how much you retained. To whom to you belong?”

“Y-You, Sir!” you whimper.

“And what are you?”

“A-a—fuck—receptacle for S-Sir’s cum.”

He hums in response, his tone dripping with condescension. “So there is something going on in that empty little head.” You grit your teeth and whine, his words making you leak down your thighs despite their cruelty.

Much to your chagrin, Asa’s brand of mean is your drug of choice.

He straightens and begins to tense behind you, his pace never losing its ferocity. The twitching of his cock heralds the warmth that fills your cunt, but it’s the strained groan he utters that nearly makes you sob with appreciation. Asa’s vocalizations are so rare, each one seems like a gift from above.

You sigh and express your gratitude for his cum. When he slips from your battered slit, you slump into the sticky puddle of blood and spend that has formed on the floor. That’s a problem for the future, you decide. For now, you’ll catch your breath and bathe contentedly in the post-pleasure haze.

Silently, Asa stands and steps over you. Each boot fall rattles the wood on which your cheek still rests. You hear water running in the sink, then the rustling of clothing being righted. You wonder how much of a mess you made of those tan pants.

You roll on your side as he returns. Without a word, he strides past you and dons his raincoat, pulling the hood up over his head. Hinges squeal and the smell of rain billows into your entryway, carried on a cool breeze. He doesn’t so much as glance over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him.

With a groan, you let your head fall back against the floor with a quiet thunk. Outside, a truck engine rumbles to life and roars off down the street. Now, there is silence once more, save for the ticking clock on the wall and the downpour rattling the shutters.

#this is my birthday present to myself and I’m sharing it with all of you #dont say I never did anything for you #asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector 2009 #the collection #the collector x reader #thesightstoshowyou

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bitchyglitterfox · 1 year

Text

Saviors - Sinclair Brothers x F!Reader

Warnings: abuse but not from the Sinclairs, murder, language used against reader, Bo being out of character. Fluff, let me know if I missed anything.

A/n: this is possibly the second longest one-shot I've ever written besides petals and bullets. I hope you all like this one.

...

You, your two friends, well they were technically your boyfriend's friends and said boyfriend had decided that driving from California to Florida to go to Disney world would be cheaper and way more fun than flying. What a dumb idea that was. Your clock read just after midnight and you've made it just forty miles out of Baton Rouge when your back left tire blew on your Volkswagen minibus.

"Fuck," you moan out as you gently pull to the side of the empty road.

"What? What happened?" The sudden jolt from the blow tire woke everyone including your easily irritated boyfriend, Ben.

"I think we blew a tire so I pulled over," you say un buckling your seat belt just as you turned the key in the ignition. You open your door, the Louisiana air is sticky and wet. Of all the places to break down it had to be here.

You stop next to your back left tire and inspect it, a rusted nail sticks out of the tire as it slowly deflates. You begin mumbling swears as you open the back of the minibus searching for the spare you are more the positive you replaced when the front tire blew six months ago.

"Fucking damnit!" You place both hands in your hair giving a frustrated tug.

had already gotten out at this point and was standing next to you, his voice making you jump.

"I asked you if you had put the spare back in, god do you always have to be so stupid!" He slams his fist against the side of the minibus.

His anger makes you feel small, if there hadn't been people in the bus he would have punched you instead of the bus.

"I-I could have sworn I put it in," you say barely above a whisper.

"Yeah? You thought? Well you didn't and now we're stuck out here in bumfuck Louisiana!"

"Hey, what's going on?" Rebecca rubs the sleep out of her eyes.

"Y/n forgot to replace the spare tire and now we're stranded here til morning when another person probably comes down this road."

You look down ashamed, reaching out to grab the camping gear and flashlight. You head off the road and just want to set up camp and sleep. You've been the only one driving for the last couple of days.

"Come on let's just set up camp so we can all sleep and hopefully get help in the morning. 0 on, let's find level ground." You don't want to make Ben any madder than he already is.

Everyone gets out of the van and follows behind you with sleeping bags and backpacks, in case someone stumbled upon the bus and decided to have some sticky fingers.

Once you're all settled, you finally turn in for bed. Ben, still angry and annoyed, decided to sleep next to Rebecca and her boyfriend, leaving you alone near a tree stump. You let the tears flow freely from your tears. None of you noticed the truck slowly driving past with their lights off or the man that got out and took the spark plugs.

…

When the sun begins to rise you peek your eyes open and see everyone has already begun packing up camp, it seems they forgot to wake you. It's silent. Not the friendly enjoyable silence, no this silence is awkward, as thick as the Louisiana humidity.

You walk back to the minibus, packing everything up as they all wait for a car as they lean up against the bus. Maxwell, Rebecca's boyfriend, opens the side of the bus to sit half inside and half out.

You decide to turn the keys in the ignition to at least getting the inside of the bus cool. But to your surprise the ignition does turn over.

"What the fuck is wrong now," you groan getting back out of the car and popping the hood, "where the fuck are the spark plugs?!"

You slam the hood shut and walk over towards the trio standing outside the bus.

"Who took the spark plugs out of the bus?"

"What are you talking about?" Ben asks giving you an annoyed look.

"The sparks are missing, did you guys hear anything last night?" You ask again looking around the three of them.

However just before you can get your answer a truck comes round the bend. It's an old beat up pick up. The driver slows and stops just before you guys.

"Well howdy there? Whatch y'all doing out here so early in the mornin'?" He's a scrawny man with a cute dog in the bed and you think that makes him all the more attractive too you.

"Oh well we-" you're cut off by Ben.

"Well my girlfriend here, she blew a tire and seemed to forget to get a new one. She also says she's missing her sparks but you know how women are with cars," he says roughly slamming his arm over your shoulder, making you flinch. The stranger's eyes flickered to you softening for just a moment before going back to a stoic look and staring at Ben.

"I see well, I can take you to Ambrose, it's just 12 miles up the road, my brother owns a mechanic shop and he should be able ta help yall with yours problem. Only this is I only got room for two of ya's," he says rubbing his chin.

"Why doesn't Y/n go? It is her car after all," Rebecca says looking at you.

"I'll go too right babe? Can't have you going alone," Ben says, squeezing your shoulder painfully, you have to bite your lip from crying out.

And so you and Ben pile into who you all found out to be Lester Sinclair. He was the youngest of three.

"So where y'all from anyway? Don't seem like locals round these here parts,"

"Oh well-"

"Were from California, driving cross country this summer to go and see disney world"

You stay quiet now and just look down at your lap. You don't feel like getting Ben angry once again.

Lester looks at you from the corner of his eyes. Planning on ways to make your boyfriend shut up and let you speak for once. He had this overwhelming sense to protect you. Don't go thinking that healing black eye and the way you flinch any time that no good asshole would touch you.

that. But why did yall choose to drive and not fly? Seems like you'd saved some time flying?"

"Yeah well it seemed fun at the time until this one had to go and get the tire popped" Ben says annoyed.

"Well shit, I forgot the roads flooded. We may have to go the long way." Lester says stopping in front of the road that leads into Ambrose.

"Oh that's OK! We can walk from here, that way you don't have to worry about going an extra way," you say, smiling up at him with a genuine smile. He smiles back at you but doesn't miss the scowl on your boyfriend's face.

You wave at Lester after you've both exited the truck, you give jonesy a rub behind her ears and head over to the little step stones that have taken place in the washed out road.

"Come on, the faster we get into town the quicker we can get the shit we need and on the road again," Ben said, grabbing your arm and pulling you hard. He drags you all the way to the mechanics shop. He knocks on the front door.

"Hello! We were told you were open and could help us!" Ben yells.

…

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Bo was on the back roads talking with Lester.

"She needs our help, he doesn't treat her right neither. She's got a healing black eye and every time he touched her she flinches, and you should've seen her, she's finer than frogs' hair split four ways,"

"Hmm, and you say she's got two other with 'er? Well bring them back to Vin and he can take care of them while I go and help our visitors. You grab them sparks and hide them in the house, right?"

Lester shakes his head headed back into his truck to get Rebecca and her boyfriend.

…

Back at the shop, Ben was getting impatient and you were bored.

"I'm gonna go explore, since I'm just a woman and wouldn't know anything about cars right?"

"You don't have to be such a bitch you know," he huffs.

"Well you are such an asshole, after this all over and we're in Florida, I'm going to drop you all off and head home, beauce this," you say pointing between yourself and him, "is over. For good this time."

He back hands you hard enough to draw blood from your lip that his fist made contact with.

"Fuck you Ben!" You screech, "find your own ways to Florida you fuckwad" you walk away up towards the house of wax wanting to clear your mind and maybe have a good cry.

You are amazed when you make it up the hill to the beautiful building, only realizing as you got to the front that the architecture was made entirely of wax. You gently pushed open the door and stepped inside, giving yourself your own guided tour of the house.

Everything was beautiful and the little intimate details intrigued you.

"These look so life like, the artist must have such magical hands," you say in a hushed voice as though you were in an art museum and let's be honest here you really were.

Hiding in the shadows, watching you as you gushed on and on about his art work was Vincent Sinlair, the middle son of the Sinclair brothers and the artist behind the house of wax.

His eye stared at you as though you were a beautiful piece of art that needed to be taken care of and looked after. He silently followed you around like a lost puppy.

Once you finished admiring the art work and decided enough time had passed and Ben more than likely got the parts needed to get back on the road. You walk towards the exit when the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You peak over your shoulder and you are more than certain you saw a flash of long raven hair.

…

Back at the mechanic shop just after you had left Bo's voice was heard booming from inside.

"Hold your fuckin' horses, I could hear you banging like all hell!" He opens the door with a scowl on his face, Bo hopes to see you there as well. With the way Lester was talking you up he was excited to see the beauty that was you. But alas you were there, only you annoyed looking boyfriend.

"Whatchu need?" Bo asks, folding his arms over his chest.

"My girlfriend's minibus has a popped tire and missing sparks. We need them as soon as you can give them to us. And I can make the pot sweeter," Ben says, pulling out a $100 from his wallet. You see Ben, Rebecca and Maxwell were silver spoon babies, you were lower middle class.

"Well I'll be damned. As much as I'd like to take you up on your offer, I'll have to check in our basement to see if we have them. Why don't you come with and we can work out the price," Bo says, making room for Ben to come in through the door. Ben walks in further into the shop not paying any attention to where Bo had moved. Rookie mistake. Bo hits him over the head and Ben is out cold.

When Ben wakes he is secured to an old barber chair under a grate in what he assumed to be the mechanic shop. He's gagged and wiggling trying to escape. He's screaming but nothing comes out.

…..

When you make it to the mechanic shop, you try the door and are happy to see it's finally open.

"Hello! Is anyone here? Ben! Where are you, you still here?" You ask out walking around, fingerings all the different products on the walls.

"Why hello there darlin'" you jump at the sudden voice behind you. You are greeted with quite the sight, a gorgeous man with a trucker hat and mechanic overalls.

"H-hi! I um, I'm looking for the guy I was with, he came here to get a new tire and spark plugs. Have you seen him?" You can feel a blush creeping up your neck. Curse your affinity for getting nervous about gorgeous men talking to you and making you lose all sense of yourself.

"That one fella with the permanent annoyed look? Yeah, I sent him on up to our house, we didn't have the right type or sparks here so I sent him up there to get help from my twin Vincent. I could take you up there if you want or you could wait here?" He says while taking his hat off and running his hand through his damp hair. It makes him look all the more attractive to you.

You smile at him, "is your brother the one who made the art in the house of wax by chance?"

"That he is ma'am, that he is. He's our own lil family artist," he says showing off his award winning smirk, now how about we get you on up to your friend? Maybe even get some food in yall too. You must be hungry." Just as the words left his mouth your stomach growled causing you to blush and wrap your arms around your noisy tummy.

You smile at him. You've smiled more around these two strangers than you ever had in your entire relationship with Ben.

"Of course, please lead the way," you follow after him and to his pick up truck, this one much nicer than the one you previously rode in only hours before. The silence on the drive to the house is silent but peaceful.

You get a better peak at him as he drives, he's attractive and knows it. His hands are big and veiny. Suddenly you are having thoughts about how they'd feel between-woah there y/n you have a boyfriend. Wait wait no you don't you broke it off with the fuckwad. Yes continue with the thought of his fingers in between your thighs as he moves them in and out of your-

"Doll?" Bo lays his hand on your shoulder startling you.

"Yes?" The blood rushes to your cheeks and head almost making you dizzy.

"I said we're here now," he says while fixing his hat and getting out of the truck.

"Oh." You peep out as you follow him into the house. It's beautiful, it's very homey and definitely has the feel that three grown men live here.

"I'll get started on some lunch for you" he says walking to the kitchen as you stand awkwardly in the living room.

There are footsteps heard coming up from what can be assumed is the basement. When the door opens you are met with a beautiful sight, a man appears sporting long black hair, half up in a mini bun. He's wearing a wax made mask. He was beautiful.

"Wow you are beautiful," you say out loud.

He head snaps towards you and he then signs 'Thank you' you smile, you took a few ASL classes in high school.

"Are you the one who made all the beautiful sculptures in the wax museum?"

'Yes, did you like them?' He signed again.

"I didn't just like them, I loved them! You have such a beautiful talent!"

'Would you like to see more?' He signs, 'I have just finished one at the workshop I have in the basement of the house of wax,'

"I would love to, but I'm only in town until my minibus is fixed. It would've been a great honor to see it though!"

Just ask he was about to reply, Bo is calling you both to the dining room table.

…

The 3 of you are enjoying a wonderful meal when it's interrupted by the front door being slammed open. All three of your heads look towards and see Ben.

"B-ben!" You stand abruptly.

"Get the fuck away from them y/n! They are a bunch of freaks!"

Neither man speaks as they are stiff as a board.

"What do you mean? They've been nothing but nice to me this entire time," you say staying put.

"That one locked me up in some torture device!" He says pointing to Bo, causing you to look at him, "I think they're the ones behind the missing sparks and blown tire," this causes you to slightly step back.

"Now darlin' it ain't what you think, ok maybe it is," Bo begins looking at Vincent for help.

"Get the fuck over here now, so help me. Don't be fucking stupid!" Ben says.

"What did you say?" You look at him. Without you even realizing, you subconsciously grabbed the knife on the table. You don't even realize what your doing until you hear Bo say "don't go at the throat or head. Vinny needs those intact."

"I am so sick of you abusing me and belittling me! I am so sick of it!" You scream.

"You wanna stay with the freaks you crazy bitch? Fine you do that but dont you ever forget who owns you." He says stepping back away from the three of you. "You don't own me, you've never owned me!" You land the first blow in his stomach twisting the blade. You don't stop until Bo is pulling you off of him. Holding you close to his chest as Vincent wipes away the tears that have begun to fall. You're free, you're finally free of the abuse.

"We'll always protect you doll, always." Bo says as he holds you close and kisses the top of your head.

#bitchyglitterfox writes #house of wax x reader #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x you #sinclair brothers x reader #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #slashers x reader #slashers #house of wax #house of wax imagine

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nox140497 · 4 months

Text

Jason?

BACKGROUND: The reader was Jasons best friend and partner and was kidnapped with Jason and forced to watch the Joker beat him to death.

SUMMERY: After having to watch your best friend and partner beaten to a bloody pulp by a psyco clown and blown up, not being able to do anything to save him, the reader gets thrown out a small window, only big enough for her to fit, before the explosion and then saved by Batman and returned to the batcave. She continues to work with Batman and Nightwing and helps to. train Tim to be the new Robin so that he would not end up the same way Jason did.

WARNING: The characters may be slightly ooc, and my timeline is probably really wrong, but I don't have wifi at the moment, so I can't make sure if the timeline is really rediculously long. Sory.

Oh yea and ------ means line break

WORLD COUNT:1120.

Masterlist

Prompt List

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

I am Sparrow a.k.a Y/N L/N. I am one of Batmans allies. I used to be the partner, love interest and best friend to the second Robin a.k.a Jason Todd. However that all changed when we were kidnapped by the Joker while we were on patrol one night. He forced me to watch him beat my best friend to a bloody pulp. Batman was able to save me, because Jay threw me out a window,but Jason wasn't as lucky.

I still blame myself.

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

It's been about a year since I was forced to watch Joker brutally beat my best friend and partner Jason Todd to death. In this time, Batman a.k.a Bruce Wayne has taken on another Robin by the name of Tim Drake.

At first, I was really upset about the fact that Bruce had taken on another Robin as I saw it as him replacing Jason, and I knew Jason would see it like that as well. After a while, though, I realised that Robin grounds Batman in some weird way.

I had noticed that after every Robin that he lost, Dick having quit as the first one, and Jason had.....died, that the Bat became more brutal. Having a Robin by his side made him more mellow in a way.

So I made a decision that even thogh I wasn't his partner and I now worked mostly alone much like Dick, now Nightwing, does, that I would help train the new little bird so that the chance of him ending up like Jason would be slimmer.

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

We had formed a bond in the past couple months, a bond much like Dick and I had. Tim was like a brother to me, and all the bad guys in Gothem knew by now that I was very protective of my siblings, whether it be the older one or the younger one.

Anyway theres this new guy that appeared in Gothem a few months ago. He really likes annoying Batman. He's an anti hero named Red hood. He seems so fimiliar in a way but I can't figure out why. He seems so angry though, and under all that anger I can tell that he is hurting, broken in a way.

Don't ask me how I can tell, I just can.

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

I was on patrol with Batman and his other birds. I was standing on a random rooftop listening to Batgirl and Nightwing bicker about something through the earpiece in my ear, I swear those two bicker like an old married couple, when I heard an almost silent thud behind me. I didn't think anything about it as the only ones who could do that so silatlntly were the Dark Knight himself and his birds.

I did, however, spin around when there was a soft but deep chuckle from behind me.

"Redhood." I breathed. I know I should have been scared, but for some reason, I felt safe in his presence.

"Hello, little birdie." He said. This guy was so rediculously familiar.

"What can I do for ya, Hoodie?" I asked calmly.

"I needed to talk to you alone." He said, his voice seeming to warm slightly and slightly nervous. I wonder why 'cause I know he isn't scared of me. I mean, seriously, this guy is at least twice my size, built like a truck and freakishly tall. He could seriously hurt me if he wanted to.

"Well then talk, you have my full attention, dear Hoodie." I said, removing the earpiece for a while and acting like I wasn't freaking out a bit.

He removed the helmet, leaving him in just a red mask that looked like the ones we birds wore.

My eyes widened and filled with tears under my mask as I recognized the face under that rmask, granted slightly older but still the same.

"J-Jason." I wispered weakly.

"Hi beautiful." He said softly.

"H-how?" My voice was weak and barely audable as I spoke to the boy I loved, the boy I thought was dead.

"Ras Al Ghul and his Lazarus pit."( SPELLING??)

I nodded weakly and stared at him for a minute. Suddenly, I lunged at him and threw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, nuzzeling my face into his chest as he held me just as tightly.

"I missed you so much." I sobbed softly into his chest.

"I missed you too, my love." He said quietly.

We stood and chatted on that rooftop for a while, catching up, when I suddenly I heard a slight beep. I looked down at the earpiece that I had put in one of the pouches in my utility belt and put it back in my ear, and answered it.

"What's up, Blue Bird?" I asked as I knew it was Dick who wanted me.

"Bruce wanted me to let you know that Redhood has been spotted in that area of Gothem." He informed me, and I could hear the concern in his voice.

I looked at Jason with an amused smile on my face.

"Yea, no kidding." I muttered.

"What was that n/n?" Dick asked.

Nothing, I'm almost done anyway. See ya in a bit, Blue Bird." I said.

"Alright, please be careful." He said.

Jason looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" I asked softly. He just smiled at me.

"So what now?" He asked me. I looked at him and smiled.

"I don't suppose you want to go back to the Batcave to speak to Bruce, huh." I asked with a soft sigh.

"Not particularly, no." He sighed and looked at me with pleading eyes.

"Jaybird, I'm not gonna force you to do something that you don't want to do, but I really think you should at least talk to him. Talk this out with him. It might make you feel a little better if you hear his side of the story. You know how he is. He might not show it very often, but he really does care about us kids." I said, hoping that he would agree to come with me to the Cave.

"I don't know, Babe. He never really cared for me much, I mean, look how fast he replaced me." He said almost sadly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jay. He loves you. He just doesn't show it that often. And he only replaced you because 1) Tim offered (*cough* demanded *cough*) because he saw how brutal Bruce became and 2) Batman needs a Robin for that exact reason, and besides Tim isn't your replacement and nobody thinks he is." I said.

"Fine." He sighed.

I smiled happily and pulled him along behind me as I took off towards the Batcave.

#batman #red hood #nightwing #robin #bruce wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n

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f9clementine · 4 months

Text

"Spark Plugs"

pairing: mechanic!Chan x afab reader // genre: fluff // words: 1.5k // warnings: just swearing.

Note: y’all… idk how to fix a car at all. I shamelessly call my Dad the minute something’s acting up in mine. So if you know how car’s work, just suspend that knowledge for a bit.

With a deep sigh, you slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the road, the brakes on your old truck screeching as you did. You quickly threw on the hazards and pulled the switch for the hood before hopping out of the cab. Immediately, the hot summer sun began to beat down on you, sweat perking along your hairline, but you were determined.

You unlatch the hood, pushing it all the way up to get a better look at the engine. You scan over it, frowning as you had no idea what you were looking at. But a quick glance up at the empty road next to you as well as the completely barren fields to your left and your right let you know you were on your own with this.

You pulled your phone out, glancing at the clock before you unlocked it. “I got time,” you mumbled, opening youtube and pulling up the video you had been watching the night before: ‘Replacing Your Spark Plugs.’ You hit play and began to get to work, listening intently to the instructions.

It took a half hour, along with some colorful swears when you accidentally smacked yourself with the plug socket you retrieved from the cab, but you’d done it. The spark plugs sat revealed in the engine, ready to be replaced.

You wiped a stray drop of sweat from your cheek, then grimaced when you realized you’d manage to smear some grease there instead. “I can clean up later,” you told yourself, focusing instead on the task at hand and reaching into the engine with the plug socket again.

It was a little arduous, but with a final tug you pulled a spark plug loose, emerging from the hood victorious with it in your (absolutely filthy holy shit) hands. You took a few steps back, looking at the spark plug for a minute. It didn’t look like it needed to be replaced, to be honest; it wasn’t brand new but there was minimal wear and tear. It should still work just fine.

To any mechanic worth their salt, it would give you away in a split second.

You turned to the field you were closest to, pulling your arm back before letting the spark plug fly. You calmly watched as it sailed through the air before landing somewhere in the field, and leaving you stranded on the side of the road.

You nodded, proud of yourself before turning back to your truck. You picked up your phone, the youtube video finished up as the instructor congratulated you on successfully changing the parts on your vehicle before you closed the app and looked at the time. Your heart suddenly began to race, realizing the time you thought you had was almost up.

Moving quickly, you put everything back the way you found it (sans spark plug, of course). Right when you tossed the wrench behind your seat, you could see the jet black car on the horizon, heading your way. Right on time. Places, everyone.

The 1970 Ford Mustang slowed to a stop next to your truck, the driver side window already down. “Hey neighbor, you having car issues?” Chan called out, lifting his sunglasses to sit on the top of his head.

You pulled back from where you had been leaning over your engine, flashing him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, she just stopped and I can’t figure out why.”

“One second.”

You watched as he pulled his car to your side of the road, parking in front of you on the shoulder before hopping out and joining you by your truck.

“You just have the worst luck, huh?” Chan lightly teased, looking over your engine next to you. “First your water heater, and now this.”

You hoped your ‘I’m so embarrassed’ giggle was believable. “Someone has it out for me, I guess.”

“Well, unluckily for them, you have me.” You were glad he was focused on your truck now, missing the way your cheeks suddenly burned- and not from the heat. “Can I see your keys?”

You nodded, pointing to the cab of the truck. “They’re in the ignition.”

“Perfect, give me a second.” Chan moved around you, lifting himself into the driver’s seat. You took a step back from the engine, listening as he tried to start the engine. After a few tries, he rejoins you. “Well, it’s not the battery and you’re not out of gas.” He mumbled the last part to himself, dark eyes darting back and forth as he tried to think what could’ve happened.

“Maybe it’s your-” He stopped as he looked over at you, frowning for a second before reaching for his back pocket. “Don’t move.” He commanded and you froze. You watched as he pulled a red bendana from his back pocket, stepping up to you before gently rubbing it against your cheek. “You’ve got grease on your face.” His other hand gently grasped your chin, directing your face to turn a little.

You really hoped he couldn’t feel how heavily your heart was pounding against your ribs.

“There we go- all clean and pretty again.” Chan pulled away, repocketing his bandana and you were grateful since you were definitely on the edge of passing out.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You finally managed to wheeze out, simultaneously glad you had your space but missing how right his fingers had felt on your skin.

Chan grinned at you again before returning his attention to the broken vehicle in front of you. “But I think maybe it’s your starter or it’s your alternator… but I won’t know until I can really look at it. I can call Changbin to come tow you to the garage, if you’d like?” He offered and you nodded.

“That would be amazing, please.”

Chan nodded, reaching for his other pocket to pull his phone out. “How long were you out here for?”

You shrugged, “Oh, not long. I only got off work about maybe an hour ago?”

Chan stopped and looked up at you, brows furrowed slightly. “You were out here for an hour? Did you call anyone?”

You blinked, suddenly realizing the hole in your plan. “Uh…” You hummed, searching quickly for an acceptable answer. “I thought maybe I could figure it out myself?” You timidly answered, unable to keep eye contact with him. “I was about to call my dad, though.”

“The one that’s over two thousand miles away?”

You groaned and scuffed your tennis shoe across the ground, “I figured he could tell me over the phone or something.”

Chan let out a laugh, selecting a contact on his phone and hitting the call button. “Next time, just call me. It’s a good thing I left the garage at a decent time today, or else you’d probably be waiting for help until nightfall.” The ringing stopped, Changbin’s loud ‘hello?’ interrupting Chan. “Hey, Changbin! Y/n’s truck broke down. Can you bring the tow to the road leading up to my place?” He paused, nodding as you could hear Changbin responding, but unable to make it out. “Yeah, that one. And then put it in a bay so I can take a look at it tomorrow… Perfect, thanks man.”

He hung up, sliding his phone back into his pocket before pulling the hood of your truck down. “Alright, so that’s taken care of. I’ll give you a lift home, obviously.” He leaned on the hood, tilting his head a little as he frowned, thinking. “I’ll give you a ride to work tomorrow, too.”

“Oh, uh,” You held your hands up, shaking your head. “I’m actually off tomorrow, luckily. But thank you for the offer.”

“Gotta be thankful for small miracles, at least.” He stood up straight, nodding his head toward his car. “Let’s get you home and out of this heat.” He took a step and you began to follow before he stopped, turning to look at you again, a slight frown pulling at this full lips. “I wonder if it’s your spark plugs, maybe?”

Oh shit- play dumb, Y/n.

“What’s a spark plug?”

Chan let out a loud laugh as he ushered you to his car with a hand on the small of your back before opening the door for you. “Y/n, I gotta tell you, you’re too cute sometimes.” Once again, you thought you were going to die as you slid into the passenger seat, ignoring how the leather seats were already sticking to your bare skin.

Chan was still giggling as he came around the driver side, getting in himself. He grasped the keys, about to start the ignition before suddenly leaning over. You froze as you felt his soft lips brushing against your cheek, so dangerously close to the corner of your lips as he pulled away.

“The next time you want my attention, pretty girl, you don’t have to sabotage your truck for it.”

He turned the engine of the mustang right then, the car roaring to life under you and drowning out your stammers before Chan shifted into first gear, pulling back onto the road as he continued to grin proudly.

Was this any of one my WIPs? of course not.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #Bang Chanxreader #skz fluff #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz drabbles #stray kids drabbles

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hardboiledleggs · 11 months

Text

You Looking at Me Looking at You ~ Steddie Week Day 6 @steddie-week

Acrid smoke belched from beneath the hood of his dingy van. Eddie sighed as he slammed his fists against the steering wheel and snatched his bag from the passenger’s seat with a groan. Just his luck.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled across the parking lot, eyes squinted against a bitter wind that was howling across the campus. This was the third time this month that the van had quit on him on his way to class, and he was fresh out of extra cash to pay for even a bus ticket, let alone a tow truck.

Eddie had just finished weighing the merits of walking home versus calling his Uncle Wayne, who lived in a trailer an hour away from campus, when he reached the squat building housing his favorite class, Intermediate Painting. He swung the door wide, breathing in the smell of canvas and turpentine, and stepped around the many easels scattered across the floor until he reached his favorite corner. Robin was already there, fiddling with her supplies, and her face broke into a toothy grin when she saw Eddie.

“Hiya, Munson! I was wondering if you were ever gonna get here. You’re usually so early, is something wrong?” she chirped as she busied herself with arranging her brushes.

Eddie flopped onto his stool with a huff. “It’s my stupid van. Fuckin’ blew another gasket or some shit. I thought it was gonna explode before I made it into the parking lot.”

She winced in sympathy. “That’s too bad, Eds. You can’t ask Wayne for any extra cash to maybe replace the engine or something?”

“No, no, I-I mean, I don’t want to bother him with something like this. He’s got a lot on his plate, and I’m an adult. I’m supposed to be figuring this stuff out on my own.”

“If you’re sure. Hey, you can always crash at my dorm tonight if you can figure out a way to sneak past Wheeler. She’s been taking her RA duties veeery seriously lately,” Robin rolled her eyes as she said this. “Apparently, Carol from 306 got busted when she went home for Thanksgiving. They went into her room for maintenance and it turns out she had snuck her boyfriend in and he was living there. Wheeler was pissed it happened under her nose.”

Eddie snorted. “Carol Perkins? From our English 101 class first semester? That doesn’t surprise me at all. Remember when she came in late for the exam covered in hickeys? She clearly doesn’t know how to be subtle.”

He grinned and began to sort through his own supplies as Robin cackled. Today was supposed to be a live model study, and he had been struggling with the assignments set to them regarding the human form so far. Eddie had been practicing sketching strangers in the park and at coffee shops, but Professor Bauman had insisted that he had yet to “capture the innate sexuality of the bare human form,” whatever that meant. He was determined to get it right today.

At that moment, Professor Bauman swept into the room, wearing a bright pink smock smattered with paint. He clapped his hands together, silencing the muted chatter in the room.

“Children, children! We have precious little time today for our artistry, so PLEASE let’s get started. I want you to focus on the proportions of your sketch today, making sure that we’re being as accurate as possible before any paint blesses the surface of your canvas.” He leveled a pointed look at Robin, who flushed and picked at a hole in the knee of her jeans. “If everyone is ready, I’ll go and grab our model for today.”

Eddie stuck his tongue out at Robin. “Eat it, Birdie. You aren’t the favorite anymore.”

“Oh, please. You know he lets me call him Murray during office hours.”

“Ask him to boost my grade next time you’re in there, will you? Make yourself useful for once.”

Their squabbling was cut short as Bauman’s office door swung open and out stepped Adonis. Okay, it wasn’t really Adonis, but to Eddie, the model may as well have been the stunning Grecian figure. He was stark naked, of course, which allowed Eddie to see the moles that dotted his gleaming skin like dark constellations. His bronze hair was swept artfully off his forehead, almost gravity-defying in its levity. He was toned, but not overly muscular, and his chest was covered in a dense thicket of hair that Eddie wanted to press his face against. Eddie desperately worked to keep his eyes level with the model’s collarbone and not stray any farther down.

“Hi, everyone, I’m Steve. I’m just going to be doing one pose today, so I’ll be taking quick breaks to stretch every 30 minutes or so.” Steve had a nice voice, calm and alluring. “Feel free to come closer if you need a more detailed look at anything for your sketch, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

He smiled at the class, showing off a row of even white teeth. Professor Bauman shook Steve’s hand firmly and waved him toward the low table in the center of the room.

“Remember, let your hands be your brushes. Let the colors move through you and allow them to direct your movements. You have two hours. Begin, please!”

At that moment, Robin elbowed Eddie sharply in the ribs, forcing a hacking cough from his lungs as he took his first breath in what felt like hours.

“Jesus, Munson. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit either,” she muttered from the corner of her mouth.

Eddie spared her a glance of disdain before watching Steve lower himself onto the table, folding his arms underneath his head and bending one leg so his knee pointed skyward in a pose that showed off just how muscular his thighs were. Shaking himself, Eddie sorted through his pencils with a shaking hand until he found one light enough to begin his sketch with.

The next half hour was torturous. Eddie really did try for professionalism, carefully outlining Steve’s frame and sketching out the proportions for his hands, but every time the model shifted to grab a drink of water or stretch out his limbs, Eddie’s eyes drifted downward and he became so flustered his pencil would slip and mar his careful marks.

At the hour mark, Professor Bauman began to walk around the room to begin his critiques. He had this way of leaning into his students’ space and artfully picking apart their work that was equal parts impressive and unnerving. At Robin’s canvas, he paused for about a minute before remarking “Don’t be afraid to get up close and give the appropriate detail to the more intimate parts of our friend Steve,” which made Robin blush.

His gaze slide to Eddie’s work, and he broke into a pleased smile.

“Yes, Munson! This is what I have been looking for from you! Do you see how you’ve used the light in the room to bring the focus of your sketch to his face? And his expression, my God, so simultaneously haunting and sensual! Excellent work, keep it up!”

Bauman swept away in a dramatic fashion, leaving Eddie to bury his face in his hands. The word ‘sensual’ echoed around his skull. He wondered if Steve had been listening to that particular bit of the professor’s speech and internally debated whether it would be more embarrassing to leave now or possibly be stuck walking to the parking lot at the same time as the model.

Robin snorted, catching Eddie’s eye and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as he glowered at her. Leave it to Buckley to revel in his extreme embarrassment.

The class continued to sketch silently, save for the shuffling of supplies or a muffled curse when someone smudged their careful pencil lines. Eddie had almost completed his initial portrait when he got to the hands and frowned. Hands had never been his strong suit; they were always proportioned differently on each person, and there were too many knuckles and creases to ever look natural.

Sighing, he gathered some scrap paper and a pencil and shoved his stool back from his easel. He shuffled into the center of the room to Steve’s side, trying and failing to keep his eyes on the more appropriate parts of the model. Steve’s eyes flitted to his own, and he grinned up at Eddie, though he kept his body completely still.

“Need to see anything specific?” he asked quietly.

Eddie flushed beet-red. “Uh, your hands?” he asked, cringing internally at his indecisive tone.

Steve lifted one hand and placed it in Eddie’s palm. “Do your worst, Munson,” he said with a wink. “That is your name, right?”

His fingers were warm and solid against Eddie’s, and each nail was painted a different color, though most of the paint was chipping. Up this close, Eddie could smell a faint hint of something floral: Steve’s shampoo, maybe? He clutched Steve’s fingers and sat on the small stool next to the table, searching for his usual confidence.

“That’s my name, feel free to wear it out.”

A hastily-stifled laugh shook Steve’s chest, and he glared at Eddie in mock anger as Eddie’s ego preened under the positive attention.

“I really need this paycheck, dude, don’t screw this up for me. I can’t go back to scooping ice cream at the mall,” he whined.

Eddie smiled as he held Steve’s hand up, carefully bending and straightening each knuckle as he sketched.

“Sorry, big boy. I can’t just turn off my irresistible charm all willy-nilly. What if a handsome man walks in here and starts flirting with me? I have to be prepared for every possibility.”

“I thought a handsome man was already flirting with you,” Steve shot back, a glint in his warm brown eyes.

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat, but he recovered quickly, glancing around the room in exaggerated confusion.

“Really? Where is he?”

Steve yanked his hand away, still grinning. “You wound me, Munson. I thought I had a sensual form? Maybe I’ll just take my talents elsewhere.”

Eddie finished his sketch with a flourish and stood, shrugging at the model still lying flat on the table in front of him.

“I suppose you can do that, but good luck finding another cute guy to flirt with in here,” he drawled.

“There’s always Professor Bauman,” Steve snarked, and Eddie snorted as he backed toward his easel.

As soon as he had flopped back into his seat and his face was hidden from Steve, Eddie spun to face Robin. She was already looking at him with a knowing expression on her face, one eyebrow lifted in an unspoken question.

“He’s so hot, Birdie. And funny. I’m going to die!” Eddie hissed at her, and she rolled her eyes at him fondly as she took in the panicked expression on his face.

“Just so you know, Mr. Hot-and-Funny watched your ass the entire walk back to your seat. Good thing you wore your tight jeans today,” Robin smirked.

Eddie flipped her off and schooled his face into a neutral expression. He refused to give her the satisfaction of flustering him.

When the professor told them to pack up for the day, Steve stretched languidly like a cat and loped into Bauman’s office. Eddie gazed after him dazedly, watching as his muscular thighs flexed and his ass bounced with every step. He would’ve been more embarrassed if there weren’t at least five other students doing the exact same thing.

Robin stood and sighed. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she tugged at a lock of Eddie’s hair.

“You sure you’ll be able to get home okay? I bet we could sneak you past Wheeler if we tried.” The genuine concern in her voice almost melted his resolve, but he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about me, Buckley. I have enough duct tape to hold the old gal together for another few miles at least.” Her frown deepened, and he hastily added, “Besides, I don’t think Tammy likes me very much. The last time I was over I broke one of her mugs and she called me an ‘inbred hick’ or something charming like that. I still can’t believe you ever had a thing for her.”

Robin shook her head ruefully. “Alright, asshat. I’ll see you next week then. Call me when you get home so I know you lived.”

She left, barely catching the toe of her sneaker on the doorjamb and stumbling into the hall as she went. Eddie listened to her muffled curses as she tripped down the hall on the walk back to her dorm and grinned to himself.

He packed up his supplies carefully. This professional shit hadn’t been cheap, and he definitely couldn’t afford to replace his oil pencils if he ruined them. As he was stacking his canvas carefully in the back with the others, the door to the professor’s office opened and Steve stepped out, dressed now in simple blue jeans and a bright yellow sweater. He was frowning slightly and fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, but he straightened up and his face brightened when he spotted Eddie still lingering in the classroom.

“Hey, Munson! I was hoping I could catch you before you left,” he called as he hurried to Eddie’s side. “How did your piece turn out?”

“Not bad,” Eddie smiled. “Helped that the subject was cute, you know. I do my best work when I’m staring at hot people.”

Steve threw his head back in a genuine laugh as they began the walk through campus. His strides were much longer than Eddie’s, despite their similar heights, and Eddie found himself rushing a bit to keep up.

“So, are you majoring in Art?” Steve asked, his casual tone at odds with the searching intensity in his eyes.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I am. I want to do tattoos for a living like my mom, so… art degree! College isn’t really my thing but I knew my uncle would get a real kick out of raising a college grad. I used to, you know, deal in high school, so he just about explodes with pride whenever he can tell somebody I’m a sophomore in college.” Eddie grinned ruefully at Steve. “Of course, the dealing is what made it possible to pay for these first couple of years, but there’s a mutual understanding to ignore that part of our finances.”

That drew out another laugh from Steve. Eddie felt the laugh settle somewhere in his chest, warming him from the inside despite the biting wind.

“So, what do you usually get up to after class?” Steve questioned. He was still picking at the loose threads on the ends of his sleeves like he was nervous, although he seemed perfectly comfortable walking with Eddie.

“Well, today I will be begging my uncle to come up and drive me home, probably. My van quit on me again this morning,” Eddie sighed as he scuffed his shoe along the edge of the sidewalk. He knew Wayne wouldn’t mind, but he felt horrible for interrupting his uncle’s sleep schedule because he couldn’t take care of his own vehicle.

“Damn. If only there was a cute guy around who would definitely drive you home if you asked nicely.” Steve snapped his fingers in an ‘aw shucks’ motion and sighed. “If only he had a really nice car and absolutely nothing to do tonight and is desperately trying to figure out a way to spend more time with you.”

Eddie’s heart leaped into his throat. Blush saturated his cheeks, staining them with pink, and he turned to look Steve in the eye.

“You better not be fucking with me, okay? You’re fun and I like you, so if you drive me home, it better not be the last time I see you.”

Steve gave him a long and searching look before grabbing Eddie’s hand and looping their fingers together.

“Well I, for one, am excited to see your place,” he said softly.

Eddie grinned and allowed himself to be tugged toward the parking lot a little faster than his legs could carry him.

~~~

Below as always is my permanent tag list for Steddie writings, if you want to be added or removed just let me know :)

Tag list: @brassreign @inmoonywetrust @kyoxyukiforever @spectrum-spectre @vampireinthesun @awkwardgravity1 @obsessivlyme @steddieassheg0es @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @sunflowers-and-knives @original-cypher @estrellami-1

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie week #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #stranger things #eddie x steve #steddie fic #platonic eddie and robin #college au #no upside down au #nude model steve harrington #surprisingly pg for the subject matter #back from my hiatus where i felt zero creativity for months #art student eddie munson

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

Text

Operation Apollo | 1.3 | Jake Seresin x Reader AU

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, smut, unprotected pinv

…

“Okay, turn.” Jake points. “Turn. Turn. You have to turn the wheel!”

You frown, “I am turning it! The steering on this is thing is garbage!”

Jake grabs the wheel, “So brake!”

You slam your foot on the break, the truck jolts and the engine stalls. Jake hits the seat behind him and turns his head to look at you. You can’t tell if he’s going to laugh or yell at you.

“Who the fuck gave you a license?” He breathes out, eyes wide.

It’s hot, it’s the middle of a July afternoon in the middle of Texas, the air conditioning on this truck hasn’t worked since you were in diapers and you’ve been at this for an hour.

You frown at him, “I told you I’ve never driven a stick-shift before.”

“I know, I just wasn’t expecting your steering to be the problem,” He mumbles, running his fingers through his hair. He sits back and lets out a heavy breath, “Alright. Let’s try that again.”

“I think you should drive.” You sigh, adjusting the seat belt uncomfortably from where it had pressed into your chest after stalling.

“No, no - you almost had it.” Jake nods for you to continue, he rolls down his window and lets out a breath. He takes a moment to prepare himself.

You whine in complaint and turn the keys. The engine splutters. You turn your head and look at him, eyes wide. Jake doesn’t seem surprised by the mishap. He isn’t, this happens all the time - he’s already pretty sure he knows what the problem is.

He groans, pulling open the door on his side and stepping out.

“It’s not my fault, I didn’t break it!” You call out to him. Jake almost scoffs, shaking his head as he walks around to the front of the truck. He lifts the hood. It’s exactly what he thought it would be. He gets back into the truck and shuts the door.

“Engine overheated.” He shrugs.

“So, what do we do?” You frown. Maybe your naivety is showing, but you’ve never had to deal with car troubles by yourself before. You’ve never been in a rust bucket like this before.

“We wait.” Jake answers you calmly.

“For how long?” Your brows furrow, growing urgent.

Jake shrugs again, calm, “Thirty minutes or so.”

You whine in frustration, looking around you at the empty surroundings. You had warned him that this was a bad idea. Allen never could’ve talked you into this - Manny either. You sigh, “We could walk back to the house and come back later?”

“Yeah, we could do that,” Jake agrees, turning his head towards you. His lips quirk up into a calm smirk. “Or, we could stay here.”

“Why would we stay here?” You frown, scrunching up your face as you look around you. You’re in the middle of an empty field, about a twenty minute walk from the house, pointed towards a stream at the bottom of the field.

That’s what Jake had been trying to get you to steer clear of.

You turn back to look at him, confused by his silence. Jake raises his eyebrows slightly as he waits for you to catch on. He sits back against the bench, parting his knees further, his arm stretched along the back of the seat.

“Oh.”

Jake jerks his head for you to come over. You unbuckle your seatbelt and push yourself onto your knees. Jake smiles as he guides you over, pulling you to straddle his waist.

His lips are on you in an instant. His hands on your hips, against your back, in your hair. Your fingers work open the buttons on his shirt as his tongue caresses yours.

Jake knows what he’s doing. He’s a good kisser, his mouth moves against yours like he knows how you’re going to react before you do. You’re reminded of his experience. Of the women that came before, of the woman he loved.

Jake’s hands skim under your dress, pushing the fabric up around your hips.

Fighting to stay right there in the moment with him, you grab at the sides of your underwear and lift your hips to pull them down.

Jake stops you.

He’s reminded briefly of the girl from his senior year that accidentally left her underwear in the passenger side footwell. The colossal shitstorm that came after her boyfriend found them when Jake was giving him a ride home from school the next day.

As far as Jake’s concerned, there’s a science to hooking up out in the open like this - and he’s an expert.

“It’s like you’ve never done this before.” Jake taunts, knowing that you haven’t. You open your mouth to argue, words catching in your throat as you’re met with intoxicating green eyes.

His eyes lock onto yours as he trails his fingers along the outside of your underwear, rubbing slow, firm circles over your clit through the fabric.

You hold onto his shoulder, lips parted, watching his face. You sit perfectly still for him, not squirming or asking for more just yet. Jake lifts his other hand and swipes his thumb tenderly over your cheek, then lifts your chin.

“That feel good?” Jake murmurs. His voice gets a little deeper when he’s talking softly to you like this, and being here around his family, his accent slips through a little more. If he wasn’t between them, you would press your thighs together. Jake feels your thighs hug his.

You nod softly at him.

He slides his hand down from your chin, fingers cupping your throat, moving down until they curl around your hip.

“Am I talking to myself?” Jake’s fingers still between your legs. Your brows knot slightly closer together, you frown slightly at him.

“No.” You whine, fingers pressing into the muscle of his shoulder. “Feels good.”

“There we go,” Jake hums, circling his fingers again, his touch light enough to make you press harder against him. You reach between the two of you and cup him through his shorts, leaning forwards to kiss him. Jake leans his head back, just out of reach, “You want it, sweetheart?”

You narrow your eyes at him, scowling just slightly, “I’m not going to beg.”

“No?” Jake teases, raising an eyebrow at you. You stare back at him. Your poker face is good, but he knows you’re considering it. His lips quirk, impressed. “I’m not gonna make you beg, honey.”

Your hands rest against his shoulders, feeling softly at the muscle as his own squeeze softly at your ass under your dress. Jake kisses you softly, your lips and then your jaw, nudging your chin back with the bridge of his nose so that he can kiss your neck.

This isn’t the first time that Jake has had sex in this truck, you know that. It plays on your mind that he might’ve been here with her. Your brows furrow slightly.

Jake rolls his hips slightly, grinding himself against you as he peppers open-mouthed kisses to your neck. He curls one hand into your roots and tugs softly, making you moan. His other hand squeezes at your hip.

Jake lifts his hips and pops open the button to his jeans, shoving the denim and his boxers down to his knees. You work with him, pushing his button up off of his shoulders and his t-shirt up his chest.

It’s a rush, he’s out of his shirt and his hands are all over you.

One of his hands slides from your ass, moving between your bodies, lining himself up with your core. He groans softly, lips on your throat as you rock yourself against the head of his cock. His eyes meet yours as you rock yourself against his tip.

You slowly sink down on him, taking in his tip. A soft squeak slips your lips. Jake tugs softly at your hair once more, turning your head and kissing your mouth.

He lifts his hips just slightly, pressing himself deeper into you. You mewl quietly against his mouth, fingers pressing into his shoulder.

“I’ve got you.” Jake murmurs. He kisses your cheekbone, then your temple. He grabs your hips with both hands, holding you still. You push against his hold, taking a deep breath as you press down until he’s buried in you completely. “God damn.”

His hands grip hard at your ass, pulling you towards him as he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers. He growls lowly, shifting his hips, changing the angle. You grab onto his bare shoulders, lowering your head and kissing his neck tenderly as you lift your hips and lower yourself onto him.

Jake lets you set the pace, leaning his head back, eyes closing. You build up slowly until he’s leaving fingermarks in your skin, rocking his hips up against you. Your desperate moans fill the air, mixed with each of his soft grunts.

Jake sits up, lips parted as he watches you. His brows knot together, he looks down between your bodies and groans softly. He smacks your ass, half-playfully, leaning forwards and attaching his mouth to your skin like he’s desperate to get a taste of you.

He kisses the sweat off of your skin, grinding himself up to meet you each time you come down on him. You cry out, then gasp in. Jake takes his lip between his teeth, his mouth quirking up at the sides.

His hands grab at your hips, squeezing firmly. He interrupts your rhythm, making you whine. You gasp, digging your fingers into his bicep as he bucks his hips upwards.

He’s all that you can focus on, guiding you as you bounce on his cock, his eyes on your face as you ride him.

“Shit, that’s it,” Jake nods his head, watching as your lips part and your head drops back. “Good girl, honey. Just like that.”

He grabs a handful of your hair and tugs softly, pressing his mouth to your throat as his other arm tucks around your waist and keeps you steady as he pounds into you. His soft groans in your ear as he fucks you through the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

Jake’s thumb strokes at your throat as he sits forwards, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You moan against his lips, breathing hard as he moves back to observe you again.

He kisses you tenderly, a surprisingly delicate motion, gripping your hips so tightly it feels like he might crush them. Jake groans against your throat as he comes undone, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close against him and driving himself as deep as he can go.

He holds you there for just a moment, leaving lazy kisses against the curve of your neck, then lets out a deep breath. Jake’s arm tightens around you, he kisses your temple tenderly.

“Ready to finish your lesson, sweetheart?” He asks, lifting his free hand and tipping your chin up so that you’re looking at him. You shove playfully at his chest, whining as you lift off of him and fix your underwear. He pulls his jeans back up his legs and slips his t-shirt over his head.

“Alright, alright - I’ll drive.” Jake relents as you swing your leg off of his hips, scooting into the passenger side. He turns his attention towards you, resting his hand on your knee.

You scoot across the bench and rest against his side. Jake turns his head, kissing the top of your hair. He drives back to the house and parks the truck back by the old shed.

You walk back into the house together. Manny’s preoccupied with a work call, too busy arguing with Allen to notice the way you rush for the shower. Jake heads for the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge.

Michelle squints at her younger brother, “Jacob Michael… is that a hickey?”

Jake scoffs, “No? - What?” He leans forwards and checks his reflection in the chrome over the sink. There is absolutely a soft reddish mark on the left hand side of his neck. He shrugs, “Probably a bug bite.”

“Big bug.” Michelle replies, shaking her head as she looks back down at her work laptop. Jake smiles, then shrugs his shoulders like he doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

You sit across from him at the dinner table. Michelle looks knowingly between the two of you.

“Your dad wants to talk to you tomorrow about heading up to D.C. again.” Manny explains, fiddling with his fork. Jake frowns.

“Before she even goes home?” He asks.

“There’s a couple events he wants her at - makes sense with all the extra security up there, the house is still a threat - eh, I’ll let him explain it.” Manny explains. They discuss your plans like you aren’t sitting there with them. You ignore them either way.

You stare at Jake, not listening to a word he says. As it grows later, you find yourself thinking about the box under his bed more and more. In fact, you can’t think about anything else.

Jake lays awake in his bed, waiting for you to show up and creep through his door like you have for the past couple of nights. He tosses and turns, trying to stay awake long enough for you to show up.

He turns onto his side and stares at the alarm clock until it passes one in the morning. He sighs, throwing the covers back and standing up. You close your eyes as you hear footsteps in the hall, turning onto your side and closing your eyes.

Jake steps into the room, closing the door behind him and slipping into bed beside you. He leans forwards and decides that you’re sleeping. Your heart races in your chest, worried that he’s onto you.

He settles down onto his back, closing his eyes. He listens to the soft sound of your breathing and matches it with his own. He tries to rationalise sneaking in here with you - not being able to spend a night on his own. You’re safer with him here.

“Jake?” You croak out quietly.

He lifts his head, brows furrowing, surprised. “You’re awake.”

You turn to face him and sit up. Jake stares at you. Even in the dark, he can see the sheepish look on your face and knows that you’ve done something bad. He frowns, sitting up to look at you properly.

“I found the box under your bed.”

…

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @the-mouse27 @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

#jake seresin au #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin smut #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin imagine #operation apollo

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thebabywriter · 9 months

Text

Broken Down | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your car won't start and the friendly neighbors help you out.

Tags: Fluff, switching POVs, Sarah as a little matchmaker, nothing risque, just an implication, no reader descriptions besides female, reader has a not-so-great family life

Word Count: 933

Broken Down

You rushed outside to your car as the sun rose behind you. Slamming your key in the ignition, you turn it over and...nothing. Your godforsaken car wouldn’t start. You tried again and again but after the fifth tine, you sighed in defeat. You were gonna be late to work. Putting your head down on the steering wheel, you didn’t notice your neighbor’s approach.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Perking up, you notice the young girl, Sarah?, you think her name is, looking at you in concern. “Oh! Yeah! Actually, um not really. My car won’t start and I need to get to work. Do you know anyone in the neighborhood who could look at it?”, you asked.

“My dad could. Let me go grab him for you”, she answered with a smile.

Rushing inside, Sarah grabbed Joel and started tugging him towards the front door.

“God kiddo. We’re not gonna be late. I’m comin’.”

“No! Not that. The neighbor’s car won’t start.”

“And this is cause for you running in like a bat outta hell?”, Joel asked with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s the cute neighbor. The one you’ve been eyein’ since she moved in.”, Sarah slyly remarked.

“I haven’t been eyein’ her.”

“So, you know who I’m talking about,”, Sarah smirked, “C’mon! She’s gonna be late and she needs help. You can help and bonus points, you get to talk to her. Unless you wanna keep starin’ out the window every time she’s outside?”

Joel stared at his meddling daughter and sighed, “Fine. Stop making me sound like a creep. I don’t stare.”

You sat in your car as you waited for the girl to come back. Staring at the door she disappeared into, a tall man walked out. And you choked on your breath. Fuck, he was hot. Quickly catching your breath, you step out of the car and pop the hood.

“Hey, I’m Joel. Sarah said your car won’t start.”

“Hi. Y/N. Uh yeah, I tried a few times but it won’t turn over.”

Joel nodded and grabbed my keys and stuck them in the ignition. It refused to turn over once more and Joel stepped towards you.

“I’m gonna check under the hood real quick but I’m hopin’ the battery’s just dead.”

You nodded as he went to check it out and you proceeded to check him out. Dirty jeans and an old band tee clung to his body as his hair flopped over his forehead. He moved around a little before his head popped back up and his eyes met yours.

“So, unfortunately it looks like the timing belt’s been destroyed. It’s gonna need to be replaced but it’ll take a while for the fix and to get the parts to do it.”, Joel explained.

“I don’t have that kinda time. Or money, honestly. Thank you though, for looking.”, you admitted.

“I get it. How ‘bout I give you a ride to work today and we can look at it tonight and figure out a plan to get your car up and runnin’ again?”

“I couldn’t. I work in the city and that’s too much to ask of you. You’ve already helped more than you needed to.”, you mumbled.

“Lucky for you, I got a job in the city I’m already headed to and I’m a gentleman. I can’t leave you high and dry like that, darlin’.”

With a simple Southern persuasion and the unwillingness to be too late, you were now sitting in Joel’s truck with Sarah in the back. Music hummed through the truck as you listened to Sarah and Joel talk about the mundane. It was nice, you thought. Your life had been quiet so long that you almost forgot what comfort sounded like.

Pulling into the school, Sarah hopped out and wished her goodbyes to the both of you and you were once again on your way. This time to work, and subsequently, into your head. It was quiet as Joel drove into Austin as you daydreamed. Of what it’d be like to be a part of a family like the Millers. To feel welcome in one at that. Not that your own family was awful. Not at all. They were good people. To everyone but you. You were the outcast, the one destined to ruin the family image. Sure, you could’ve stayed and kept the peace but you were tired of being the topic of conversation everywhere you went. Tired of always being on edge. So, Texas became your escape. Your peace. This morning showed you that peace was possible because here, no one held the power to hurt you.

Reality swooped in as you directed Joel towards your building. Parking out front, you turn to him once more, “Thank you again. For everything. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Darlin’, you don’t need to make anything up to me. I don’t need your money or nothin’. It was my pleasure.”

“Oh, well I had something better than money on my mind.” you remarked.

Joel sat stunned as he stuttered out a quick, “Oh?”

“Well of course I could pay you but you already know that situation. I was thinking food. I can cook some stuff for you and Sarah. It’s obvious you work hard and from what Sarah was saying, that’s an area I can help in.”, you beamed.

Joel swallowed thickly as he realized your gratitude was a little more innocent than he was starting to think. He just nodded as you left the truck and started up towards the front of the building. God, you were gonna be the death of him.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #x reader #x fem!reader #sarah miller #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fluff

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griseldabanks · 8 days

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34 for Al and Hawkeye, please?

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Prompt: "I'll keep you safe."

Maybe they shouldn't have stopped for burgers and shakes. It was pouring rain out there, and the temperature was dropping fast. Might turn into freezing rain before too long.

But Five Guys was their tradition. Riza drove Al to speech therapy, and as long as he didn't drag his feet or have a bad attitude about it, they would stop for a late lunch on their way home. They even had a little ritual they ran through each time, just for fun. “Hmm, where should we go for lunch?” Riza would ask, pretending to think. Then Al would hold up one hand, grinning along with the joke, and Riza would say, “Five Guys?” as if she never would have thought of it on her own. Then they would both laugh like it was the best joke they'd ever heard.

The only time Riza got to hear her foster son's voice was when he laughed. It was worth it.

“Got your scarf and gloves?” Riza asked, opening her umbrella before putting one hand on the door.

Woolen blue fingers wrapped around her arm. She glanced down and saw Al huddling close to her as if for warmth, eyeing the door with trepidation. Riza tugged the hood of his blue coat over his head, then wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Don't worry, Al,” she murmured. “I'll keep you safe. Let's just run, and it'll be over in five seconds, okay?”

Slowly, Al nodded.

It was more of a huddling jog than a run, and it took more than five seconds because Riza had to juggle both the umbrella and the key fob, but they both made it into the car relatively dry. With a relieved sigh, Riza tossed the sopping umbrella to the floor on the passenger side and turned on the car, cranking up the heat all the way. She swiped her damp bangs out of her face and checked on Al in the rearview mirror. He was buckled in and shivering hard, hugging himself and rocking slightly. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to be instantly transported home. How she wished she could spare him the drive.

Riza decided the best thing would be to get home as fast as possible, so she didn't say anything more to him, just started the windshield wipers and eased back out of their parking space. “These wipers are useless in the rain,” she muttered, squinting through the smeared windshield and turning on the defroster. She needed to text Roy and see if he could pick up some replacements on the way home.

As she headed for the highway, Riza mentally ran through her to-do list. Once they got home, she needed to call the phone company to see if the issue with the bills had gotten sorted out. She should peek into the boys' bathroom and make sure they'd cleaned it like they were supposed to, and then she needed to clean her and Roy's bathroom. By then it would probably be time to start on supper, and oh, was today a karate day and had Roy said he could drive the boys or—

The loud blare of a horn startled Riza out of her thoughts. A semi, slipping out of control from the left. Moving on pure instinct, Riza slammed her foot on the gas and aimed for the shoulder. The semi slipped and slid on its way, and they jostled and bumped over the muddy grass. Riza managed to stop before the ground fell away into the ditch. Hands shaking, she pulled the parking brake and turned on the hazard lights before letting out a long, slow breath of relief.

She looked over her shoulder to find Al hunched over in his seat, his gloved hands clawing at his face as he drew in shaky, shuddering breaths. “Al? Are you okay?” No, that was a stupid question. “Are you hurt?” she amended. “Alphonse!”

The twelve-year-old boy peeked over his hands at her, but she could tell that he didn't see her. It was like he was looking through her, to another rainy day in another car with another woman sitting behind the wheel as a truck came out of nowhere....

“Al....” Riza unfastened her seatbelt and clambered over the center console, squeezing between the front seats to get to the back. It was difficult and inelegant, but she managed. Better than opening the door and letting in all that cold wind and rain.

As she settled into the seat next to Al, she listened to his frantic, choked breaths that came faster and faster with every passing minute. He wasn't looking at her, just staring fixedly at the driver's seat. Occasionally, his eyes slid over to the front passenger seat as well.

Riza's heart clenched tightly as she imagined what he must be seeing. Trisha Elric, forehead resting on the steering wheel, blood trickling down the side of her face, her vacant eyes staring into nothing. Ed, trapped under the twisted metal, blood spreading up his left leg. Still breathing, but so shallow, so erratic, eyes closed. No response to Al's screams. The last words Al had ever spoken, a desperate plea for his family to not leave him alone.

She hadn't been there. She'd only read reports from after the fact, and talked to Mrs. Rockbell and the boys' therapists. And yet, she could see it all as clearly as if she'd lived it herself. She could almost hear those screams.

“Mom...Mom...Mom....”

Wait. That voice, ragged and faint, wasn't just in her imagination. Tears sprang to her eyes as she heard that one word whispered in wheezing gasps muffled behind blue gloves.

She could have listened to that voice for hours, but Al was shaking so hard she actually thought she could feel the car rocking slightly. So Riza scooted a little closer, saying as gently as she could, “Al? Can you listen to me, sweetie? I need you to breathe with me.”

His eyes latched onto hers, and for the first time since they'd swerved off the road, he actually seemed to see her.

“That's right,” Riza said, reaching for his hands. “Just like we always do, okay?”

He let her take his hands in hers and pull them away from his face. Riza led him in a deep breathing exercise, and found that her own heart rate eased as well. The adrenaline from their near miss was beginning to wear off, leaving her feeling exhausted and limp. She almost wished she'd brought Hayate with them after all. They both could have used the soothing comfort of his soft fur and warm, wet tongue.

“We're okay,” she whispered, reassuring herself as much as Al. “You're safe now. We're both safe.”

Just like every time thunder and lightning put Ed on edge and sent Al skittering into their bedroom to crawl under the covers. Roy would get up to make everyone hot chocolate, Ed would crank up his music so they could hear it faintly through his headphones, and Al would curl up like one of his cats against her side, and they would all cram into the king-sized bed to wait out the storm.

“Mom,” Al croaked again, his voice rough from disuse. “Mom....”

Tears spilled over his cheeks, and Riza reached over to gently brush them away. “I know, honey, I know.” Hot tears stung her own eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

“Mom....” Al raised one gloved hand and placed it on her cheek. He was looking at her so intently, so earnestly, like there was so much he wanted to say, but he was stuck on that one word, choking on the sobs that shook him head to foot. He put his other hand on her other cheek, as if to hold her in place. “Mom....”

A thought occurred to her, as sudden and shocking as the semi that had nearly hit them: He's calling me Mom.

Tears blurred her eyes till she couldn't even see him. “I'm here,” she whispered.

He flung his arms around her, squeezing so hard it took her breath away. She hugged him back, held him tight, squeezed her eyes shut against the tears. She rocked them back and forth, patting him on the back.

Riza had always known motherhood would be strange for her, who had never known the gentle touch of a mother. When she and Roy had first talked about starting a family, she had been plagued with doubts about whether she would be able to manage it. A thousand times, she'd tried to imagine herself rocking a baby to sleep, kissing the skinned knees and bumped foreheads of a toddler or two...and she'd always drawn a blank, since she'd never had that herself. What if she could never get the hang of it? She was a soldier, not a mother.

And yet, sitting in this car on the side of the road, holding a twelve-year-old boy sobbing his heart out...it didn't matter that she hadn't given birth to him. It didn't matter that they'd only known each other for a little over a year. It didn't matter that they'd never once had a normal conversation.

This was her son. She loved him so much she thought her chest might split open with the force of it. And judging from the way Al kept sobbing that name over and over again, clutching at her like his life depended on it...he felt the same.

#ask and you shall receive #valiantarcher #ask games #let me count the ways #full metal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist #fma #riza hawkeye #alphonse elric #modern day real world au #i've fallen in love with this au and am dying to write more in it <3

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