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velvetures · 9 months

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Omg I love your stories so much especially the cod ones 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x reader oneshot where the reader maybe gets shot taking a bullet meant for him and maybe they are in an established relationship please with a happy ending

Ignoring Orders & Accepting Lead

A/N: I loved this req. and I hope you're okay with the direction I took this in. I'm trying to get the other asks I've been sent finished in a somewhat timely manner... haha! Honestly, I never thought anyone would enjoy my writing as much as all of you have. <3 Summary: Established relationships mean occasional arguments... You and Ghost have one before a mission. And the make-up conversation is a little less than standard for most couples. T/W: Canonical Violence, guns, knives, Blood, Death (non-major characters), severe injuries, tension, hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING, Ghost being a bit overprotective, Reader being a smartass, not proofread.

Arguments with Ghost happened a lot more frequently than anyone would ever suspect. While he liked to stay quiet when the opportunity arose, it was also know that if you could avoid a conflict, you would just to make sure the temperature of the situation didn’t rise too high. As a pair, it made you great operators, just for the skill-set you each had as well as the predisposition to get things done quickly, and quietly. As for being in a relationship, your character’s held zero influence on the way that you cared about each other of how that would display itself during moments of tension or disagreement. Especially in moments during missions where things weren’t going to plan, and your ideas severely countered Ghost’s.

One of those fights had occurred right before you’d been dropped into a very small town outside of Culiacán, Sinaloa. At HQ, Price was splitting everyone up for their distinct purposes, and you’d been immediately assigned with Ghost for an infil job. One requiring both of you to get in and get out of the well-known cartel stronghold without getting caught or being killed. Naturally you accepted the task without so much as flinching, whereas Ghost didn’t have such an easygoing attitude about it.

He was fucking furious.

First he tried threatening Price, demanding that you not be listed for that and go with Soap for the much less risky job of tracking down a small-time dealer who’d been listed as having information valuable to the task force. Price wasn’t stupid enough to not recognize where Ghost’s rage was coming from, and just simply said that if you wanted the job, there was nothing he could do about it since you’d already read the briefing and knew the entire plan just as well as anyone else. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear from the Captain, and that made things all the worse for you when you said you weren’t going to let him go in alone.

One of the worst fights you’d ever had with Ghost since your partnership became a fully-fledged romance happened right off the helipad being fueled-up for your departure. God it was miserable, and it hurt every ounce of you to have to defend yourself over the one thing that you were certain you could do. Your job. Understanding Ghost’s protective instinct was one thing, but there had to be a line drawn where him throwing his weight and rank around to limit your exposure to risk couldn’t be done anymore.

He’d been totally insensitive to your side of the story, and was obstinate that if you got on the helo, he’d not do a damn thing to keep you safe once you got to Culiacán. Merely to prove the bullshit point that you couldn’t to the job without him. That statement alone had you strapping into your flight harness quicker than Ghost could utter ‘jesus christ’ under his breath. Totally stonewalling you for the entire flight and practically acting like you didn’t even exist. Hell, he wouldn’t even go over the mission plan as was typical, leaving you fully to fend for yourself and follow his lead without even a hand signal to lead you through it.

Everything on entry went smoothly.

No guards were stationed in the underground sewer tunneling, leaving you very dry and unhindered on the half-mile walk from your drop-point to the access ladder leading up into the basement of a massive chapel-turned-base of operations. Whether or not you’d been keeping up or not didn’t appear to phase Ghost in the slightest, and he continued on and up into the basements without so much as glancing your way. You were quickly losing your patience, and getting than much more hurt with hoe easily he could turn off the affection and care that he always had for you. Sure, he wasn’t the coddling type, but you’d never wanted that from him; but this was a whole different level of coldness.

Inside the basement there were stockpiles of cocaine, pre-packed on shipping crates with a printed docket of everything contained on each. Just seeing that much shit all in one room made your head spin. It was one thing knowing it existed, and understanding that tons of it were being shipped all over the world, but actually being in a room surrounded by it from almost floor-to-ceiling was quite overwhelming. And Ghost’s own utterance of the sheer volume confirmed that it wasn’t just your own imagination leading you to think this was way too fucking much to handle. Bad part was, you couldn’t touch any of the shit or destroy it, and were solely on the objective of cloning their hard drives and bringing them back for examination.

Clearing stairwell after stairwell, and only needing to dispose of two guards -quick work with a sharp knife- you’d been able to access their massive data stores collected in what appeared to be nothing more than a personal server farm. Kept extremely cold for the benefit of the rows of towers, you’d been given the small cloning chip needed to transmit data back to HQ. But you needed a window of up to fifteen minutes to ensure everything was fully copied. You -and Ghost- both knew that fifteen minutes was far too long to just stand around with your thumbs up your asses and just hope that no one wondered why the two guards you’d shanked hadn’t checked in, or come to make a round inside the server room.

Ghost very instinctively covered the access door to the room, not even bothering to demand you give him the chip or take care of the data itself. A small reminder that he wasn’t totally untrusting of your skills, but still not large enough of a show that made you feel any less miserable about how your relationship was quite strained at the moment, all of something as small as a fifteen minute window of gathering information. By some miracle, you watched the progress on a small tablet linked to the chip and HQ’s data stores, watching it hit one-hundred percent in just under eight minutes. Perfect. It couldn’t go much smoother than that.

You were tapping Ghost on the shoulder, and giving a small thumbs-up just as the sounds of footsteps running up the stairwell outside began echoing. More than just one or two. It was actually a lot more than you even had the ammunition to handle, considering the job was deemed covert. Neither you or Ghost went without some protection… but you’d been packed out a lot lighter than normal. Right away he was stepping back from the door and checking his watch with a stern look in his eyes. One you recognized as realization that you’d have to fight your way out of this. Ugly, bloody, and violent.

Exactly what he didn’t want in the fuckin’ first place.

Ghost was inside of his own mind, trying to balance out the fear of you being in the middle of a cartel fire-fight and the rage he still felt when you just wouldn’t fucking listen to him right from the beginning. He knew what cartels did to women, and a pretty one like you wouldn’t have the mercy of just being killed. No. They’d fucking torture and toy with you until there wasn’t anything human left inside of you. That’s why he’d been so goddamn adamant that you stay behind for this one.

The data you’d copied over was bullshit compared to you living and breathing for another day. And Ghost couldn’t stand to think he’d walked you right into this place without at least trying to show you that he cared enough to see you live. Dying wasn’t a fear of his, but there was nothing he dreaded more than the mental image of you bleeding out in his arms all because of his own fucking mistakes.

Yet, here he stood. Having to make the decision on what to do or how to get you both out of here alive if he could even manage that in the first place. Part of him was already preparing to let them take him and give you enough time to slip away. You were fast enough. Small, so they’d have a far harder time picking you out in a crowd. But if he’s assumptions were correct, the tunnels would still be clear.

He gave you one last look, and grabbed hold of your vest to pull you behind him; Hearing the footsteps of more than six men filling into the large room outside of the server farm. Some barking orders to check down the hall, while others were meant to stay posted at the stairs to block off anyone flushed out. Ghost felt his own body starting to get cold. So desensitized to the violence he was already prepping himself to commit that if it wasn’t for you being there, he’d had already burst through the door and met them head on.

“Fuckin’. Listen,” He snapped as quietly as possible. Your ears perked up, happy to have just heard him speak, even if he sounded downright vicious. Your little hand tapping at his ribs as confirmation you were paying attention sent a shiver up his back.

“Don’t engage unless they’re right in your way. Take the tunnels out, I’ll be right behind you.” He barked out the orders under his breath.

Ghost couldn’t help but feel your hand fist into the material of his shirt. You didn’t like that one bit, and he didn’t need to see your face to know better. Because for whatever reason, you had it in your thick little head that he needed protecting as much as you did. Like it was your job to make sure he didn’t get hurt. Cute and a little bit amusing, Ghost hadn’t the slightest clue where you got the idea from or why it was such a massive trigger for him to challenge it. But right now, there was no fighting about it. He’d not take no for an answer, and when you didn’t give a confirmation right away, he growled in impatience.

Reluctantly, you gave it with a small tap rubbing your thumb over his hip bone.

One minute, Ghost was pushing open the door and spotting only three men within direct threat distance and seeing only one man standing at the top of the stairs. A split second of decision had him throwing two knives, and charging at the third to ensure that you’d only have to take care of the one remaining. He sunk a third knife in, feeling the man sink to his knees and drop to the floor, retrieving two of his blades before turning around right as the sound of a pistol registered. Ghost realized his fatal error in the squeeze of a trigger too late.

Only you saw what was coming, and Ghost watched you crumple to the floor between the shooter and himself; Stopping the man from shooting him in the back, but catching you somewhere of your front that residual splatter from the rained over his mask and tac vest. Everything around Ghost slowed, nearing an entire halt to the earth as you fell limply to the ground. Not even moving to try and cover your wound or catch yourself from the fall to the marble floor. Nightmares couldn’t compare to the sight of you crumpled in a heap of gear and bulky material after watching you purposefully allow your life to be traded for his.

The shooter wasn’t lucky enough to squeeze the trigger again for the knife that embedded itself in his forehead. Retribution. Quick but not as instantaneous as it would’ve been with a gun of his own. He was forced to see his own death approach with the snapped rotation of a throwing knife Ghost had sharpened days ago. He wanted to it last longer… make the bastard pay for it. Torture him for as long as his body could take, then give him just enough time to recover and start all over again.

But you needed him… Fuck. He needed you.

On the ground, you knew you’d taken a shot. But the adrenaline and immediate blow of it had you frozen on the floor. You couldn’t really tell where you’d been shot, or how bad the damage was. Truthfully you’d never experience it, and while many of the stories you heard over the years of your service, nothing they ever did to explain it was touching the utter fire radiating through your body. What you did know was that you were bleeding, and the shot had missed your tac vest; A small stream of blood was rolling through the grout lines in the floor, staining the white marble a sickening color.

Seeing Ghost on a knee in front of you, eyes wide and searching over your face was the next hazy image you recognized. His mask was shifting with the motion of him talking, but your ears were ringing. A pitchy and high whine blocked any other sound, even Ghost’s voice which you’d always been so very keen on paying close attention to. You felt awful. Putting him through this after you’d literally just had the fight about you getting hurt. Guilt flooded your limited emotional capacity, and as Ghost readjusted to pick you up, you felt tears rolling down your face.

You’d not had a single second to react to the fourth man in the room, him having the jump on visualizing Ghost facing the other three. It made him a vulnerable target. And in the split second you had to do something, you’d jumped in the way. Laying out totally flat to use your entire body to shield his. Hoping to god luck was on your side. At this point, hanging over Ghost’s shoulder limply as he rushed down the stairs on his way towards the basement, you weren’t sure if luck was on your side or not.

Thankfully, your hearing was slowly coming back in certain frequencies.

Sounds of gunfire and sirens blaring from the street level let you know that everyone within a few miles of the cathedral would be on the lookout for intruders. With all of the people who’d seen you, killed, no descriptions could be sent out or blared to citizens under control of the cartel. It didn’t help that Ghost was the largest man in the city who just happened to have on a skull mask and carrying a woman leaving behind noticeable drips of blood as a gruesome kind of trail to follow.

“C’mon baby, answer me!” Ghost panting yell finally registered, and you were able to manage a weak pat on his lower back. You felt his hand squeeze the back of your thigh for a moment before his pace slowed from a quick run to almost a crawl.

“We got company…”

There hadn’t been any men in the tunnel. But now that Ghost was less than fifty yards from their extraction point with a “medical” heli waiting for their return; three men were posted at the gated slope leading up to the hillside entry. The Lieutenant could feel your blood soaking into his shirt, wetting his shoulder. A bad reminder that you needed to get the fuck out of here right now. But he couldn’t get rid of those fuckers unless he put you down.

He squeezed at your thigh again to get your attention.

“I need - need to -fuck- set you down…” Saying those words utterly destroyed Ghost. You were the only thing he cared about right now, but the longer he put this off, the risk of you dying loomed closer.

“Need ya t’stay right here… okay? Don’t come out…”

Carefully you felt him settle you behind a large sewage drain pipe connecting from the street into the small walkway. Easing your back against the curved brick wall and once again taking a very hard look at you. This time, he could see where the bullet had just missed the edge of your tac vest, entering through the ripped hole in your shirt just below your collarbone. Every hopeful fiber in Ghost wanted to believe it wouldn’t be non-lethal. But if it shattered your collarbone, the bullet fractured and clipped a vein or small artery, there was plenty to be concerned about.

He would’ve packed the would just to stave off the blood flow. But he didn’t have the luxury of time. And whether or not Ghost would ever admit it to himself, repeatedly shoving his finger into your wound would render him down to a shell of a man. He couldn’t hurt you. Fuck, he couldn’t hurt you.

“Stay here… I’ll be right back.” He whispered against your forehead, pressing his masked mouth to your forehead.

You leaned into him, hearing his words and consciously noticing just how difficult it was to understand the words after hearing them. Almost like you couldn’t natively speak english and the meanings just weren’t instinctual anymore. God it took everything to comprehend that he was planning to clear the rest of the way, leaving you here. Eyes trailing after him sluggishly, you fought with your own arms to try and scoot back just a little further to peek between the large pipe you were leaning against to see if you could spot Ghost or the targets.

Being told to stay was always a difficult order for you. Even if you weren’t shot and struggling to manage simple bodily functions. Surprisingly, you were able to see the shadowed figured standing guard right at the gates you’d come through, holding rifles and totally unaware of Ghost lurking within such easy range. You wondered why he didn’t just shoot them, and get this over with.

Why he needed stealth when the entire city was looking for you didn’t make a lot of sense in your mind. Until you saw five more men walk down to join the others. With one cut of your eyes to look at Ghost, you realized he had anticipated more and planned of making quick work. It’d been a long time since you watched him work alone. Nearly two years. Attempting to shift your shoulder it rocked your entire system. Biting your jaw to keep from making noise, you tried focusing through the tears in your eyes as the only man who held the key to not only your life, but your heart in his fist.

Ghost kept reevaluating his odds with each step closer. Feeling distracted in the worst way with the guilt of leaving you unprotected, and in no position to defend yourself in the case that he wasn’t able to take all of these men alone. Those odds -either realistic or narcissistic confidence- didn’t phase the Lieutenant in the slightest. He was fueled with rage. And while these bastards hadn’t done anything, just being in his path was a death sentence.

The fight started smoothy and efficiently, taking out the largest of the men and using his half-dead form as enough of a shield to eliminate the threat of three 12.7x99mm wielders, too surprised to shoot off five rounds. Another three surrounded him with nothing more than machetes swiping through the air with near misses. One smooth draw of his own pistol dropped two men, and when Ghost turned around to face the third the butt of a shotgun smacked across his vision, dropping him to his knees and hearing his pistol slide across the floor out of reach.

He hauled himself to a knee, watching the man throw the empty shotgun away and approach with a knife, glinting in the sunlight just on the outside of the tunnel. Ghost could actually hear the rotor blades of the helicopter cranking up, set into motion by the small tracker in his belt giving the pilot a comm-less tip off. He’d have to fight this hand-to-hand, and while he didn’t feel the least bit tired, Ghost knew a long fight only risked you further. And fuck if making you wait didn’t make his hair stand up on edge. Even in your state, he knew better than to think you wouldn’t start getting worried in the next couple of minutes.

His opponent took the first blow and used the hilt of his large blade to connect fully with Ghost’s jaw. A heavy crack sounded, but the Lieutenant merely flinched; Throwing his own weight on the weight-matched man, and there ensued a grappling match that risked deadly knife wounds being grazed against straining forearms and a battle of wills that totally opposed one another on every basis… Save for being the last man standing. For the second time in a single mission, Ghost found himself at the razor’s edge of a knife pressing against his throat and no really foolproof tactic of getting out of it.

“Seré el que te mate, fantasma..” The man breathed hotly against Ghost’s ear, jerking the knife closer and fighting the sheer strength in the Lieutenant’s arm. “Colgaré tu cabeza en mi pared, bastardo.”

Ghost fumbled with his other hand under the pressure on his throat began taking away the normal dexterity he functioned with; Trying to find a knife on his belt, or any kind of weapon at this point. Only all of them had been embedded in the dead bodies scattered around them. It had been a bad decision to listen to Price when he said to pack lightly. It would be the end of him.

Simon Riley didn’t show himself often during missions. Always locked away in the recesses of Ghost’s mind, quietly biding his time until there was the few-and-far-between moment for him to appear for a few moments. Typically in the darkness of your shared bedroom with your face pressed between his shoulder blades and your little arm wrapped around his waist.

Simon loved feeling your hand against his belly, twitching your fingers in your sleep and reminding him just how soft and loving you were; Happy to hold his hand tightly in the middle of unconsciousness just like you did when awake. Ghost did everything he could to protect Simon from anyone and anything that could hurt the other half of himself. But hearing another pistol register loudly in the tunnel, echoing back and forth for almost a whole minute; Ghost found himself losing control to Simon.

He felt the man above him slump in dead weight against his back. Muscles slack and the knife held to his throat clanged to the concrete. Looking in the direction of the shot, whatever protective grasp Ghost had on himself utterly dissolved. You’d managed to lay yourself out on the floor, hardly propped up on one elbow with your smoking pistol shaking in your hands. Tears spilled over your cheeks and with each second that passed, he could visualize the pain you felt from such a rough kickback in how you abruptly dropped the pistol in front of you and collapsed flat on the floor with a low groan.

He couldn’t have moved to your side faster.

Immediately picking you up again and making the very short but tense run back to the heli; all the while the pilot was looking between his instruments and the sight of Ghost holding you close to his chest in the floor.

“No one… threatens… to kill you… but me…” You mutter pained, bearing a muddled smile up at Ghost.

Unbelievable… Ghost hardened his stare, putting pressure to your wound and watching in quiet grief that he needed to cause you pain.

“Good shot… did good baby…,” He whispered back weakly, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you against him. Desperate to get you home and safe.

“Gonna ignore how you refused to follow a superior’s orders three times…” He added stiffly, feeling you twitch when a spasm in your shoulder seized. You just bit out another pained noise, coughing a bit with the dust being kicked up from the helicopter lifting off.

The look you gave him couldn’t be seen as anything other than pure, innocent, and unflinching devotion. It nearly ripped Ghost out of the body you clung to, leaving Simon bracing you against his chest as the pilot at the front started giving information to the rest of the squad about fifty miles away at a safe house. Much too long for the Lieutenant’s liking. But close enough that he could get you to his squad and they could ensure you didn’t leave him.

He couldn’t stand losing you, and they’d make sure you didn’t.

“Simon,” Sweet and weak, your hand cups his cheek as you bring him out of an initial trigger. “M’not leaving you anytime soon. Love you too much.” Your eyes close as your head leans agains him trustingly.

His chest crumbled in on itself. “Love you too, baby… I love you too.”

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated! <3

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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jazzsonly · 7 months

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ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴍᴇ (2)

pairing(s): sam carpenter x g!p!stem!reader

warning(s): smut. p in v. handjob. cheating. cuming inside. probably the worst thing you ever read omg.

summary: part one.

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you don’t know why you were standing here, standing at your ex-girlfriend’s apartment door at midnight while you’re sulking girlfriend was at home.

apart of you felt like shit, you knew you shouldn’t have kissed sam. even if it were for a stupid game. even if amber gave you permission. because the whole way home amber shot smart comments but denied she was bothered.

in her own words, “no baby, i’m not bothered i watched my girlfriend get a boner from her ex.”

you wanted to say how could she be mad when she gave you permission but it wasn’t worth the argument and nonetheless you did feel terrible. you couldn’t imagine the insecurity you’d sparked up in the girl.

while you had these feelings, you’re ones for sam overpowered them. you tried to sleep (on the couch because amber didn’t want to be near you.) but you couldn’t. you had this dying, searing need to see sam, to touch sam.

you lift your hand to hesitantly knock but even before you could the door swung open, revealing sam clad in a robe and wet hair.

“come in.” a stupid smirk plastered on her pink lips while she stepped aside, giving you space in the door. she leads you to her room.

“i thought i’d have to wait at least a week before you came…but you missed me more than i thought.”

you squint your eyes at the girl, hating that she were right. you both underestimated how much you missed her.

“how’d you even know i was here?”

she takes a seat on her bed, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands. “i seen your car from my window.”

“so, how’s your girlfriend? she mad?”

you scoff, still having distaste for her character of mind games. “of course she is, sam. that’s fucked up what you did.”

“mhm. did she fuck you good? because i’m sure if she did you wouldn’t be here.” the girl bites, not liking your tone with her.

you turn your head to the side, still standing by her door. knowing amber offered to touch but you declined. telling her you didn’t feel right.

but in your mind, you knew you wanted it to be sam to do you. only she could do you right.

“oh,” she laughs. “she didn’t fuck you at all. that’s why you’re here.”

sam was far too amused.

she was amused and blissful. this was her way and chance to get you back, to get you away from the rigid hands of amber. she would never admit it but underneath all her mind games and façade she missed you like crazy.

you were the only one to put up with her, let alone handle her.

“come here.” your eyes flick to her and back down to the floor, standing in place.

“y/n, come here.” venom in her word this time, and you hesitantly comply. taking a seat next her body.

“untie my rob.” you bite your lip, it was too late to go back now.

you bring your finger tips to the tie of the black silk rob, that hugged her body so right in your eyes. and with the tie undone the seem of her boobs showed.

glints pops in your eyes at the sight.

“mhm, good.” she leans off her hands, placing one on your thigh, her boobs fully showing now.

your skin felt hot, maybe a pierce of sweat by the way she was in your proximity. her brown orbs pouring seduction and need into yours. your orbs having the same amount of lust but a hint of nerves.

sam could see right through your nerves, she could tell there was beating in your heart telling you it’s wrong to do this with your girlfriend’ at home but she didn’t care. she would fix that right up and make you forget amber even existed.

“nobody will ever know,” sam whispered a lie into your lips before sealing it with a truthful kiss.

you pull away at first, looking back to the floor but she tugs on your neck, easily pulling you back in.

there it was. that intoxicating, intense feeling of how much you longed for her.

you hands once again found her waist, just bare this time. you held on so tight, nails slightly causing her sensational pain.

it felt all brand new and old at the same time. you subconsciously moved your lips to her neck, smelling the fresh dove off her skin. she was sexy as ever to you in this moment. it felt like blissful death to have her in your hands this way, and her hands gripping on your thighs. slightly feeling the buldge through your jeans.

as much as sam loved you in control, she loved to be in control even more. she flips the script, sliding her hand up the back of your neck into your hair, she tugs harshly causing you to grunt.

you head held in place, you watch her climb onto your lap. her other hand, pulls on the hem of your hoodie and you get the message. taking it off, leaving you in a beat up vintage michael jackson t-shirt.

sam on the other hand, let’s the silk slide off her arms. leaving her vulnerably exposed.

“god,” you’re shaking breath let out a whisper at the sight.

“i wanna’ ride you.” sam confirms, stepping off to you give area to slide your jeans off.

“your briefs too, y/n.” she scoffs at your horny fogged mind.

this time sam was the one mesmerized at the sight of you.

7 1/2 inches stood tall and rock hard.

she didn’t waste a second climbing back into your lap. she wanted to make sure you were ready, she spit in her hand as a form of lube and strokes you softly.

her eyes so dark, practically black at the way you fell apart in her hands. you head thrown back, light moans and whimpers feel from your lips.

she made sure to caress the tip with her thumb, collecting the pre-cum and stroking down, twisting her hand as well.

“sammy,” you let out and if possible, her eyes grew even darker at the nickname.

she didn’t care if you were ready or not anymore. she needed to have you and oh she did.

she leans up, holding you in place to align herself. she a took a deep breath before coming down on you.

the room filled with both of your moans. if you were falling apart before, you were a mess now.

the way she gushed around you.

she was so tight, and you hate to think it but she was tighter than amber. almost as if she were a perfect fit.

sam places her hand on your abdomen to balance herself as she rotates her hips on you, making sure to precise with her movements so you both can receive maximum pleasure.

“so big,” the carpenter whimpers out, when you push your hips up. she swore she felt you hit spots she didn’t even knew existed.

thank god tara ended up sleeping at mindy’s because from sam’s room through the whole apartment there was nothing but the sounds of slapping, whimpers, and moans.

“fuck, wait, sammy i’m gonna cum.” you pant, snapping your eyes up a the girl.

despite your protest, sam didn’t stop. in fact, it only evoked her more and she moved her hips in way you had never felt before. all you knew was that it brought you closer to climax as it did sam too.

sam felt that pit in her stomach and she knew there was no holding back.

“y/n, fuck.“ she shouted out. (if they didn’t before, the neighbors definitely knew your name now.)

and there was no use for you, once you felt sam’s juices flow all over you, your thick ropes explore her insides.

“oh my,” unintentionally, your hips pushed up at the pleasure.

sam toppled on top of you, allowing her head to fall in your neck. your body was limp, you both only being able to pant for a minute.

“so, is she better than me?”

you wouldn’t say it because you hated to think it, let alone compare.

but no one was better than sam.

──────── well… wrote this while i was at the gym LMAO👩🏽‍💻

#tara carpenter #ethan landry #ghostface #mindy meeks martin #sam carpenter #scream six #sam carpenter x you #sam loomis #scream #jenna ortega #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter x female reader #sam carpenter x reader

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changbunnies · 5 months

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All About You, (18+)

♡ Pairing: Royal Knight/Bodyguard!Minho x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: royal au, historical au, arranged marriage au (reader only), age gap, angst, kind of forbidden love? (maybe more than kind of), basically porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k

♡ Summary: You, the princess who ran away from the castle after finding out your father, the king, has finalized your arranged marriage. Minho, your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, tasked with bringing you back home at all costs. When found, you hit Minho with a very interesting proposition- for him to be the one you share all your "firsts" with, instead of your inevitable husband.

♡ Warnings: age gap !! reader is ~23 while minho is in his 40s, please don't read if this makes you uncomfortable!, uneven power dynamics, outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, brief reference to death by guillotine, and death in general, mentions of injury and swordfighting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): lowkey corruption kink, loss of virginity (reader), petnames (princess (mostly as a title), good girl), slight sub + dom dynamics, soft dom minho, submissive reader, a lot of kissing (should be expected from me atp), nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight overstim, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: at this point i am determined to write a royal, historical au fic for every member, and my newest offering to you is minho <3 i was literally possessed writing this like once the idea hit my brain i had to get it out asap lmao you can also read the story on my ao3 here, and if you're interested you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. In recent years, he had one job, and one job only, and that was to take care of the princess. Make sure she’s safe, escort her to where she needs to be and watch over her at all times- that’s all. Not always an easy job, but one of vital importance that Minho took with utmost seriousness. In the 3 years it’s been since becoming your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, he never messed up this critically.

You always had a rebellious streak and challenged authority, everyone in the castle knew that. And part of Minho’s job, apart from keeping you safe, was keeping you in check- and the king made it extremely clear that failing to do so was not an option. So he lost track of the amount of times he uttered the words “Princess, please think rationally,” or “Please consider your responsibility to the kingdom, don’t do this,” in a near desperate attempt to get you to listen to reason.

And today, he fucked up the worst he ever had. He knew you were upset tonight, but he was under the impression he successfully calmed you down, and that you wouldn’t do anything rash. He turned his back to you, thinking the storm had been quelled, and that you’d listen to your father, even if doing so felt like pulling teeth. He underestimated however, just how deep your sadness and anger truly ran, and the very moment you saw an opening, you took it.

You fled from the castle with blind determination, nowhere to go and with little of value in your hands, fueled purely by the desire to escape your unfair circumstances, and live your own life by your own means. You may not believe it, but Minho understood, and felt for you- he really did. But that didn’t change what his duty was, and even if it made you hate him, he had to do his job to the best of his ability.

So now here he was, roaming the streets looking for you, the hours passing in a blur. You must’ve done a good job of concealing your identity, because no one he asked had seen a young woman matching your description, and as the minutes ticked by, and sunset turned to midnight, he was at a complete loss of what to do. He made record time combing the entire bustling town, stopping into places full to the brim with people in the hopes he’d catch a glimpse of you in the crowd, and yet there seemed to be no trace of you anywhere.

It was easy for someone to hide their presence in a crowd, or in the rowdy environment of a tavern, and you were more than intelligent enough to blend into a crowd and divert attention away from yourself. It was entirely possible that Minho had seen you at some point, and simply didn’t realize it, though he liked to believe he’d recognize you anywhere, no matter what you wore. Minho scowled, clenching his teeth as he scanned the dark horizon of the treeline; should he check the outer walls of the town for a clue, or double back and check the streets again?

He doubts you made it out of the town easily, considering you likely had no money on your person and little experience with the realities of the world. You were intelligent, yes, but sheltered; he could easily imagine you quickly getting in over your head, thinking you could make it to the next town without issue, only to end up lost and in need of help, with no one for miles to hear your desperate cries.

Fuck. If he couldn’t find you, his head would most certainly be meeting the cold steel of a guillotine. He had no family who would mourn his loss, but still, he wasn’t ready to face his mortality. And the king, despite being someone he could call a close friend, would spare no mercy if he failed to keep his one and only daughter safe. But really, there was more to it than just the threat of death that kept him searching for you. Believe it or not, he genuinely wanted you safe and well, and he'd do anything to ensure you made it back home, even if it made you curse him for the rest of his days.

As if God himself heard his prayers and decided to grant him a miracle, Minho sees you- there, on the outskirts of town, holding your cold hands up to your face and letting your breath warm them. It’s dark, the street barely even illuminated enough to discern your recognizable features, but he knows without a doubt that it's you standing there in the cold street, because truly, he knows you anywhere.

By the time you realize you’ve been spotted and recognized, it’s already much too late to flee. Minho approached you with utmost haste, reaching out and grabbing your arm, lest you make the foolish decision to try to escape again. His hold, while not rough enough to hurt you, is firm, and it only takes one attempt at pulling your arm from his hold to know this is it; your escape attempt has failed, and you’ll be dragged back to the castle and reprimanded for your “temper tantrum.”

Your father never listens to you, no matter how hard you try to make him understand and see your point of view. Maybe if you were born a boy, your opinions would be important to him, and he’d see you are more than an object to pawn off to whatever man gave him the most political power. “Princess-” “I’m not going home,” you interject before he even has a chance, though you already know it’s in vain. There is no avoiding returning to your glorified prison now that Sir Minho has you in his grasp.

He sighs, but his face changes to one of sympathy, his grip on your arm loosening ever so slightly. “Can we at least go to an inn room? It’s not safe for a young lady to be on the streets at night,” he reasons with you, as gently as he can manage. Normally Minho is quite stern with you, but you get the impression that he feels being stern isn’t the right approach tonight. You’re known for expressing yourself very vocally, even when doing so is extremely ill-advised, and he is well aware of how opinionated and fiery you are.

But treating this display as anything other than a genuine act of desperation, a culmination of years of perceived disrespect and conformity, would be another critical error- one he can’t afford to make. So he will be firm, yes, but gentle in his approach. You frown as you look at him; you’re stubborn by nature, and part of you wants to fight against him until the bitter end, but he’s not wrong about the streets being unsafe for you at night. You know he won’t let you escape again come morning, but that’ll have to be a problem for later; for right now, you really should heed his advice and go to an inn for the night.

“Fine,” you concede, much to Minho’s relief. He could’ve forced you to go with him if he really needed to, but he’d rather avoid doing something so unpleasant. He leads you to a nearby tavern, which is still bustling with activity even at the late hour. He keeps you close as he pushes through the crowd of rowdy drunks to the dual innkeep-bartender, hoping that there is still a room available. The man departs, coming back with a key dangling in hand, “You’re in luck. Last room’s all yours.”

Minho thanks the man and pulls out his satchel to pay him, leaving a few extra coins as a tip before stashing it back in his pocket, along with the key he was given, and the two of you go up the stairs together. “There’s only one bed,” you comment as you step inside the room, though Minho doesn’t seem to care much about that fact. “That’s fine, don’t plan on sleeping anyways,” he says as he removes his leather scabbard from his back, resting it against the back of the chair in the corner of the room.

You frown as you sit on the bed and watch him; he must’ve been in a hurry when he received word you fled from the castle, as he wasn’t wearing any of his armor, strictly in casual wear you’d very rarely seen him in. Probably for the best, you think, because if anyone saw a royal knight desperately searching the streets, multiple alarms would be raised. He lights the fireplace, hoping to quickly spread some heat throughout the cold room, before he sits in the chair, crossing his arms and watching you carefully.

Deserved, you suppose. How is he supposed to trust you’re not going to flee at the first available moment just as before? You certainly don’t make his job easy for him; he can’t take his eyes off you for a second. The silence between you lingers for some time, the crackling of the fire the only sound either of you hear, apart from the muffled patrons enjoying their drinks downstairs. Minho, despite his relaxed posture, looks like he’d be ready to jump up at a moment's notice should he need to.

You sigh; should you just try to sleep? It’d feel awkward and uncomfortable to try to fall asleep with someone's eyes boring holes into you, but you really didn’t give him much of a choice. “Do you want to tell me why you ran away from the castle?” Minho asks suddenly, breaking the tempered silence between you. “You already know the answer to that,” you respond, crossing your own arms now.

“Is marrying Sir Jin really so bad?” he asks, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yes, obviously. I don’t want to. Not that you or my father care about me or anything I think.” Minho’s brow furrows, the frown on his face growing. “Princess, you know that’s not true. I do care about you.” “Do you? I haven’t been able to tell in the slightest,” you counter a bit harshly, “and you could help me if you wanted to, you know. I’d be fine out there if I was with you.”

Okay, maybe you’re not being fair to Minho right now. You do know he cares, but realistically, what is he supposed to do? If he disobeyed your fathers orders, he’d be lucky if his only punishment was a swift death. He was assigned to you because your father trusts him to do the right thing and follow orders dutifully, a trust that is usually not misplaced. But he has to admit, the more and more time he spends with you, the more he feels for you.

Minho never knew your father, the king, to be an unreasonable or cruel man, but in your eyes, he might as well be the devil himself. And maybe he is cruel- because how do you strip someone of their freedom and choices for your own gain, and not see the harm it causes, the wrong in it? You are more than a pawn, more than a subject, more than his daughter- you are a person. A person with thoughts, feelings, and opinions as real as any mans, who did not deserve to be treated lesser than for the simple crime of being born a girl.

But what is Minho if not an upholder of the status quo? He was just a single man, and even if he recognized how unfairly you were treated in comparison to the golden child that was your elder brother, what was he supposed to do? He always performed his tasks dutifully and without question, and it wasn’t until he met you that he began to struggle with what he should do, and what he wants to do.

And maybe he could get you out of this town, help you live a quiet, modest life somewhere new, away from the watchful eye of your father. Where he could be your protector, same as now, but without the guilt, burden, or threats. You know you shouldn’t take your frustrations about your life out on Minho, but he’s really all you have. You trust him with your life, and he’s shown you multiple times that he cares about you beyond the duty he has to you, or to your father. He's your only confidant, the only person in the world you can rely on.

Your eyes linger on the scar across his nose- he got it protecting you, the other man’s sword barely missing his eyes and cutting just across his face, and it was only one of many scars he obtained in his service to you. He’d pick you up and run with you in his arms when you were injured, he’d fight off attackers without breaking a sweat, sustain injury after injury all to make sure you were safe. You’d watch his back, always stunned and mesmerized at the ease at which he cut down your enemies, as if they were nothing but paper.

When he’d turn back to you, breathing heavy and sweat only just starting to trickle on his brow, his eyes would turn from the harshest winter chill to the gentle warmth of a spring morning. He was quiet, stern, but his care ran far deeper than one would think just by looking at him, and all you had to do to see the true depth of his feelings was look in his eyes. So you knew it was unfair to accuse him of not caring about you, to expect him to go above and beyond for you, to ask that he go against your father to give you what you want, but you were just so sad, frustrated, angry, that you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Maybe you’ll grow to love him if you give him a chance,” Minho suggests; you both know that’s never going to happen, but what else can he say? He never married, and had no children, dedicated to his duty as he was; he had no real advice to offer someone when it came to love, romance, and the like, but he imagined it wasn’t impossible to fall in love if you just met Sir Jin with an open mind.

But as stated, that’s never going to happen. You’re stubborn to a fault, and once you’ve decided something, there’s no changing it. The best Minho can ever manage to do is get you to reconsider, but even then, you’re still likely to go about things the way you originally wanted to, with no regard for consequences or keeping up appearances. You’re a fiery woman, there was no doubt about it, and you don’t let go of things easily.

“The mere thought of giving that man all my firsts makes me sick, it’s vile,” you scrunch up your nose, making your distaste for the man very clear. Minho doesn’t even think you’ve actually met the man yet, but you’ve already decided you hate him, that you don’t want to marry him, and so you’ll be firmly stuck in your opinion no matter what anyone says.

“Maybe this isn’t advice I should be giving you, but.. You don’t necessarily have to. To give him your firsts, or love him. Find someone you do love, even if you have to keep it a secret, and hold him with all you’ve got. It still wouldn’t be ideal, of course, but.. Well, it’d be something, at least.” Really, Minho is supposed to encourage you to be an obedient daughter and listen to your father without question, but he knows you well enough to know that’s a fool's errand.

You’re never going to listen, never going to be obedient, never going to stop being opinionated. So what’s the next, most realistic piece of advice he can give? Lie, of course. Make your father and inevitable husband believe you’re a good, obedient wife and daughter, and then go live the life you really want behind their backs. It's dishonest as all hell, and there would be consequences if you got caught, but if you’re going to be miserable no matter what you do, you might as well try, right? It’s what Minho would do if he were you, anyways.

“What about you?” you ask and Minho raises a brow in question. “What about me?” he asks, and what you respond with makes him feel like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “What if I gave my firsts to you?” Did he hear you right? There must be some mistake with his ears, there’s absolutely no way you said what he thinks you did. “You.. what?” Surely you can’t be serious about this. You’re the princess, and he’s just the man who happens to be your guard, a man who is your fathers age at that.

But the way you look at him, he can tell you’re not joking in the slightest. “Princess, I couldn’t possibly accept that,” Minho says sternly, his arms no longer crossed but instead resting on the arms of the chair, hands beginning to grip tightly so he can ground himself and try to make sense of this insane situation. “Why not? I’d be happier if I gave it to someone like you. I trust you,” you say so nonchalantly it makes his head reel. What the fuck is happening right now?

Minho was the ideal man, at least in your opinion. He was handsome, mature, realistic and practical, knew how to reel you in without disregarding the root of what you feel or being disrespectful to you. He never dismissed how you felt, made you feel over emotional or like a fool who overreacts; he’d ask you to see reason, sure, urge you to think more before acting, but he never, never made you feel like your feelings were invalid. And he genuinely cared about you, and you liked him, were attracted to him, so if the opportunity presented itself then.. Why not take the chance?

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. You were just freshly 20 when Minho first met you and became your guard, and hard as he tried to never see you beyond the platonic, he’s always viewed you as an attractive young woman. He liked your fiery spirit, liked how you had the bravery and gall to challenge authority, a skill that in recent months he felt he was sorely lacking. Your attitude was refreshing, and despite your circumstances, you never acted like a damsel in need of his help.

In a different life, in another world, maybe you two could have met as equals, not painfully stuck to the rules of an unfair, unforgiving reality. You’d be each other's foil, you, the impassioned dreamer with as many thoughts and ideas as there were stars in the sky, and he the realist, who didn’t dim your light but tempered it into a steady, sustainable flame. You’d take him out on adventures, out of the strict box of his comfort zone, and he’d ground you more firmly to reality, never discouraging your dreams but making sure you took the necessary steps in the right way, responsibly, matching one another perfectly, complementary and meant for each other.

But that’s not your reality, and you both know it. There would never be any coming back from this if you go through with it, and there’s no ideal, happy future for you two to share. “I’m not so disillusioned to think this would be anything other than sex for you,” you continue, and he swallows, mind still racing impossibly, “but it’d be much more meaningful for me with you than some bastard I don’t like in the slightest.”

You’re wrong. So wrong, and you don’t even know it. It would never be “just sex” with you. You mean much, much more to him than you even realize. “You won’t regret asking a man like me? There’d be no taking it back once it’s done,” Minho can’t help but ask, rationality and reason desperately trying to gain control.

Despite what your father may believe, you’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions. And this is a decision you make with full knowledge of what it means for you, more than willing to accept whatever consequences may arise for committing such a sin. In an ideal world, you’d be allowed to love who you wish, live where you wish, do what you wish.

But this isn’t an ideal world, and if there is only one thing you can ever be granted in this life that feels as if it isn’t even your own, it would be this- to have one night, just one night, where you can be the person you want to be, with Minho by your side. “You’re free to reject me if you’re not attracted to me, but.. My only regret would have been not trying. So I ask, are you not attracted to me?”

He looks you over carefully, grip on the armrests tightening. Admitting that he’s attracted to you may as well be a death sentence. But he can’t lie to you, completely at your mercy. Fuck the king, it’s you he’s really loyal to. All he’s ever done, all he ever will do, it’s always for you. He’s always tried to act in your best interest, to do the right thing, to keep you safe and protected. But does keeping you safe even matter if you’re miserable?

“I am,” Minho swallows, answering honestly despite his better judgment, “You have no idea how attracted to you I am.” “So why hesitate?” you ask, fingers trail down your lap, over your knees, to where the very bottom of your dress lies. He watches you, eyes darting from your hands back to your face. You’re watching him too, carefully, considering his every reaction before you make your next move, impressively calculated.

You take the hem of your dress in your hands, pulling it up leisurely, getting it halfway up your thighs, and Minho is in front of you in an instant, his hands grabbing your wrists and stopping you from lifting it any further. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess,” he breathes, voice low and strained; he can’t lose control of his desires, but fuck, you’re making it so hard. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with the same fiery determination you always have, but there’s more there than just that this time. Desire, want, need- all for him.

Fuck it. He’s going to get burned, but maybe it’s worth it. You’ll be his funeral pyre, engulfing him in your flame until all that remains are the ashes of the man he was supposed to be. And what a beautiful way to end his life it will be, lost between your thighs, feeling your nails dig and claw at his skin. He lets go of your wrists, one of his hands coming to cup your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

“Has anyone ever kissed you, Princess?” he asks and you give a slight shake of the head, breathing a soft “No..” He hums, and there’s a twisted sort of pleasure he derives from knowing he’ll be your first in every conceivable way. You’re not “innocent,” he knows you’re not, but there’s something about being your first kiss, your first cock, your first everything that makes him crazy.

“And you want me to be the first one to kiss you?” he follows up with another question, corners of his mouth threatening to twist into a smile when you nod, a soft, honest “yes” leaving your lips effortlessly. He leans down towards you, keeping your head tilted up so he can easily meet your lips. He does so softly, treating you with care. His lips are softer than you expected, and the feeling of them against your own fills you with butterflies.

He carefully tilts you back, and you let your body fall back onto the mattress, head hitting the surprisingly soft pillows. Minho crawls over you, spreading your legs apart just enough to get between them, your dress now hiked all the way up your thighs. He’s hovering over you, looking down at you with so much love and lust and that it leaves you speechless. “I’ll need you to listen to me tonight. Can you do that for me?” he asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw, under your ear, your neck.

You can, because it’s Minho. He’d never hurt you, never try to control you, never make you feel lesser than. So you can listen to him, because you trust him with your care; he’ll take good care of you, you know he will. He smiles when you nod, and you see him smile so rarely that it makes your heart skip a beat; his role always requires him to be so stern and straight faced, that seeing him smile down at you like this is enough to melt you into a puddle.

“You’re a good girl when you want to be, hmm?” he hums against your neck, resuming his trail of kisses against your skin, and you can’t explain why, but the words and tone he says them in makes your stomach flip. If you were in a different world, and didn’t have to return home to the castle tomorrow, he’d take his time marking your neck, filling it with pretty shades of blue, purple, and red, sinking his teeth into your soft, supple skin.

He just knows you’d look so pretty like that, and the way you react when his breath tickles your skin and his lips linger, tells him you’d like it too. His fingers trail down your body, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up over your chest. You lift your back off the bed when he separates from your neck, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and discarding it to the floor. He kisses you as he fiddles with the straps of your bra, effortlessly unhooking it in the back and pulling it down your arms and off your body.

He may have never married, but he’s no stranger to being with and pleasuring women. And he’ll make sure he makes this a night you’ll always remember for all the right reasons. Capturing your lips in another kiss, his hands take in your now bare breasts, gently kneading and squeezing. You try to squeeze your legs together, but his place between your thighs stops the act from happening, and he chuckles against your lips when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Be patient, Princess, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispers before kissing you again, and you let out a small whine, not knowing exactly what you want but knowing you want something. You gasp when he takes your nipples between your fingers and pinches them, not too hard of course, but enough to give him the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your body shudders, you feel dizzy with pleasure and excitement, and the feeling of his tongue circling yours is impossibly intoxicating.

One of his hands travels down, over your stomach, coming between your bodies to feel your heat over your panties. He’s barely even begun and you’re already soaking the fabric, your eager anticipation for more of his touch palpable beyond all else. He nips at your bottom lip, gently tugging it between his teeth before soothing the sting with kitten licks, his hand slipping inside your panties to feel how slick you’ve gotten directly.

Your body jolts when his fingers run between your folds, and he barely has to move them at all to get his fingers completely coated in your juices. He pulls back to look at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face and swollen lips, pretty and perfect. You’re panting, breathless, overwhelmed in the best way possible. You keen when his fingers rub over your clit in circles, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you lift your head from the pillows to watch.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, suppressing a grin when you whine and quickly nod your head. “Want more, want you,” you mutter, the most timid you’ve ever been in regards to a man. He coos, giving you a sweet kiss as he continues his stimulation to your sensitive spot. “Remember what I said? Patience, Princess, you’ll get what you want. We can’t rush and have you getting hurt, can we?”

You pout as you concede, and God, he finds that so cute; he’s never seen you actually act shy and pouty before, and it makes him want to give you the entire world. He’ll give you everything you want, anything you ask for, but he’ll have to remember to tease you first so he can see that cute expression on your face before he gives in to your whims. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, so just be a good girl and follow my lead until then. You can do that for me easily, can’t you?”

Another shy nod, another adorable flushed look that makes his cock throb in his trousers. It was a little intimidating for you, knowing how experienced Minho must be due to his age, and feeling like you must fall short in comparison to other women, women who knew what they were doing, but really, that was just your own insecurity talking. He didn’t mind at all that you were inexperienced; in fact, it excited him for reasons he didn’t entirely understand.

Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the first to touch your skin, or maybe that someone as determined and fiery as you are is allowing yourself to concede control, to let him be in charge of your pleasure, trusting him to bring you to utmost bliss. What bigger display of trust could you ever show him? Your glassy, pleading eyes, begging him for more but still waiting for it just as he asked- you’re too good for him. He’s going to ruin you.

He takes his fingers away, and you have to physically stop yourself from whining at the lack of contact, lest he remind you again about “being patient.” “Open your mouth for me,” Minho requests, and though you are a bit confused, you do as he asks immediately, obeying without question. Fuck, that’s hot; the image of you, mouth open, tongue slightly sticking out and waiting to receive whatever he gives you is something he never wants to forget.

Minho slides two of his fingers into your mouth, instructing you to lick, to get his fingers nice and wet. Truthfully, you were more than lubricated enough to take his fingers without this step, but he couldn’t resist the urge to see you this way. He pushes his fingers in your mouth down to the knuckle, and you persist with coating them in your saliva even as you gag and tears prick the corners of your eyes.

He showers you with praise, slipping his fingers out of your mouth when he feels satisfied with the work you’ve done on them, kissing your cheeks, feeling the heat of your face on his lips. Slipping his hand back inside your panties, he presses the tips of his wet fingers to your hole, and you instinctively suck in a breath, body unconsciously tensing from the anticipation. “You have to relax, Princess, it won’t feel good if you’re tense,” he explains sweetly, shaking his head when you mutter a soft apology.

“Don’t be sorry, not for that. Just focus on me, hmm? On this,” he whispers, his lips lingering on yours in a deep, impassioned kiss. His fingers stay completely still until he feels your body start to release its tension, heeding his advice to focus more on his kisses than the motion of his fingers. He keeps kissing you even as the first of his fingers finally starts to push inside you, and you moan into his mouth, hot pleasure licking your skin.

He moves his finger in and out slowly, making sure you’re well adjusted before he pushes in another one, hooking his fingers to find that delicious sweet spot he knows will have you crying his name in no time. You gasp loudly when he finds it, your hands twisting the sheets beneath you between your fingers, your entire body trembling. It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, and when he picks up his pace, hitting your spot over and over as he brings his thumb to your clit, you know you won’t last long at all.

“M-Minho, I’m- I’m gonna-” you try to warn him, but the words die in your throat, the pleasure too overwhelming to continue to try and form a sentence. He simply hums, continuing his motions until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, sharp, shuddery gasps and moans tumbling from your lips as your orgasm takes you. “That’s it, just let go, just like that, I’ve got you,” he praises, pressing kisses to your hot skin, helping you ride out your high.

Before you can even fully recollect your breath and get your racing heart back under control, he’s pushing a third finger inside, the trembling in your body intensifying from the addition. “You need more to get ready for me,” he tells you, and in your fucked out state all you can do is nod, taking his word as gospel truth, “need to stretch you good to make sure my cock fits.” All you can do is lay there and take the onslaught of pleasure, unable to think of about anything other than how full and good his fingers make you feel.

You don’t even register that he’s moved your down your body and tugged your panties to the side until his tongue is meeting your clit, swirling around it in expertly practiced circles, making you desperately cry out his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as your hips buck up to keep feeling the delicious sensation his tongue provides you. He flattens his tongue and lets you grind against it as you want, the motions of his fingers not stuttering or ceasing despite the movement of your hips.

You feel the familiar heat pooling your stomach, another orgasm approaching quickly, the sounds you release turning into desperate whines and whimpers as you chase the feeling. It only takes a few more rolls of your hips and thrusts of his fingers to have you releasing all over his face, your juices gushing around his fingers. He sits up and pulls his fingers out when your body falls limp, chest heaving and ears ringing as you try to recover from the mind-blowing experience you just had.

Your eyes are closed, and you can feel his weight shift, can hear the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the rustling of clothes. You open your eyes to see Minho’s cock is now out, his hand lazily pumping it and spreading the pre-cum that accumulated and dripped over his time focusing on you. You reach a hand out to touch it, to replace his hand with your own, but he grabs your hand before you can, instead making you intertwine your fingers.

“Tonight’s all about you, Princess. Don’t worry about taking care of me,” he says, kissing the back of your hand and then holding it down right above your head; you’re not quite pinned, easily able to snake your hand out of his hold if you wanted to, but you have to admit, you like the feeling of his hand keeping yours held down. He rubs his cock between your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, though you didn’t miss the subtle smirk on his face when you whined from the feeling of his tip rubbing against your clit.

“Squeeze my hand if you need to,” Minho tells you before taking your free hand and bringing it up to his shoulder, “and hold onto me.” Your heart squeezes in your chest; the hidden romantic in you yearns to tell him you love him, to thank him for taking such good care of you, to express how you never want this night to end, but you know that would be a mistake. Neither of you can afford to let your emotions spill out, so you swallow them down the best you can, deciding to just live in this moment, to experience it for all that it is and all that it means for you.

The initial push is slow, and thanks to his diligent preparation, there is little physical pain or discomfort you experience from the stretch of his cock. A slight sting, sure, but nothing you can’t easily handle, and it’s barely even recognizable when compared to the pleasant fullness you feel. So when you squeeze his hand, and your eyes well with tears, it’s not because you are pained; it’s because you finally have something you want, a happiness you thought would forever elude you.

He takes his free hand and wipes away the tears from your eyes, a soft look of concern on his face. “Hurts?” he asks, but you shake your head quickly. “Feels good, I just.. I..” you struggle with the words, knowing you can’t express how you actually feel even if you felt you could. “I know. You don’t have to say it, I know,” Minho speaks to you softly, and the kiss he gives you very nearly makes you sob.

There’s still a few inches left before he’s fully inside you, and he pushes the remainder in slowly as he continues to kiss you, his free hand now rubbing soothing circles on your hip with his thumb. Minho does well at maintaining composure, staying firmly in control of himself and his body despite the way your walls squeeze and suck him in, despite the way you whimper when you feel him throb, or cry out against his lips when his tip kisses your deepest spots.

“That’s a good girl, taking all I give you, doing so well,” he praises you some more, and you love when he tells you how good you’re doing if the way you clench around him is any indicator. “Fuck, Princess-” he groans when he finally starts to move, pulling out and pressing back in much more slowly than he normally would, but the wet friction you provide him is delicious. “Minho, I-” you start, interrupted by a sharp gasp when he finds your sweet spot with his cock.

He looks at you as he stills his hips, patiently waiting for you to continue in case what you have to say is important, or a request for him to stop. You swallow, face heating up but determined to get out what you want to say. “J-Just this once, I don’t want to be the princess. Call me by name, please-” Oh, that’s what you want? He can do that, easily; he’s already groaned your name countless times in the privacy of his room, stroking his cock to the thought of you.

The sound of your name falling from his lips as he resumes the thrust of his hips has you clenching hard, stars erupting in your vision as he picks up his pace, beginning to quickly and mercilessly hit your spot, over and over again. He takes one of your legs and props it up over his shoulder, allowing more of his cock to fill you up, the creaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping beginning to overpower the noise from downstairs.

Taking his other hand away from yours, you’ll have to forgive him, he licks his fingers and then brings them to your clit, wanting nothing more than to see and feel you release on his cock. It only takes a few more thrusts and circles from his fingers to have you crying out his name as you cum, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as your body shakes and legs tremble. But Minho hasn’t cum yet, so he’s not quite done with you, not that you mind in the slightest; you’ll let him chase his pleasure as long as he wishes, even if it leaves you a drooling, fucked out mess in the end.

He pulls out of you, just long enough to sit against the headboard, and then he’s pulling you on top of him, guiding you to sink back down on his cock and sit fully in his lap. The new position has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head, Minho guiding the movement of your hips with his hands as he thrusts up into you. He’s quite literally doing all the work, but that’s perfectly fine; this night is supposed to be about you, after all, and he doesn’t want you to lift a pretty little finger. Just let him use you a little until he cums, that’s all he needs.

You’re panting against his neck, head laid on his shoulder and nails digging into the skin of his back beneath his shoulder blades. The sting of your nails in his skin is just how he imagined it to be, and his head is falling back against the headboard, low grunts and groans of your name leaving freely as his cock throbs and twitches, getting closer and closer to his release. He uses one of his hands to grab your face and lift it up to his, crashing his lips to yours in a desperate, impassioned display of love and lust.

A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his cum spurting inside you in long, thick ropes, the sensation sending you forward into yet another orgasm of your own, your desperate sounds muffled only by Minho’s mouth on yours. Your body collapses against his when the moment slows to a stop, both of your chests heaving and breaths heavy as you lie against him, his arms wrapped around you snuggly and keeping you upright against his chest.

You can hear the quick, erratic beating of his heart as he catches his breath, looking up at him to see his eyes closed and sweat trailing down his brow towards his cheek. He looks beautiful like this, you think; you hope he thought the same of you. Even as his cock starts to soften, neither of you move, and though your legs protest and beg to be stretched out, you refuse to leave your spot on Minho’s lap.

“Are you alright, Princess?” he asks once he’s collected himself, pushing your hair from your face and wiping the sweat from your brow. “Mhm, just want to stay like this,” you reply, and Minho smiles softly, rubbing over your shoulders and down your back in a sweet gesture of comfort. You’re silent like this for some time, just simply enjoying the feeling of him, the sound of the crackling fire, the warmth he and this room provides you.

“Does my happiness really have to end here?” you can’t help but quietly ask, and Minho is quiet for a moment, carefully considering before he speaks. In a different world, in a different time, in a different place, maybe the two of you are meant to be. There’s comfort in imagining yourself there, truly happy with Minho, letting him care for you while not snuffing out the flame that is your pride, ambition, and spirit.

It’s not meant to be, you both know that to be true. To be with each other required great risk, sacrifice, hardship. But again he has to wonder, is being safe worth the cost of happiness? Would you even truly be “alive” if your every moment was spent miserably? He doesn’t want to see the very core of what makes you you be snuffed out by selfish, idiotic men and their expectations of what you should be.

You’re much younger than him, and it would be impossible for him to be there for you for the rest of your life, but he can be for the rest of his, at least. “Maybe not,” he answers, unsure of what the future holds for the two of you, but not entirely ready to give up so easily. He could accept his fate, accept that love is something out of his reach, but it’s your happiness on the line that makes him want to fight for it.

There’s a lot he could lose by helping you escape this life you feel trapped in, but he’d rather see you happy than wasting your days away in the castle, subservient to a man you loathe. Your love isn’t meant to be, but that’s okay; he’ll help you all the same. He’s loyal to you, and only you, he’s decided- so if you make your future husband, your father, the entire kingdom your enemy, then they’ll be his enemy too. And it’ll all be worth it just to see you smile for a little bit longer.

#skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #skz smut #lee know smut #lee minho smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #not me posting a fic again literally 4 days after my last one i am serious when i say i was possessed to write this #also not posting between the hours of 4-7am for once that is a win for me !!#mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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evanpetersmybf · 1 month

Text

All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one.

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!”

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready.

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

“Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?”

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago.

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy.

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary.

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do.

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil’ piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting. “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint?

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course.

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant.

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!”

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say.

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?”

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again.

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!”

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to.

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe.

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth.

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday.

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class.

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged.

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes.

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were.

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible.

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real…

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself.

251 notes · View notes

rippersz · 22 days

Text

𝐄𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Zombie Apocalypse AU w/ Gwendoline Christie characters; (~9.2K words)

(Featuring: Larissa Weems, Brienne of Tarth, Jane Murdstone, Anna from WTM, Lucifer Morningstar, Miranda Hilmarson, Captain Phasma, and Jan Stevens) x Reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It started about two months ago. Russia went down first, then Mongolia. China. India. And in the midst, Finland, Sweden, Norway, the United Kingdom, down to the very southern tip of Africa. The Ocean is no killer of disease, frozen or not, and encouraged it to ravage South and North America, then Canada and Greenland. Until every place was overrun by dead freaks. Stinking corpses and moving gore.

They traveled in herds, packs, whatever it was that people wanted to call them—murders, perhaps—and shuffled aimlessly across any land they could find. Eager for food, for sustenance, to fill the empty bellies that would never be full. Gorging themselves on creatures like you.

Officially ‘the other’. Officially ‘the enemy’. The sole survivor of a good group that was attacked some days ago because an idiot forgot to shoot one of the creatures in the head. And by sunrise, it was over. Screams echoed into the silence and you soon found yourself alone… running for your life with a duffle bag over your shoulder (slowing you down) and a gun in your hand (low on ammo). Trekking through thick woods in a heavily-infested Vermont town was not a good idea, but you had no choice. The house you were camping in was left behind, ravaged by bullets that you put into your friend’s heads, and every other spot nearby had been looted. You couldn’t move all of those bodies yourself. You couldn’t do much yourself. There was no army background attached to your name, no conspiracy theorist survival-obsessed gene in your body, and not much training in fighting either. All you could do was run. Run and run and run until you were miles away and your lungs started to burn. Not the most useful skill considering most people could run, but if you were quick enough to speed past the shuffling bastards, you were quick enough to make it to safety.

—

Safety…what a joke. A shit joke. A joke that was, quite honestly, the worst joke to ever exist. There was no safety. No place, nowhere. You’d been walking for a few hours, hearing nothing but the forest’s silence, and stumbling over leaves and branches. They ravaged the animals, took them into their mouths like they were people, and ate until there was nothing left. Not even a squirrel, or a fox, and the birds had grown weary of the vast number of hunters (both dead and undead) that found themselves in the woods looking for food. So no birds either. And no houses. And you were pretty sure, as you paused to catch your breath, that you were doomed.

Only a few bullets left and your aim was never perfect. One knife tucked into your waistband but it was getting uncomfortable, digging into your skin, and caked in blood. Creature blood. Everything smelled horrible. Like burning flesh or dirty meat, raw and soiled. You probably didn’t smell too good either. It wasn’t like the world still worked without the people; only a few places had running water and you couldn’t trust the creeks and rivers. The undead enjoyed walking through shallow water, knowing somehow that there’d probably be prey nearby.

But you hadn’t seen anything in a while. A long while. A suspiciously long while...

Everything was green and brown around you, whisked by wind and soil, and you stood out like blood against snow. The last thing you saw was yesterday. Ever since? Not a single flash of undead flesh.

You swallowed, throat embarrassingly dry, and tapped your fingers against your thigh.

It wasn’t good when everything was still. You were vulnerable, out in the open, and without a good few rounds of bullets to spare. Every muscle and organ in your body screamed for mercy, crying with the effort it took to keep surviving even when you didn’t want to.

You thought about it a few times; gave the gun in your hand a long look on several occasions, but ultimately decided that ‘opting out’ was only a last resort. Somehow, even amidst the chaos and hatred and swill of humanity’s nature, you managed to hold hope. And often wondered where it would get you. How it would get you. While you were sleeping? While you were already wounded? Fighting off the hands of a loved one? The twist of hope’s rope… would you feel it closing in around your neck? A literal metaphor for the eventual death you’d experience?

Thinking about it gave you a headache.

For where was the point in wondering?

You had no one else. Whatever form of death awaited, it would end up being your fault. Probably because you couldn’t run fast enough. Probably because-

Because-

Wait.

Somewhere behind you, on the right, was a low sound. A hum. The smooth whoosh of something quick. The parting of wind… the low growl of…

“Fuck.”

You shot off in that direction, bag smacking against your shoulder blades, and instantly felt the exhaustion pull at your body again. It lingered like a plague, like the undead disease, and you yearned to fall to your knees - to give in - but it wasn’t the time for that. You had to at least try. You had to at least make it over the hill. Right over the hill. So close but so far. You leaned forward, threw yourself at the ground, and grasped onto gnarled tree roots. The Earth smelled wet with decay, sweet with promise - you huffed against dry leaves. They crunched and scratched at your fingers, eventually crinkling into nothing when your arms worked to drag you up. You probably looked a little mad, scrambling up a steep hill to reach something that probably won’t save you, but there was no other option. The hum grew louder, the quiet was broken, and you only had a few moments to get this right.

“Help!” Your lungs caved around your scream, but the forest swallowed it instantly. Greedy trees with their greedy barks, wanting to keep you hidden from salvation. The hum grew louder. Your fingers grew clammy, sweating and slipping against rough wood.

You’d be bruised to high heaven later, and probably exhausted, but the hum and the growl of an engine meant a road and a road meant civilization and goddammit you just needed to get over the stupid fucking hill.

There was a loud ringing in your ears, nearly deafening, and making your voice sound fuzzy.

“Help! Help!”

Was that you? Were you the one screaming like that? Why couldn’t you be quiet? Those things could have been lurking… wandering nearby… coming up behind you, eager to grasp at your ankles and drag you back down to Hell.

A glance back over your shoulder, aching from the duffle bag, found nothing but blurred terrain and darkened leaves–a symptom of the setting sun. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If the light went out, you’d be screwed. You couldn’t use the last of your matches and the world went black when evening struck. So there really was no choice. As the growl turned into a roar… there was no choice. Just a little higher- a little more. Your arms pushed, biceps straining against the cotton of your shirt, and your pants threatened to get caught on wayward sticks and tear into rags. The boots on your feet pressed hard against loose rocks, kicking them out of place, and gained just enough ground to push you up - over the ridge. The final stretch. Your chest pushed to the hard dirt and forced a grunt of effort from your tired body; the sound echoed through the woods, through the ground, and through the air that sat above the concrete road in front of you. Hard and vast, grey and long… you looked at it as though it were the holiest of grails, lying just beside it with your arms outstretched, your fingers still pulling at dirtied grass. Soil covered your skin, masked your features, caked beneath your fingernails, and when the roar of the speeding vehicle grew so close you had to close your eyes and wince, you knew raising a hand for help would not be enough. In the shade of the forest’s edge, half draped over the peak of the hill, you were inhuman to other survivors. Your dry mouth opened, your throat croaked, and your legs moved to push you up–closer–just short of the wind that caressed your hair when the car, the truck, ran past you with no second glance. You looked after it, watched it pass, and felt the burn in your heart grow into its own inferno. It licked at your insides, at your desperation, and had you hauling the duffle bag off of your shoulder and out onto the road. It rolled, a shuffling sound, and you followed after it with deep growls of effort and dwindling strength.

“Please,” you wheezed, panting for breath as soon as you staggered up to your feet.

In the distance, the car turned into a disappearing black spec. It drove and drove, out of sight, and you stood there, putting your arms in the air to wave it down and bring it back. To beckon it back. To beg and plead.

“Please please no-,” your voice was soft, weakened by days of rugged survival, “no…” rough and lost to the wind, it dissipated into nothing and you were forced to swallow again.

The thick smell of car exhaust settled against the steaming road. You watched the horizon, tracking the space in the atmosphere where the gold traced into a deep blue, and felt your bones quake beneath your skin. Their final cry. The last hurrah as you watched your future, the tatters of it, drive away from you.

Too late.

You were too late.

And you’d die there, on that road, and they may never come back and find you again in the morning. And your corpse would be chewed upon by undead bastards who would never give you a proper burial. And you’d be just another stupid human that found themselves trampled beneath the stinking feet of the walking dead.

Tears teased your eyes, burning the dry lands of your irises, and you felt the heart in your chest lurch against its cage.

Too late.

You were too late.

You had a duffle bag, a handgun somewhere off to the side, and the clothing on your back. One lasting water bottle, the knife you felt poking your side, and small bags of food that wouldn’t last you long at all. The tent, too, was destroyed by animals the night before. The most you could go was perhaps one more day, but your feet were aching so terribly that each step was a journey within itself. And you couldn’t push yourself to go further. There was no further. There was nothing in the woods and there was nothing beyond the road and you were running on fumes that no longer existed.

But you couldn’t just lie there and take it. You were about to reach over, bending at the waist, to grab your bag. To pull it up over your shoulder and trek on, even though it was pointless. But something stopped you.

Something–a sound–made you freeze.

It was faint. It didn’t sound like the undead, with their discordant groans and disgusting squelches, no… it was far. Getting closer. Closer. The hum and the growl. The purr of a motor. The hiss of pavement.

Your head snapped up, eyes bulging wide as you looked over the horizon to see…. Yes. Yes! Yes, it’s them! The car! A grin pulled at your lips. Halle-fucking-lujah! You felt the anxiety ebb, slowly falling away from your body, as they got closer. The black spec turned into a black blob, then a figure that took shape, and finally you could make out a Vermont license plate and the dirt that stuck to big wheels. Up close, it was a sleek thing, tall and well-built. Midnight black and aside from the splatter on the rubbered wheels, it was polished and clean. The dark paint reflected the bright world around you, turning it into weird warped versions of a faux-paradise. You swallowed at the feel of warmth against your legs, the exhaust from the truck flooding over the smallest sliver of skin around your ankles. Suddenly fearing a changed mind and bad intentions, you stumbled back until your heels pushed against your bag.

Tinted windows stared down at you, menacing and opaque. Not a thing to see behind them, even if you squinted. Nothing moved, nothing jumped, and you watched with bated breath for a window to roll down - until finally, it did.

The driver’s side. It went whirr-ing down, sliding for the shortest period of time in the world until only a shadow met you - and then a flicker of movement. And then-

“Oh my god! Jesus! Okay okay!” You flinched, not even hesitating to raise your hands above your head. You spread your fingers out, desperate to prove your innocence to the stranger in the car. And the gun they were holding, pointing at you, through the gap.

“Were you bit?” A rough voice, muted and deep, broke the atmosphere.

You shook your head.

“Words. Use them.”

“No,” you licked your lips, instantly deciding to turn around in a slow circle. “Not bitten. Not scratched.” You tried to ignore the way your hands shook, even as you shifted all the way back to face the gun’s muzzle.

“Ask where…” a voice, soft and feminine, came from somewhere beyond the driver’s seat. It was saying something, telling something, but faded into a whisper so quiet you couldn’t hear a thing. Your eyes shifted to the dark backseat windows, trying to see something- anything- and found no surprise in the lack of life.

“Any weapons?” The driver seemed to ignore the other person, and instead held the gun steady. You watched it with weary eyes.

“Yes.” And before they could ask, you tugged the knife out of your belt and the gun out of your pants pocket. They were held up in the air, another white flag, and you twitched the hand that held the firearm. “At least three bullets left, but that’s it.”

“And the others?”

You blinked. “Others? What oth-”

“Where is the rest of your ammunition? In the skull of a human or scum?” The stranger spat, and you detected the hints of an accent.

Scum… you’d never heard them referred to as that before. Your last group called them walkers, and some others claimed flesh-eaters. You were tempted to use ‘zombies’, but it felt rather silly. The world took that term too lightly, and the undead were nothing if not a very serious problem. But scum? Like they were beneath humanity and not its current destroyer? You’d ask about it later, you decided, if they deemed you well enough to take in.

“Both,” you breathed honestly, dropping your weapons to your sides with a heavy sigh. “They um- weren’t quite there yet. Got ambushed overnight.”

The gun still didn’t move.

“They don’t ambush. What really happened?”

Hm. They weren’t wrong. Animated corpses didn’t ‘ambush’, but when a herd of them went lurking about, it certainly felt that way. You didn’t think logistics were entirely necessary, but you understood the need for specifics. Trust among men was eviscerated in the face of danger, especially against those once living. You’d seen paranoia before, in others. Humans simply didn’t take each other in anymore… not without some level of severe mistrust. The second thought after seeing the truck drive off was that you probably wouldn’t be accepted anyway - you’d killed without technical reason. Could have just left. Run away.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to see them turn into those… creatures.

So what else was there to say? You stared at the gun, willing a click and the shot of a bullet, as you opened your mouth.

“A herd. A lot of them. Just… descended upon the place. Someone might’ve been walking around in the woods or something, and there was just not enough protection,” you paused, licking your lips, “...I was the last one alive. Had to shoot them and go.”

“How long since?”

“Few days, give or take,” you shrugged. The exhaustion only built as you stood there, trying not to sway and collapse in your spot. The truck was still running, hissing hot exhaust; it was the first genuinely warm thing you’d felt in so many days that you wanted to crawl underneath and take a nap. The world, turning to autumn, was growing chilly. There was no chance you could survive winter on your own.

“...Give or take,” you heard the driver scoff and laugh, bitter and mean. You frowned.

Then the window started going up, and you couldn’t help yourself. With a hard thunk, you pushed your shoulder hard against the car, and knocked on the thick glass with the butt of the knife. A look of utter desperation crossed your features, heavy and thick. Urgency, anxiety, fear forced any sense from your mind. There was no chance. There was no survival at all.

“No please- please I can’t be out here alone please- I’m smart and- and I can run fast and be an asset. Please,” you shook your head, searching with worried eyes, “please, please you can’t do this to me-”

Something dark spliced through the corner of your vision, dragging a shadow with it, and you just barely dodged the sudden swing of the truck’s backseat door. It bounced with force and you glanced back at the driver’s window once before stepping back and hastily swinging your bag over your shoulder. The knife and gun were slipped back into your clothing, concealed, and you held yourself strong as the black leathered interior bore itself to the world.

“-we can’t just leave them-”

“-on’t be stupid. They could be a liability-”

“-not stupid. We need more people-”

Voices, at least two, were rushed and tangled in an argument. You didn’t pay much attention to what you could hear, though the growing irritation was hard to ignore. It would be a hassle to be accepted, you knew, but you’d deal. There was no choice. The backseat door was open and there was a figure hustled back against the other window.

“The offer won’t last,” the stranger murmured, somehow louder than the two people in the front seats, and you decided not to take any chances in the world alone.

With a grunt, a push, and a final slam of the door, you found yourself in the truck. Your bag was pushed down by your feet, you tugged your knife out to rest it on your thigh, and you turned to say thank you- but was cut off by a cold blade at your throat. It grazed the soft dirty skin, less than a centimeter away from pushing, and you felt saliva pool in the back of your throat. Swallowing would have pressed you closer, so you fought the urge and only stared.

“Woah-”

“Try anything and you die. I don’t want a peep, not a shuffle. Do I make myself clear?”

The driver’s voice, clearer in such close quarters, was deep and mean. Accent, as you had clocked, from somewhere in the United Kingdom. It held a natural growl, a gruffness from years of smoking, perhaps, and you couldn’t help but sense the intimidation. It wasn’t fake confidence, you noticed, as you looked up and met the cool sharp grey gaze of a woman. Her hair, a deep blonde, was slicked back and short, ruffled slightly by the nape of her neck. A long neck… that led to strong looking shoulders. They were half covered by a jacket, but you could see the strength in the chords of her muscle. A force to be reckoned with. A leader, perhaps. She was pale, with a defined nose and lips twisted into a permanent sneer, and you probably would have thought she had some potential for post-apocalyptic modeling, if it weren’t for the scar that covered one half of her face. Slashed across the left eye, the wound was jagged and rough - it dragged from a point close to the exact middle of her forehead, right to the corner of her jaw. Thicker at parts and thinner at others, it split through a pale eyebrow and seemed to have permanently rendered her blind. The lid didn’t even move when one stormy eye shifted, and you suddenly felt extremely creeped out. Something about her was undeniably cold. Almost reckless, but her hand was so steady with control you knew not to make a move. She’d probably kill without hesitation, dump you back into the road, and drive off with the duffel. There was no choice but to answer, answer quickly, and do as told.

“Yes, clear.” Your head shifted half an inch up and half an inch down, still cautious of the blade.

But she didn’t move.

It was a battle of wills for just a moment, with your hands in your lap, empty and docile. You weren’t looking for a fight, or a staring contest, but the stranger didn’t let up until the figure to your right decided to sit up and speak.

“Ah they do not seem so bad. Look at them. Tired and scared, like sad city mouse,” another woman, one with a Russian accent and a voice a hint too loud, cooed.

Silence followed, persisted, for only a minute- and then the blade was tugged back so quickly you swear it nearly cut the air in two. The driver tsked as she twisted herself around, murmuring as she went.

“More like a rat.”

And then you were thrown to the side with a heavy wheeze as the truck lurched and began moving, working into a turn so you could go back the way they’d come.

You glared at the back of the headrest, not feeling above a little bit of irritation for some poor handling, but eventually grew bored. With some apprehension, your eyes flicked over to the person in the passenger seat. Their profile was strong, feminine, and you noted the unbelievably well-kept head of snowy hair. She looked clean, just like the driver, and a spark of hope welled up in your tired heart. Running water and food existed where they came from, wherever they were camped out, and if you played your cards right, you could finally indulge in some good hygiene. Unless the woman in the passenger seat was stingy with her water… god her skin was so clear, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. No one wore makeup anymore. Not the people in your old group and not the few stragglers you’d stumbled across. It simply wasn’t a necessary luxury anymore, but the woman sitting across from you, back straight and hands in her lap, seemed to think it was of the utmost importance. You wanted to speak, wanted to ask her name, but found yourself turning to your right - and catching the gaze of the person that opened the door for you.

“Anna,” your savior spoke, tilting her head to the left and regarding you with curious eyes. A pale hand, big and long-fingered, shot out and hovered above your lap. You glanced down at it, at the clean skin and the perfect fingernails, and knew that you hit the survivalist jackpot.

With a nod and a quick clasp of her hand, you whispered your name in reply. She nodded before leaning back against the door and crossing her arms; she seemed quite comfortable there, with a rather large gun resting across her lap. Her hair, blonde as well, fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. She saw with deep blue eyes - a contrast to the cold steel of the driver - and didn’t hesitate to flick them over your body in some sort of analytical search. Weapons, you figured, is what she was looking for. And the knife in your lap, which she eyed with some interest.

You wanted to say something, wanted to thank them, but it didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough those days. Asking something of someone was a risk every single time. And you’d asked—begged—them to take you in. You needed to pull your weight, no questions asked.

“Um- thank you for-”

“Shoot them.”

“What?!” You straightened up, eyes going wide as, in your peripherals, you saw Anna’s hand inch toward her gun. Through the rear-view mirror, you caught the way the driver’s brow twitched.

“You heard me. Shoot them.”

“Pha-”

“I said no talking,” the stranger growled, not even bothering to address the woman in the passenger seat. The white-haired woman looked frustrated, her red lips tugging into a frown, as she watched the driver double down on her focus. “Didn’t I say that?”

“But I-,” you wanted to plead your case, wanted to defend yourself, but were cut off.

“I am not going to shoot,” Anna said before you could speak. “Why do you expect her to be quiet hah, Phasma? We just saved her жопa. No need for fighting.”

You glanced at her, picking up on the Native tongue. Fresh off the boat, or perhaps visiting, with the way she said it so easily. Zhopa? Given the context, it wasn’t hard to tell what she meant. Yes, they had just saved your ass. And yes, you wanted to say thank you. Even if that Phasma person wasn’t too keen on a bit of gratitude.

“I hardly think thanking us for a kind deed is worthy of execution, no matter how much silence you require,” the fair-haired woman across from you said smoothly, throwing a slight glare to the woman on her right. And finally, she took that moment to turn around in the seat and make eye contact.

Something that proved to be far more difficult than you thought it would. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Pale skin, deep admiral blue eyes, and lips redder than blood. Not even a scratch on her face, not even a single spec of dirt - as if the apocalypse never happened and there weren’t dead people roaming every street in the world. In fact, she didn’t seem incredibly worried about the predicament the human species found itself in, and was looking at you with kind eyes, a furrowed brow, and a smile that she hoped was welcoming.

“My name is Larissa,” her hand, gloved in white fabric as soft as silk, reached out as an olive branch. You wanted to take it, wanted to feel something so lovely for the first time in a long time and create some sort of bond, but your hands were very dirty. A part of you guessed that Larissa hadn’t put them on earlier that day with the hope to return to camp holding soft fabric smudged with dirt and dried blood, so you only looked down at your palm and then back at hers.

“Oh uh- I don’t wanna get your gloves dirty-”

“Oh,” she glanced down, realizing that she was, in fact, wearing hand-coverings. “Later, then,” a warm smile shone back at you - and you were helpless, instantly offering her a nod in return.

“Finished?” The driver piped up, eyes cold as she stared at you in the rear-view.

As if on cue, Larissa turned back around in her seat, rolling her eyes as she went, and you could only fall quiet. Introductions were over, you were warming up to the easy heat in the car, and Phasma–if you dared address her by name in your head–had a good handle of the wheel. You were safe. For now. And with one last suspended look at the gun on Anna’s lap, you reached over for the seatbelt, tucked yourself in with a click, and leaned back in the seat. It was so suddenly comfortable, such a huge contrast to the shit you’d dealt with recently, that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and revel. Even for a moment. Even for a second.

—

“Get up,” a mean grunt, paired with a quick rush of piercingly cold air, tugged you from the depths of sleep.

Before you could even open your eyes properly, a shiver set itself into your bones. Eager to escape it, and the confines of the car, you jolted and scrambled for your seatbelt. Leaning against the open door, watching you grab your things, was the driver. Phasma? Weird name, but there was no time to dwell - especially not when she was looking at you like that. Eyes sharper than the knife on your lap, holding a polished chrome pistol in one hand, and waiting with some tension for you to hurry up. The duffel was pulled up onto your shoulder, the knife was tucked into your belt, and your hands scratched at the leather as you looked around wildly for your gun.

“We took it. You’ll get it back when you prove you’re not a complete imbecile,” she spat, peering down her nose at you. Disgust danced in her expression, sparking flames of unwanted insecurity, and you felt compelled to look away. Her nostrils were flared, her pink lips curled into something disdainful and mean, and you couldn’t help but watch the way her jaw shifted as she tensed, watching you watch her. The hatred seemed a bit out of place, too strong for normal trust issues, and you briefly wondered if perhaps she’d always been that way - even before the end of civilization. She was clearly a bitch, and not interested in showing you kindness any time soon, so you decided to forgo a response, ignored her glaring, and slipped out of the car without a word.

Before your feet were completely on the ground, and your bag was out of the way, the door slammed closed behind you, quick and sharp. The speed of it nearly clipped your shirt, and you whirled around to face the stranger’s irritation. She seemed to have lost interest in you and side-stepped your figure without another glance. One finger on the trigger, a shit-ton of audacity-filled swagger in her walk, and a back broad and strong. She looked like an outlaw, tall, mean, wearing grey with a belt around her strong hips and a leather jacket over her shoulders. You wanted to throw your gun at her and watch it hit the back of her head, but there was no way in Hell you’d be able to run away faster than she could catch you.

“Come,” you heard Anna speak, interrupting your train of thought as she trudged up to your left. You turned, seeing the way she cocked her head. “I’ll introduce you.” The gun swayed in her grasp as she turned, making little shuffling sounds in the grass.

The grass.

You went to go forward, but stopped. The grass. It was… terribly neat. Very well maintained. Not like apocalypse grass, which was flat and bloodied and mudded and dusted, but like rich person grass. Striking green grass, healthy, it bounced back behind you when you stepped on it. And the air… you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. It was fresh. Pure. Free of the smell of death and free of gunpowder and spraying blood. Just where on Earth were y-

oh.

Oh.

You looked up, finally, and found yourself in a courtyard. On all sides was a wall, sections of it made of brick, others of stone, and the rest of wrought iron fence, bolted hard into the ground; and across the way, piercing the sky, was a manor. Or what looked like a manor. No - what was definitely a manor. Dark, illuminated slightly by the deep blue of the atmosphere and the torches that littered the ground in neat paths, splitting off into cobblestone sections. You swallowed. It was gorgeous. Untouched. A world that seemed to run on and on while the rest of the globe went to shit.

How fucking lucky were you?

“Come! I must say twice?!” Anna called, giving you an exasperated beckon as she started disappearing behind the dark stone brick of the main entrance.

Sparing a quick glance behind you, you found a fortified gate and short stone walls - reinforced and built upon with barbed wire, wood, and sheets of metal. It must have opened up for the truck when you were still asleep, but was very much firmly shut and impenetrable once closed. You wanted to explore it more, wanted to study the mechanism and the layout and come to understand just how they managed to get the place so protected, but you didn’t want to leave Anna waiting. And a low rumble of thunder, far but rolling quick, told you that rain was eager to make her appearance - and you did not want to get caught in that.

After adjusting your bag and patting the knife in your belt for reassurance, you set off after the Russian stranger.

—

“So I am Anna, this you know already,” she pointed to herself, tapped her chest twice, then rolled her hand over to gesture to the clearing ahead.

It was beautiful, outlined against a dark wood. Rocky paths led to a big circle in the middle, and the ruins of stone benches and statues littered the camp. You could definitely see what it used to be - a beautiful place for the elite to sit, to bask, to enjoy the nice air and the wind. But the end of the world had gotten to it, not with the bearings of total destruction, but with the promise of change. A big spruce shelter had been built to the far left, reinforced with four beams and no walls - clearly just meant to keep the rain at bay while they worked outside. Beneath it, there were wooden benches and designated spots for farming equipment, guns, and even a water purifying system from the looks of it. If you assumed that sleeping quarters and showers existed in the castle, then they seemed to be in the best shape anyone could be in.

Even the people, who were busy going about their evening and tending to their duties, while you watched by Anna’s side and felt your excitement grow.

“Phasma was woman driving. Not so kind,” she tsked, giving you a knowing look, and you found yourself unable to ask about the strange name. You figured she wouldn’t have known the answer anyway. Then her hand moved, stealing your attention. “That is Jane,” she pointed to a pale woman sitting on one of the large stone benches.

Her back was turned, but you could see the severity of her expression in the reflection of a hand mirror. She was handsome, free of makeup, with jet-black hair. The strands fell from between her fingertips, spilling like water, as she threaded them into a braid around her head. Her movements were slow, methodic, and you watched, sort of hypnotized, as the long sleeves of her hooded dress stretched across her slim back. Tight along her arms and resting over the black pants covering her thighs, leading down to knee-high leather boots. Fit for an apocalypse, but somehow still chic. You watched her hands for a moment more, and turned slightly to her right when Anna gestured to the woman beside her.

“Miranda. Good girl, but way too skinskie,” she nodded to herself while crossing her arms.

The stranger in question–Miranda–was holding up an antique hand mirror for Jane to look into while doing her hair. They seemed to be the same height, though Miranda’s build was lankier and toned. The sleeves of her white top had to have been torn off, leaving freckled shoulders free to the air, and around one wrist was a black watch. It nearly matched the same leather as her belt, which held an attached holster and a sleeve for a walkie-talkie. Its antenna stood out against the baby blue of her uniform pants; tight by the hips but baggier toward the ankles, tucked into dark laced boots. Her hair was styled into a fair blonde bob, probably recently cut by the sight of such clean edges. It looked unbearably soft kissing the back of her neck.

“She was policewoman. Strong.” Anna commented, gazing at her from your spot by the castle wall.

You nodded absentmindedly, looking over the two strangers and the chess board that sat between them on the bench. Jane had black and Miranda white. The latter seemed to be focusing quite hard on the game, holding a pawn loosely in one hand, as the dark-haired beauty tsked and adjusted the hand mirror that slowly slipped to the side. You watched Miranda jump and offer what you assumed was a sheepish apology, as she tried to multitask. Her small smile was pink and soft, warm and welcoming. A friend, perhaps.

“Very…domestic,” came your soft murmur, sparked by the surprise of such a peaceful camp. In the past group, everyone was too busy trying to sleep, find food, or talk themselves through panic attacks. Maintaining sanity with comfort was not a priority.

“Da. Comfortable,” your companion nodded. “Jan is there, washing.” And you turned, yet again, to find a figure standing in front of a clothesline.

The combat boots made her seem tall, though they were a bit out of place—not really matching the long white sleeved shirt and full red skirt combo. Immaculate and clean, you noticed, though that was to be expected from a woman trying her hardest to get blood out of a white blouse. Her hands were covered by blue rubber gloves, with one clutched around a sponge and the other around the neck of a bottle of white wine vinegar. On the ground by her feet was a large pale jug of hydrogen peroxide and a bucket of what you assumed was water. And the blouse in front of her, held up by wooden clothespins, rippled from the breeze. It seemed to get colder and windier the longer the night went on, probably bringing the rain with it at some point. With any luck, it would clear up the light splotches of pink that covered most of the shirt’s chest up to the collar, but ‘Jan’ didn’t seem too patient and satisfied with that. She got back to her scrubbing a moment later, the strict waves of her blonde hair bumping gently against her neck.

“Jan is very chic. You go to her for fashion advice, no?” Anna tilted her head at you, dragging dark blue eyes over your face. The lawn lamps stabbed into the grass lit everything up with a sweet warm glow, bringing out the flames in her expression as she peered at you curiously. Very handsome, in her own sharp-featured sort of way. You couldn’t help the snort that bubbled up.

“Respectfully, I think fashion is the least of my concerns right now, Anna.”

“Hm. Maybe,” she hummed, shrugged, and gave you a once-over that set your heart racing before turning her attention back to the group.

“Brienne!” You jumped, flinching away as Anna’s loud voice carried into your ear. In the distance, a hulking figure shifted and unfolded, moving to look up at the call. They were sitting on a big pile of cut logs, holding a stone cylindrical sharpener in one hand and a… sword… in the other. Anna waved, talking to you gently as you both watched the figure’s expression change into one of suspicion. She was handsome. Pale, with the lightest blonde lashes and brows, and eyes that sparkled even from that distance. They squinted, drawing frown lines across her face, as she straightened up in her spot. You tried desperately not to stare at her figure, but it was impossible. The deep blue ribbed shirt clung to her torso like a second skin, wrapping tightly around strong biceps and broad shoulders. It was tucked into muddy green cargo pants, offsetting the brightness of the steel that covered the toes of her dark boots. You tilted your head and watched as she glanced between you and Anna before she finally decided to shoot the woman a firm nod. Anna’s lips quirked up into a smile. “She was once soldier. Good woman - she will protect you if you’re in trouble. Saved me many many times.” Her blonde curls swished as she nodded to herself.

That was good to know, you reasoned. Everyone seemed quite strong. Tall, too. And pale. The camp was gorgeous, the people seemed mundane enough, and the company was… well. Your eyes drifted over to Anna’s side profile, a silhouette of soft dips and curves, and you couldn’t hide the attraction you felt even if you tried.

“Larissa, you know too. She is leader, xорошо?” You didn’t really know what ‘harasho’ meant, but the light intonation of her voice had you saying ‘Yeah’ anyway.

Then an arm was winding itself around yours, jostling the bag on your shoulder and the gun slung around Anna’s body. It rested against her back, hitting her thighs, and you were suddenly powerless to the way she steered you further down the gravel path. Toward the right, there was a makeshift driveway; a patch of land ripped up from the grass and replaced with gravel, soil, and rocks. The black truck made an appearance again, probably having been driven up from around the back, and you watched with curious eyes as Phasma busied herself with a few bags and boxes from the trunk. Jesus, she was fit… tall and lethal. A small grunt left her lips when she hauled two boxes up into her arms, never faltering or pausing. Damn. You found yourself getting lost in the sight of her legs in those cargo pants, filling them out, until Anna clicked her tongue.

“Lucifer is strange, but ultimately harmless. Do not worry, they are not naked under the robe.”

Lucifer? Naked under the what?

You were going to take a quick glance around, to find whatever the hell Anna was talking about, but there was no need. Some feet in front of you, lounging on a red and gold velvet chase, was a lithe figure. They were almost glowing in the reflection of the walkway lamps, with the deep crimson of a flowing silk robe offsetting the smooth pale planes of soft skin. One elbow was propped up on the arm of the chair, and you traced the folds of flowing sleeves up to a slim forearm, wrist, and a delicate hand. Slender fingers were curled under the curve of a pale cheek, and you felt your heartbeat speed up at the sight of soft features and crystal eyes. And their hair, curled so perfectly into handsome shining ringlets of spun golden-web… goodness, they were…

“Luxurious,” you murmured, tilting your head as you watched the stranger chat with Larissa. She was standing over them, in front of the chase, and even at that height, you had a feeling that the one laying down was somehow a little bit taller. “Is Lucifer their real name?”

“Da,” Anna nodded, “little strange, no?”

“Yeah,” you gave her an odd look. “Strange as fuck.”

“Don’t get comfortable,” a voice growled from behind you, making you slip away from Anna’s hold and turn around. Phasma was walking past, holding a big bag under each arm. Her muscle was impressive, but dear god she was an asshole. You had to sort out that situation as quick as possible.

“Hey what’s your problem, man?” You spread your hands out at your sides before letting them slap against your thighs. “You picked me up, and while I’m grateful for that, I am, you didn’t have to-”

“Exactly,” she bit out as she whirled around and marched right back to you. Her breath was cool, washing lightly over your face, and she stood so close that your foreheads nearly touched. From that angle, looking up, you could reach out and trace the jagged line of her scar. It was quite attractive actually, even if her eyes narrowed as she watched you look at her. They were cold. Not an ounce of care.

“Don’t. Get. Comfortable.” Her lips twitched, carrying a silent threat.

“Okay,” Larissa’s voice, sing-songy and weary, cut into the conversation. “Why don’t we all take a moment to calm down, hm?” Her smile was blinding as she turned to you. One gloved hand hovered above Phasma’s right shoulder, but was instantly shrugged off the second it made contact. Her sneer didn’t fade even when she stepped back, eyes still flaming with anger. Larissa cleared her throat. “Y/n, you’re new here. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?”

Her expression, although kind, hid a sharpness that you didn’t think was wise to fuck around with. If Larissa was the leader, according to Anna, then it was her you had to charm. You didn’t really know why she was the top dog, especially because some of the other group members seemed more… abrasive… but clearly something about her was good enough to be the one in charge. And pissing her off, messing around with her people, was a one-way ticket to possibly turning into those fuckers lurking in the woods. So you didn’t really have a choice - and you didn’t really want one. No matter what, you’d stay. You’d be of some help. You’d stay on the soft grass, smelling the clean air. You’d become best friends with Larissa, the group would learn to like you, and you’d try not to combust when any of them looked your way.

Easier said than done though, of course. Especially when Larissa’s smile knocked down all of your reservations at once, in one big swing, and coaxed an obedient nod from your body.

“Okay. Yes. Sure.”

“Perfect,” Larissa’s grin, somehow, grew even wider.

“It’s getting late,” were Phasma’s parting words before she turned away and headed off toward two big wooden double doors.

You watched her strut without much thought, and found yourself on the other end of a staring Larissa. Her eyes were utterly striking in the evening light, and the outline of her face… a sight to be seen for a person as weary as you.

“So… is your group considered women only?” You murmured, peering up at her through your eyelashes.

Red lips twitched.

“Not intentionally. Though we have had the discussion before,” she contemplated her next words carefully, looking all over your face before resuming, “and we think it’s best if it’s just women. And Lucifer.”

“And Lucifer?” You still can’t get over that being their real name. Probably just picked out in a moment of edginess when they were a teen. Lucifer did sound cool, sort of bully-worthy. Like they were emo kid once upon a time.

“Lucifer is what many would refer to as non-binary. Not a man and not a woman. I hope that won’t be a problem?” Something flashed behind her eyes. Not a threat, but a warning. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Not at all. They and I are… one and the same,” you shrugged and adjusted the bag on your shoulder.

“How lucky I must be…,” someone purred from over your shoulder.

You tensed up, surprised by the closeness, and felt yourself grow a little weak at the tone. Like spiced honey, their voice was intense and smooth. You wanted to lap it up.

“Ah right on time for a proper introduction,” Larissa, ever the most efficient woman from what you could tell so far, found herself a golden opportunity. One hand shot out and gestured over to you, then to the person slinking around to your right. “Y/n this is Lucifer, one of the strongest members of our group. Lucifer and I make most of the big decisions, with the necessary input from everyone else. And Lucifer,” Larissa’s grin relaxed into a smile, “this is Y/n. Depending on our discussion of the rules, they may become a familiar face, so I suggest you play nice.”

You found that you couldn’t look to the side without short-circuiting. There was something.. something… about their aura that had you wanting to shy away and cower. It wasn’t the explosive intensity of Phasma or the consuming strangeness of Anna, or even the gentle but strong hand of Larissa… but instead a subtle sort of consumption. Utterly intriguing and fascinating - like they were put on the Earth to confuse humans. You didn’t even look at them and you could feel that. Didn’t even know them and you could feel that. Standing so close. So much body heat.

“It’s a pleasure,” they murmured, turning to you fully.

You swallowed, braced yourself, and looked up to your right.

Sweet holy Jesus. They were even more handsome up close. Just absolutely soft and glorious. And carrying the faint scent of… firewood? You cleared your throat.

“Um yeah- likewise. Hi.”

A flash of black, followed by measured footsteps in the grass, had all three of you shifting to see Jane walking past. Miranda was not too far behind, taking her time to cross the yard.

“Dinner is being prepared. Show face in the next 20 minutes or go to bed hungry.” Jane didn’t even spare you a glance before she disappeared behind the same doors Phasma had gone through.

“Thank you, Jane,” Larissa managed to call just before they closed behind her with a dull bang.

“Three moves…,” Miranda was muttering, holding the box for the chess set in one hand. “She beat me in three moves.”

“Oh it’s not hard. I would’ve beaten you in two,” another voice entered the fray, polite but amused. Jan, you recognized, as she sidled up between you and Larissa with a small smile on her deep red lips.

Miranda scoffed and turned to look at Anna, only to find that she was gone. One glance behind you revealed that she’d wandered over to Brienne, probably prompting her to go inside for dinner. You hummed, hiding the amusement of friendly banter. It had been so long since you felt even the smallest sense of normalcy. If they were so comfortable with each other, then it must have been a bit since they were all alone out in the world. You’d probably ask Larissa about that later - once everything was said and done.

“I would’ve beaten you in one,” Lucifer smirked as they pulled away and went walking inside. Had they been barefoot the entire time?

“That’s not even possible!” Miranda yelled, but the door was already shut. “...Is it?” She turned to Larissa, then to you, then back to Larissa.

“I don’t think so, Miranda,” Larissa smiled before looking at you. “Any chance you’re good at chess?”

Dear lord, having two sets of beautiful blue eyes on you was nerve-wracking, but you ignored the flush building up on your cheeks and nodded.

“Um yeah- it’s possible to beat someone in two moves. But it’s only black, I think.” You gave Miranda an apologetic smile and a shrug as she pouted.

“You will beat her next time Miranda,” Anna returned with Brienne in her wake. The sword she was sharpening earlier was still in her hands. “She cannot win forever.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Brienne cut in, her voice strong and deep. Her mouth was pulled into a light frown, and you noticed the scar that cut through the upper lip on the right. From the time before, you suspected. Otherwise she’d be turned. “She beat me and Phasma one after the other.”

Miranda sighed, tsking beneath her breath.

“Then there’s no hope…” Goodness, she looked like a sad puppy.

“Why not?” It slipped out of your mouth before you could grab it.

And of course, all of the attention then dragged itself over to you. Five sets of sea-blue eyes, all gorgeous in the glow of the evening lamps, traced lines over your tired body. In comparison to them, you looked a sight. Obviously having been picked up from the side of the road, unclean and awkward, somewhat detached from society. In your bag? Not enough clothing and not enough supplies. In your belt, peeking out from beneath your shirt? A knife, dirty and growing dull. And in your eyes? Lurking sadness and horror - the same which probably lived in the women that were observing you.

Larissa, thank goodness, finally broke the lull of silence.

“Brienne and Phasma were in the military,” she said gently.

“Oh. That makes sense.” And it did - Jane must have been an intellectual force if she beat people that used to be in the military before the world ended. Though that made you wonder… “What branch?” You turned to Brienne, not really surprised that you had to look up to meet her eyes. It seemed you’d been adopted into a camp of skyscrapers. Though the sharpness of her eyes had you swallowing. “I mean- if you don’t mind me asking.”

She seemed to consider it, sizing you up, before saying, rather shortly, “SAS. Then Delta Force.”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Larissa hummed. “But I think now would be a good time to head in, wouldn’t you say?” She spared her smile for everyone, meeting the gaze of each woman, before finally looking at you and raising her eyebrow.

It wasn’t really up to you, so you just shrugged and waited for Anna to say ‘Da, da, xорошо’ before heading in. Brienne followed after her, then Miranda, who was studying the back of the chess box, and Larissa, who started taking off her gloves. Jan, meanwhile, stayed where she was and kept her eyes on you. They were curious and deep, never-ending, and lined with mascara and eyeliner. Mascara and eyeliner that… well it suited her, but goodness it was certainly intense. Dark and shadowed, but beautiful nevertheless. You couldn’t look away.

“Jan Stevens,” she breathed and gave you her hand, elegant and admittedly quite charming. Her nails were painted a deep cherry red. Utterly flawless.

At the sight of it, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. Your palms were still dirty, and sort of calloused, and you didn’t want to… ruin her. So you hesitated, stared at it, looked back up at her, and found her kind smile to be unwavering.

“Go on,” Jan finally whispered, giving her hand a pointed look, and you fell prey in an instant.

Quickly, you shot out to gently cup her hand into your own, and gave it a gentle shake. You felt strangely compelled to bring it up to your lips, but you weren’t sure that meeting a stranger in an apocalypse really called for such formalities. Even though you yearned to feel her skin beneath your mouth. It wasn’t proper; though you did think that Jan’s expression fell just a little bit. Like she was excited. Like she wanted you to kiss her hand.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she purred, looking you up and down, before turning toward the door. “Come quickly now. If we’re late, Jane will send us off to bed without dinner. And we wouldn’t want that.”

It probably would have been wise to consider and contemplate the fact that you were in a stranger’s camp, with a stranger’s group… but the saucy little wink that Jan threw over her shoulder sent a deep blush crawling up your cheeks. And just like that, without fail, you were one of the flesh-eaters… caught in the pretty paws of eight different beasts.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Please let me know if my characterization is okay and if you'd like to see more. Be safe, darlings. - Rip x

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Far too many names to tag. Find it as you come.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

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therhythmafterthesummer · 1 year

Text

Herbie (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: Mechanic!Chan x F.Reader Themes: Smut | Some Fluff | Strangers to Friends to Lovers Word Count: ~10k | AO3 Synopsis: Chris was the best mechanic you’d ever met. He was good at his craft, capable of bringing your dingy car back to life time and time again. He was, also, excellent at riling you up just by existing, which wasn’t the best when you were absolutely convinced he just wanted to be friends with you. But maybe, just maybe, he’d prove you wrong. [You can find part two here]. Warnings: curvy/chubby reader · reader is clueless · personification of an inanimate object (the car is referred to by name and male pronouns sometimes) · improper use of car related vocabulary probably (author is clueless on the topic, they don’t even know how to drive) · discussions of weight and usage of the word fat (in a very neutral manner) · Christopher is Stronk · special guest appearance: Jisung.

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Author’s Note: mechanic!chan was suggested by an “anon” (👀), after they watched this performance, and i felt inspired by the suggestion, so i decided to write a little something for it. a little something that somehow managed to gather more words than i ever expected, as usual. anyway, hope it doesn’t disappoint :^)

fun fact: i dreamt once that i wrote a fic called herbie, so i guess the prophecy has been fulfilled now.

Smut Warnings: the reader has an oral fixation · the reader has sexually charged thoughts (i can’t blame her) · pet names (baby, babe, gorgeous, beautiful, pretty, etc) · lots of praising (it’s a staple in my chan fics at this point, oops) · praise kink · strength kink if you squint? · oral [M&F.Rec] · deepthroating/mouth fucking · protected penetration [piv].

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

Christopher Bang.

The man who’d saved your ass countless times in the past handful of months. The man who’d been plaguing your thoughts since the very first moment you entered his repair shop.

And to think it was your older brother’s fault. ‘Get a second-hand car’, he said. ‘It’s cheap and super reliable’, he said. ‘Yes, of course it’ll be fine’, he said. Your brother was, ultimately, full of bullshit. You’d never trust his opinion ever again.

Getting a second-hand car was quite possibly the worst financial decision you’d ever taken.

At first you’d been incredibly excited. You even named it Herbie, after the famous car that was… Well, called Herbie.

With Herbie, you’d be able to get to work faster, you’d no longer have to stay in uncomfortable social situations just because you were waiting for your ride for the night to take you home, you’d no longer have to balance grocery bags on your tiny bicycle, you’d be independent.

For two months, you were living your best life with Herbie. But then he started showing The Signs.

It started with the AC not turning on, then, the wipers wouldn’t wipe, until eventually, he shut down completely. Which wouldn’t have been so bad, had it not happened while you were driving on the fucking highway. To say you were pissed was an understatement. That day, when that happened, you were fortunate enough to be with your friend, Jisung.

Not only did Jisung calm your fit of rage, but he also told you he had a friend who fixed cars for a living. ‘He’s very reliable. He won’t overcharge you, really. I vouch for him, trust him with my life at this point’, which, honestly, finding a mechanic these days that wasn’t trying to find problems that weren’t there to overcharge you was hard, so you took Jisung’s advice and took Herbie to Wolfgang: Repair Shop.

That was where you saw Chris the first time.

You could still remember the exact moment your eyes landed on him. Although, to be fair, the first thing you saw were his boots peeking out from below a car.

“Hello?” You heard a thud after you greeted the pair of legs, followed by a very graceful ‘Fuck!’.

“Just one second!” He slid from under the car, and when he stood from the creeper, you honestly weren’t prepared.

Broad shoulders, strong, defined arms, a mess of curls on his head, plush, pink lips, and that nose. Jisung had forgotten to give you the most important detail about his friend, the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous. Even with the oil coating his exposed arms, hands, and the smudge on his cheek, he was probably one of the finest specimens you’d ever seen.

“Can I help you?” He smiled, and God, he had dimples, too. Of fucking course he had to have dimples…

“I’m–I–” You were embarrassing yourself, barely even capable of forming a coherent sentence, all as he looked at you with a glint of amusement in his eyes. So you got your bearings, taking a deep breath. “My car keeps dying on me. I’m a friend of Jisung’s, he told me to come to you”.

“Oh!” His eyes widened and he honestly looked beyond surprised. “You are Jisung’s friend?” There was a slight tone of disbelief in his voice, and the way he looked you up and down honestly confused you a bit. Was there a problem with your outfit? It was a bit warm out and this was a nice, comfortable dress… Maybe you were supposed to wear something different to a car repair shop? Maybe it was one of those social rules no one talked about but you were supposed to just know they existed.

Regardless, you decided to ignore the thought altogether, because he started talking again. “I’m Chris. I’d offer my hand, but I don’t think you’d like to get yours covered in motor oil”, he chuckled, wiping his hands on a rag that hung from his belt, and it genuinely made you smile. “C’mon, let’s take a look at your car and see what we can do. Hm?”

That was how it all started. Chris was polite, he certainly knew his way around these things, and every time you had a problem with Herbie you went to his shop. At some point, you became well acquainted with him, it was impossible not to when Herbie kept dying practically every other week, and when Chris was just so friendly.

You enjoyed spending time at the shop with him, and sometimes you wondered if you were being weird or annoying by staying a bit longer than any customer probably would, but Chris seemed to be just as engaged in the conversation as you were every time, so that spark of doubt in you always died very quickly.

After a couple of months, Chris simply handed you a piece of paper. ‘Here’s my number. Text me whenever you need’.

And you did. Although, you took a while to text him. You finally did it only because Herbie had started to leak water; after all, that was what he had given you his number for. But it seemed like after that Chris and you just… started to talk about other things, completely unrelated to Herbie.

“You slut, who you texting with that smile on your face? Did you finally get yourself a man?” Jisung teased you one day when you were hanging out with him, supposedly watching movies.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “As if. You know the only thing I attract are mosquitoes, and it’s only because they want to suck my blood. It’s just Chris. He sent me this funny video of Wolfgang, wanna see?”

Wolfgang was Chris’ dog, an overly excited husky that seemed to be a walking disaster. You told Chris once in passing that you liked dogs, that it cheered you up whenever you saw them do their Dog Things, and since then he started to send you pictures or videos of his dog regularly, which you highly appreciated, they did bring up your mood every time.

Jisung blinked at you. “Christopher Bang? My friend Chris?”

“Yeah? Which other Chris do we both know?” You returned your eyes to your phone, chuckling at a meme Chris had just sent you.

“What’s he sending you? Lemme see”, Jisung grabbed your phone out of your hands, ignoring your protests altogether. “Huh… Would you look at that…”

“Why are you scrolling? Stop that, it’s a private conversation”, you lunged at your friend, trying to get the phone out of his hands. After a bit of jostling he finally relented, and you huffed as you diverted your attention back to the chat with Chris.

Jisung called your name, and you looked up from your phone to your friend, seeing his confused face. “You… You do know he’s flirting with you, right?”

“What?” You laughed at that. “Don’t be ridiculous”.

“I’m being serious”, Jisung turned to face you fully on the sofa, looking at your face very intently. He was quiet for a moment, but then he was gasping–rather dramatically, if you might add. “Oh my God! You haven’t noticed!”

“There’s nothing to notice, Jisung. Chris isn’t flirting with me, don’t be silly”, you chuckled just at the thought. As if the Christopher Bang would be flirting with you.

“You seriously can’t be this dense”, Jisung scoffed, turning back to the movie. “You do you, then. I’m telling you, though. He’s one hundred percent flirting with you”.

How ludicrous. Chris had shown zero interest in you for as long as you’d known him. You were sure he only saw you as a friend at best, and that was only because you were on ‘sending memes’ basis now, before you were just his customer with the dingy car that kept needing repairs.

You’d admit, though, that after a handful of months, Chris had become a really close friend. He’d text you every morning without fail. Most of the time, he’d send you a picture while he was walking his dog. It could be a picture of Wolfgang, or a picture of the sunrise, or a selfie–those were the hardest ones to look at, to be honest.

At some point, you realised you had developed a crush on him, and looking at his face in those selfies, still a bit swollen with sleep, with his hair a bit tousled, or with a beanie over his head covering his eyebrows, looking incredibly cuddly, wasn’t helping you cope much.

Sometimes he’d text you while he was in the gym, too. Which would’ve been fine, had he not also started to send you selfies when he was there. They were never anything too revealing, he’d always be fully clothed, but the sight of his reddened hands, his bulging veins after lifting, his flushed face, and just overall sweaty form was just something you didn’t need. It always heated you up, made you suddenly feel like your mouth was just too empty, it’d made your mind wander into very dangerous, and very horny territory.

It was already hard enough to watch Chris work on Herbie. Whenever he did and you were at the shop, you’d start to fixate on the way the muscles of his exposed arms moved, or how his ass looked when he was bending over the motor to do whichever magic he needed to do, it always made you wonder if he’d be able to perform that magic on you, if his hands would touch you as delicately but as precisely as they did with Herbie’s components, or how it’d be like if you were the one bending over the bonnet, preferably with him just right behind you… Regardless, seeing him also at the gym through his pictures was just too much. He’d sometimes ask you weird questions while he was there, too, which always left you a bit confused.

‘mind if i ask what’s your weight? you dont have to tell me if you dont want to, i’m just curious. i’m trying to bulk up, you see. mine’s…’ You didn’t particularly have a problem with the question itself, you just found it odd that he asked you that out of the blue, and for a brief moment you wondered if he’d been trying to say you were fat–which wouldn’t have been the first time that happened to you, having lived most of your life as person with extra fat on their body for what was considered ideal in this society’s standards had already numbed you to questions like these.

You hadn’t told him right away, you simply sent him a ‘why? are you gonna tell me to lose weight? lol’ to which he replied a string of messages in quick succession ‘oh god no. far from that, you’re perfect just as you are honestly. i’m just curious cuz i want to get to…’ He’d go on about his goals and what-not, and you decided to humour him, since it genuinely didn’t seem like he was trying to make fun of you, he actually never brought up the topic again after that.

Chris wasn’t just handsome, he was also cute, and a bit of a dork. A dork with extensive knowledge in cars and each of their components, but with even more extensive knowledge in pokemon and each and every single type.

‘Ice is strong against dragon and ground, you see? So I have to fight this Garchomp with a pokemon that can do ice attacks, but that can also withstand his attacks, like Gyarados, you know?’ The first time Chris pulled an explanation like that, while he was still covered in Herbie’s oil, you understood why he was friends with Jisung. They were both just dorks. Gym rats and dorks. The oddest combination you could possibly think of, but somehow it just added to their charm. To Chris’ charm specifically.

That balance of his technical knowledge, his hotness, and his dorkness, coupled with just how good of a person he genuinely was–always willing to help, always ready to stand his ground for things he believed in–only made you fall stupidly deeper for him. But you decided to keep these feelings to yourself, you liked having Chris by your side, not only because he was the only one who seemed to be able to bring Herbie back to life, but also because he was just a good friend, and you were sure that if you confessed your feelings things just wouldn’t be the same.

Taking Herbie out these days was always a gamble. You never knew when he was going to break down, but sometimes you really had to take a leap of faith. Most of the time it all went fine, but today, it seemed like he wasn’t in a mood to cooperate. Herbie had decided that breaking down in the middle of nowhere at twenty hours on a Friday was the best idea, which left you on the brink of frustrated, angry tears.

So, obviously, you called the only person you knew could help you in this situation.

“You alright?” Chris asked as soon as he arrived and stood in front of where you were leaning on your car. “Oh, God. Are you crying? Why are you crying?”

“I’m just so fucking done with this car”, you brought your hands to your face, sobbing once the frustration that had built inside of you couldn’t be contained anymore.

“Hey…” You felt Chris’ body heat practically envelop you when he moved into your space, and, had you not been crying like a baby, you’d probably feel a bit flustered about it. “Are you– Can I– Do you want a hug?”

You just nodded–still covering your face with your hands–because of course you wanted a hug. You were trembling with your quiet sobs, so a hug sounded like absolute heaven at this moment, and when Chris finally leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you to him, the fact that Herbie had left you stranded in the middle of nowhere seemed so insignificant now.

Chris was so incredibly warm. The way he softly caressed your back helped ease your trembles, and, eventually, the tears stopped, too. So you finally moved your hands away from your face, bringing your arms around his waist to hug him as well, just as you buried your face on his shoulder–probably leaving small puddles of tears on the fabric of his boilersuit.

That was when you noticed his attire. Similar to how he dressed when he was at the shop, but clearly completely clean. His boilersuit even smelt like his fabric softener still, and… was he wearing perfume?

You pulled yourself a bit from him, and his calloused hands cradled your face immediately to wipe your tears with his thumbs. You could feel heat spread on your cheeks as he did.

Chris was so close to you still, the heat of his palm on your cheeks seeped into you, shooting straight to your fluttering heart. He truly was incredibly handsome, and as you looked him in the eyes the words left your mouth before you could even think twice about them.

“Wow. Your eyelashes are so pretty”.

A look of surprise crossed Chris’ features, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob, right before he pulled his hands away from your face and opened the driver’s door of your car, giggling. Giggling in that utterly Christopher way he always did.

“Well, yours are, too”, he said while he pulled the lever near the wheel to release the safety latch so he could open the bonnet of your car.

For a moment, you could’ve sworn his ears were red, and you wondered briefly if he might’ve been feeling warm with his boilersuit on, since it was warm tonight, which was why you had decided to wear a dress in the first place. “Were you at the shop when I called?”

“Was on my way”, Chris rounded your car, finally standing in front of it and opening the bonnet. “Ahh, Herbie. You’d certainly seen better days, haven’t you, buddy?” He took his phone from his pocket, switched on the torch, and handed it to you. “Could you hold this for me? Please?”

“Why were you going to the shop this late?” You asked as you pointed the light towards Herbie’s insides.

“Was gonna work on the bike. Angle this a bit, please”, Chris took your hand, angling it however he needed it so he could see whatever it was he needed to see–for you he might as well had been doing dark magic on your car. You saw him push cables around like he knew what each of them was for, which he surely did, this was his livelihood, after all, but it all just looked the same to you, so you were immensely relieved that he was able to help you out tonight.

“You fix cars all day and still have the drive to work on your bike in the evening?” You chuckled, just as Chris moved your hand to point the light somewhere else.

“You’d be surprised how much drive I can have when I’m doing something I like”, there was a smile on his face as he said it, and honestly you couldn’t help but believe him. Just like you couldn’t help but wonder what else he could like that’d fuel that drive of his… “Alright, we’re gonna have to jumpstart it. Gimme a sec”.

Chris left your side for a moment, and he returned almost immediately after with a jumper cable in his hands. Once he had attached it to his 4X4’s and Herbie’s battery, he instructed you to go back to the driver’s seat and to turn the ignition at his signal.

You did as asked, and as soon as you did Herbie came back to life, making you heave a sigh of relief. Chris appeared by your door a few seconds after. “Let’s go to the shop, yeah? I don’t think he’ll make it much further, to be honest”.

And honestly, you didn’t think your car would make it far, either. So you followed Chris’ 4X4 out of the area and through the familiar roads to his repair shop. You couldn’t help but feel immensely grateful, not only because he was helping you now, but because he always did it. Whenever you’d needed him, he’d always been there, which did nothing to appease the ever growing feelings you had for him.

When you made it to Chris’ shop, he simply opened the gate to the garage and signalled you to come in. You got off your car as soon as it was parked, just as Chris was unzipping his boilersuit, revealing his black vest top underneath and his admittedly mouthwatering arms as he tied the top part of the garment around his waist.

“Thank you, Chris. Really”, you told him as soon as he stood in front of you, handing him Herbie’s keys when he opened his palm.

“Oh, please”, he waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought, as if what he did was something not even worth thanking him for. “I’m glad you called, I would’ve felt really bad if I couldn’t have helped you with this”, he gave you a smile, one of his blinding smiles that made his dimples appear on his cheeks and his eyes disappear, and you suddenly felt your cheeks warm up and like your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

Chris made sure to place a wedge behind each of Herbie’s wheels just so the car was secure in place, and then turned to you. “Come with me”.

He guided you to the sink by the corner of the shop. Pumping some soap into his hands and opening the tap, he started to generously lather the suds all over his hands.

“Come here, you need to wash your hands, too”, Chris took your hands in his, getting them all soapy, making sure to spread the soap between each of your fingers, going as far as to rub your hands between his, or lace his fingers with yours to fulfil the task.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Chris, I didn’t touch anything”.

“You sure?” He chuckled, but his motions didn’t stop. “It’s better to be safe than sorry, no?”

“I guess”, you didn’t think your cheeks could’ve felt any hotter. You seriously hoped it wasn’t that noticeable.

After thoroughly rinsing your hands under the tap, he gave you a clean rag to dry them on just as he motioned for you to follow him again. So you did, walking past his half restored bike and into his office.

Chris placed Herbie’s keys on the designated case that corresponded to the number in which you had parked your car, and then turned to the minifridge. “You want a soda?”

“Sure”, you took the glass bottle from him as soon as he opened it and handed it to you. You always found it odd that he had glass bottles and not cans, considering how little space he had in that fridge. When you asked him about it once Chris simply went on about how ‘Cans just don’t taste the same! The soda tastes so much better when it’s drunk from a bottle’, and as soon as he said that you just couldn’t untaste it anymore. Glass bottles were, ultimately, superior.

“‘Suppose I’ll get an uber”, you sighed after you took a sip of your drink, walking a bit so you could lean against the wall.

“An uber? Nonsense, I’ll drive you home, don’t worry”, Chris took a sip of his drink, just as he leaned on his desk.

“Aw, c’mon. You already went out of your way to rescue me. I don’t wanna take more of your time”.

Chris scoffed. “Don’t make me beg”.

“I wouldn’t dare”, you chuckled, although you were suddenly curious of what would happen if you did make him beg… “But what about your bike?”

“The bike won’t be ready anytime soon. The only reason I was coming here was because I was restless at home. Now I’d much rather spend some time with you, to be honest”, Chris took a sip of his drink again, and suddenly holding his gaze felt like too much, but the way your eyes decided to focus on his Adam’s apple moving with every sip he took wasn’t that much easier.

“You know…” Chris said after a few moments of silence, pulling your eyes back up from where they had been glued to his neck. “I think it might be time for you to consider letting Herbie go. It’s been months, and I honestly don’t think I can save him”.

You sighed. “I know… But I fear I’ve grown attached to the damned thing. Besides, wouldn’t you lose your most regular customer?” You added the last part with a chuckle, taking a sip of your drink right after.

Chris chuckled. “So you’re saying you only talk to me ‘cause of Herbie?”

You almost choked on your drink. “N–no. Of course not. You’re a good friend, Chris. Truly”.

He placed his drink on the desk, and a smirk made its way onto his face. “Just a good friend?”

“Uhh… A great friend?” You laughed softly, drinking some more of your soda.

Chris went silent for a moment. As you saw him worry at his bottom lip and looking anywhere but where you were standing, you wondered if you had said something wrong. That was, until he chuckled.

“I don’t think I’m a good friend, to be honest”, he crossed his arms over his chest, bouncing his leg a bit. “Good friends don’t secretly hope for their friend’s car to break down so they’d call them for help”.

You were just bringing your bottle to your lips, but his words made you stop in your tracks. “What?”

Chris looked at you for a moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but then he was tipping his head to the side and laughing. “God, I seriously didn’t believe Jisung at first, but you really are dense for some things, aren’t you?”

“I am… so confused right now”.

Chris shook his head a bit, and he walked closer to you. “Let me tell you a secret…” He got into your space, close enough that you could smell his perfume, and the proximity made you swallow the saliva that seemed to have suddenly pooled in your mouth. Leaning into you, he brought his mouth to your ear, whispering. “I really, really like you”.

You blinked, and you honestly felt like your brain had short-circuited. “You… What?”

No way was Christopher Bang telling you he liked you. There was just no way. You would’ve noticed… You would’ve, right? You definitely would’ve… Wouldn’t have you noticed?

Suddenly you remembered Jisung. How he’d tried to tell you multiple times throughout the past few months that Chris was flirting with you, that you should shoot your shot, but you honestly had never believed him, because it seemed just so ridiculous to you that Chris could even look at you in that light.

“I’ve, uh… liked you for a while. A long, long while”, Chris pulled himself away from your space completely, and he looked at your face for a moment. A moment that you stayed completely silent, still trying to process the fact that Chris liked you… And for a while now.

You saw his brows furrow as he chewed on his bottom lip. Then he was speaking again. “I just… couldn’t keep quiet about it anymore. When we hugged earlier I realised I wanted to do that more, and that I should probably grow a pair and tell you already. I’d like to take you on a date, if you want, but I can understand if you don’t want to…”

He was rambling. A lot. Saying a lot of things. This was the Nervous Chris you’d only seen a couple of times, the Nervous Chris whose coping mechanism was just to jump to conclusions and talk in a single breath. Suddenly, it all seemed to click into place. The good morning texts, the selfies, the late night talks at the shop after Herbie had died on you time and time again, it was so clear to you now.

“If you don’t like me back that’s fine, you can just say so, I won’t take it to hear–”

You kissed him.

It was barely anything. Just a peck on the lips, but it was enough to shut him up, enough to make his eyes go wide in surprise, and, to your own selfish delight, enough to bring a delicate blush to his cheeks.

“I like you, too”, you said simply, still a bit shocked by his confession, a bit shocked by your confession coming out of your own mouth. You honestly never thought you’d be able to say that to him out loud, but you did. Just like he had.

Chris looked stunned for a bit. But that stunned look didn’t last long, it quickly turned to something else, something raw and incredibly alluring. Stepping into your space again, he brought a hand to the back of your head, holding you in place just as his other hand took the bottle from your hands to place it on the tool cart next to you, right as his lips found yours.

This kiss was nothing like the peck you’d given him. It was loaded with need and want and lust. So much of all of it you couldn’t even believe how blind you’d been. Every press of his lips against yours kindled the fire that started to burn in the pit of your stomach. When his hand joined the other cradling your head, you just couldn’t help the small whimper that came out of your mouth, and that tiny noise seemed to have spurred Chris on, enough to press you flush against the wall as his tongue made its way inside your mouth, as your arms wrapped around his waist.

Heat was spreading quickly inside of you, and you were starting to feel lightheaded–whether it was due to the shock, or due to how Chris was pressing you against the wall, or due to the motions of his kiss and the lack of oxygen, you weren’t too sure. One of your hands laid palm flat on the small of his back, while the other pressed between his shoulder blades, and the hum that came out of his mouth seemed to have travelled all the way to your heart, making it beat even faster in your chest.

Chris detached his mouth from yours, only for a moment, enough to talk. “Does this mean…” He pressed another kiss on your lips. “That you’d like…” And another. “To go on a date?” This kiss lasted a bit longer than the others, it lasted until you nodded your head.

“Yes”, you pressed a kiss on his lips, just as your arms moved to loop around his neck and his wrapped around your waist, keeping you impossibly closer to him. “Would love to”.

He hummed again, and he immediately resumed the soft movement of his lips on yours. Keeping you tight against him for a while. Until it seemed like his brain had caught up with him.

“We should probably stop”, but he didn’t stop kissing you, just like you didn’t, either. You just couldn’t get enough of his full lips on yours, of his tongue pushing against yours.

“Do you want to?” Your fingers made their way through the curls at the back of his head, holding the strands between them just how you’d dreamt to do so many times throughout the past handful of months.

“God, no”, and you believed him, not only because of how desperate he sounded when he said it, but also because he just kept kissing you, talking in between quick pecks of his lips. “But I don’t want… to make it seem… like this is all I want… You know?”

You knew. You knew because you were thinking exactly the same thing. You could feel him against your pubic bone, hard, warm, and it all made you incredibly wet, maybe embarrassingly so. But this was Chris, it was hard to feel embarrassed with him, which was part of the reason why you had developed feelings for him in the first place.

You hummed, just to let him know that you understood what he was trying to say without removing your lips from his. As you kissed him, as you felt him and his warmth, your mind started to cloud a bit. The mix of his motions, of the months and months of pining for him, and the even more months of self-inflicted celibacy clearly made it so logical thinking wasn’t your strongest attribute at this time.

“Would you still… take me on a date… if I sucked you off right now?” The words flew past your mouth between kisses, too fast for you to even think twice and stop them.

“Shit…” Chris pulled himself away from your lips completely, looking you in the eyes. As you took in the flush on his face, his plush, kiss-bitten lips, and his blown pupils, you couldn’t help but think just how incredibly beautiful he looked like this. “Are you being serious?”

“Dead serious”, your chest was heaving, and your fingers carded through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with your nails, making Chris bite his lip and take a deep breath.

“Of course I would. I’d take you to the fucking moon even if I got it wet right now”.

You chuckled at that, and pressed a brief kiss on his lips. “A date is enough, babe”.

“Babe, huh?” Chris took a deep breath, just as you pushed him away from you a bit, enough to have space so you could drop to your knees, uncaring of your bare skin touching the floor. All you could care about was the outline of his length against his clothes when you pressed your hand on it.

“Sorry, you don’t like ‘babe’?” You looked up at him, right in the eyes, just as you untied the sleeves of his boilersuit from around his waist.

“I like it a lot, actually”, there was a bit of a smug smirk on his face, and it had you licking your lips.

Just as you were about to pull the bottom of his suit further down, he brought a hand to one of yours, diverting your eyes back up to his. His gaze had softened, and the smile on his face coupled with that look in his eyes made you flush further. “You don’t have to, seriously. Don’t feel obligated to do it”.

“I don’t”, you reassured him. “I want to do it. Badly. But only if you want it, too”.

“Fuck… I do. So bad”, he licked his lips, and he moved his hand away from yours to place it on your head instead. “You’ve got no idea how much, shit…”

So you resumed your motions, tugging his bottoms along with his underwear, enough for his length to spring free of its confinements. You weren’t surprised with the sight, honestly. A pretty face like his surely came with a pretty cock, too. So of fucking course it was pretty, especially so as precum pooled at its tip, especially when it looked just so delectably hard. It was a bit on the girthier side, but nothing too crazy, nothing you couldn’t handle. If anything, it just made your mouth water, and you licked your lips in anticipation.

“Shit…” You took him in your hand, spreading around the bead of precum that had collected on his tip to give him a couple of tentative pumps, making him swear under his breath and bite his bottom lip. “How do you like it?”

“Fuck… sloppy. Make it as wet as you can, the messier the better”, the words flew past his lips, completely shamelessly, almost as if he didn’t even need to think about them. Chris seemed to be transfixed on the sight of your hand working his length, and you took that opportunity to spit on it, making him groan while you started to coat him in your saliva.

So you delayed no further, dying for a taste, and a taste you got. As soon as your lips wrapped around his tip Chris swore. Loudly. He threw his head back and his fingers seemed to tighten a bit on your head, but he didn’t move you, he let you keep the pace as you saw fit. You started slow, holding him by the base and just bobbing your head for your lips to repeatedly catch on the ridge of his head and for your tongue to rub against the frenulum on the underside, taking him deeper into your mouth with every other stroke.

The moment you opened your eyes and your gaze found his, your inner walls involuntarily clenched around nothing, and suddenly you felt like you needed some relief. But you ultimately decided to keep your focus on Chris, on his lustful gaze, on his furrowed brows, on his gentle hold on your head, and the grunts and groans threatening to come out of his mouth, dampened by the way his teeth trapped his bottom lip.

He wanted it messy and sloppy, so you were ready to give it to him messy and sloppy. It’d been a while since you’d done this, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try. With a deep breath, you took him in deeper, breaching past the initial resistance for him to ease into your throat.

“Oh, fuck… You’re kidding… Shit…” Chris threw his head back, letting the most delicious noises out of his mouth, almost making you lightheaded with how aroused his heavy cock in your mouth coupled with his blissed out sounds got you.

You took your time slurping him up, uncaring if saliva dribbled out of your mouth as you worked against your gag reflex, feeling tears quickly collect in the corner of your eyes. When you felt confident enough with your motions, you brought your hand to his that held your head in place, while you placed the other on his hip, holding him tightly.

“You want me to move, pretty? Fuck your perfect little mouth?” You nodded in response, humming around his length.

Slowly, he started to thrust into your mouth. Chris was being extremely careful, being mindful of every controlled push of his hips, but even with his slow pace, you couldn’t help but moan as soon as he started moving, making him groan in response. That was when you finally gave into your own desires, moving your hand away from his that lay on your head to bring it under your dress so you could press circles on your clit over your underwear, eliciting broken whimpers from your mouth.

“Shit, look at you…” Chris looked fucked out of his mind already, with his heaving chest and the increasing pace of his hips. You were sure you weren’t looking any more collected than he was, especially when you started to feel tears finally fall from the corner of your eyes every time you blinked.

With one particularly precise thrust of his hips, Chris’ length went in further than you were used to, essentially choking you on his cock, making you gag harshly. Chris pulled his length out of your mouth, and you gasped for air immediately.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, so fucking good with that mouth… Come here, beautiful”, Chris helped you to your feet, wrapping his arms around your waist once you were standing on your feet and pressing kisses all over your cheeks. You were still panting a bit, flushed from exertion, but Chris kissed you anyway, and you kissed him back, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. “Need to taste you”, he mumbled between pecks of his lips. “Please, please, please let me eat you out”.

You just nodded, very eagerly if you might add. But you honestly couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed about it, not when Chris begged so fervently for it. Just the thought of seeing him between your legs had you already clenching with need.

While you kissed, Chris removed his arms from your waist. You felt him fumble with his underwear and his boilersuit, hastily wrapping it around his waist, and before you could even register what he was doing, he was taking a hold of your ass and scooping you into his arms.

“Chris, fuck, wait. I’m heavy as hell”, you were slightly alarmed, but your legs wrapped around his waist for stability anyway just as you held onto his shoulders.

“Heavy?” Chris chuckled, moving towards his desk. “Baby, I can lift almost thrice your weight”.

“You, what?” You asked, a bit confused–and also aroused, because, fuck, how strong was this man…–Chris pushed away some of the items on his desk to sit you on it, close to the edge. After all the revelations that had come to light earlier, it finally dawned on you. “Is that… why you asked what my weight was all those months ago?”

“Of course! Needed to make sure that if I ever got a chance I was able to do everything I wanted”, he dropped to his knees, starting to press tender kisses up your shins. “Must admit I had to stop whole hip thrust sets sometimes because I’d get so fucking hard halfway through, fuck”.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, a hearty, and slightly incredulous laugh. “Holy shit. I genuinely thought you would tell me I had to lose weight at some point”.

“What? I’d never”, Chris chuckled, bringing his hands to your thighs, squeezing them. “I mean, it’s your body, you can do whatever you want, but know that I find you incredibly attractive however you look”, he moved his hands further up, right under the hem of your dress to finally hook his fingers on the waistband of your underwear. “Can I take these off, gorgeous?”

“Yes”, you giggled, feeling yourself heating up further just by his words and the feeling of his hands on your skin. With your hands on the desk you lifted your hips enough for him to slip the garment down your legs and off of you. He threw your underwear on the desk, and they landed somewhere behind you.

Bringing his hands back to your thighs, Chris rubbed circles with his thumbs for a second, only to finally move them further up, catching the hem of your dress and bringing it with him as he went. You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling a bit nervous all of a sudden. That was, until he finally pushed your legs apart. With the way he swore under his breath and the way his eyes seemed to get impossibly darker as soon as he took sight of your seeping core, any nervousness seemed to have been obliterated, and you couldn’t help but feel just so incredibly wanted.

“Fuck… Even here, huh?” He threw your legs over his shoulders, and you felt yourself heat up in anticipation. ��Plump, pretty… Shit…”

Desire pooled in the pit of your stomach, it was honestly almost pathetic how affected you felt just by the things he was saying and the sight of him between your legs.

“You know…” Chris pressed his lips to your inner thigh, sucking harshly, leaving marks on your skin, making you inhale a shaky breath. “This is the exact same dress you were wearing the first time you came into my shop”.

Your eyes widened a bit in surprise. “You remember what I was wearing?”

“Hm, ‘course I do”, he moved his attention back to your eyes, just as he pressed a chaste kiss on your inner thigh. “I’ve been dreaming of you in this fucking dress for months, baby…”

“You have?”

“I have”, one of his hands came to grip your thigh, while the other moved to your hip, giving you a hefty squeeze. “How do you like it, pretty? Or how do you not like it, for that matter?”

You licked your lips, suddenly transfixed by the sight of his lips brushing your skin. “Gentle sucks go a long way. I’m a bit, uh… sensitive”.

“Sensitive, huh? ‘Course you are… Hold this for me, hm?” He took a hold of your hand and brought it to one of your thighs, just as he spread you open further, propping your foot on the desk. So you did as asked, keeping your legs open as he diverted his attention back to your heat. “Good girl… Just like that…”

As soon as he spread you with two of his fingers, and he dived, landing soft, tentative licks on your clit, you knew you were done for. Your whole body jolted a bit, and a soft whimper escaped your mouth. “Oh, fuck…”

Chris just hummed, moving to lick at your entrance, getting a taste of your essence with his brows pulled together, looking just so fucking delighted. Just the thought that he was genuinely enjoying himself got you moaning a bit louder under the quickening movements of his tongue, and as soon as his lips pressed on your clit, giving you those gentle sucks you had asked for, your mind just disconnected completely.

He took his time working you up, turning you to a whimpering mess just with his lips and his tongue, gradually increasing his tempo to build your upcoming release. Whenever he dipped lower to lick at your entrance, his nose would bump your clit with every movement of his head, he was essentially making out with your cunt and you would gladly let him do whatever and however he wanted. Your nerve endings were on fire, your toes curled with need, and your walls clenched with his unrelenting pace.

When he detached his mouth from your core you almost wanted to cry, but he only did it for a second, enough to ask a “Fingers, baby?” only to press his lips to your sensitive skin again, sucking your clit into his mouth and licking it with his tongue.

You weren’t sure if the ‘Yes’ actually came out of your mouth, you vaguely only registered your eager nodding and the soft moan that escaped your lips as soon as you felt one of his digits at your entrance. Chris groaned against your skin as soon as he inserted the first finger to the knuckle, the vibration of the sound further fueling that fire in the pit of your stomach. He pumped his finger in tandem with his tongue on your clit, touching and prodding and gauging your reactions to his every move.

One particularly sharp nudge of his finger on your walls had you moaning a bit louder than you were before, and Chris seemed to have picked it up immediately, because he plunged a second finger right after and started pumping his digits in and out, hitting that sweet spot over and over while his lips gently sucked on your clit. You needed to have a hand on the desk to keep yourself up, to maintain some stability, so you shuffled your foot a bit and simply let go of your thigh to bring the hand that was holding it to his head, burying your fingers in his hair and pushing him further against you with a whimper.

Chris groaned as soon as your fingers threaded through his hair, immediately picking up the pace of his fingers and his tongue, bringing you further and further towards the edge, and God if you needed to tip over that edge… With how well he was working you up you felt your lower belly tighten with exertion, and your walls spasm more frequently around his fingers.

“Chris… Fuck, fuck, I’m so fucking close, please–” You almost choked with the moan that came out of your mouth after you spoke, since Chris immediately started ramming his fingers into you harder, faster, just as his plush, now swollen lips kept sucking that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.

He was absolutely determined to give you your relief, and as soon as you were able to open your eyes and look at him, the look in his eyes, lustful, greedy, was enough to finally push you over the edge. Searing heat spread all over your body with your release, pure pleasure overflowed each and every one of your senses, making you perceive nothing but Chris, Chris, Chris, and his lips between your legs, and his hair between your fingers, and his fingers inside of you.

Chris’ motions didn’t relent until you were thoroughly satisfied, until you weakly pushed on his head with a ‘Shit, baby, enough, please’ when he had you on the brink of oversensitivity. As soon as his mouth detached from your heat, he pulled his fingers out and brought them to his lips, sucking them clean before he finally stood up and caught your mouth in a heated kiss. The fact that you could taste yourself on his lips only seemed to spur you on further, making you whimper while you brought a hand to the back of his head and took a handful of his curls to finally get completely lost in the motions of his kiss.

“So pretty, fuck…” He mumbled when his mouth disconnected from yours, cradling your head in his hands as he smothered your face with kisses. “So fucking gorgeous when you come for me, shit…”

His borderline adoring words had you feeling tingly all over, somehow both making your heart swell in your chest and your walls involuntarily flutter even when they were still sporadically spasming from the after effects of your orgasm. When Chris kissed you again, you looped your arms around his neck just as his hands found your hips, pulling him flush to you, heaving chest against heaving chest, getting lost in the feeling of his lips on yours and his hands kneading your flesh.

“Holy fuck”, you chuckled as soon as Chris’ lips parted from yours, and he followed suit, chuckling while he made his way to your neck, to press kisses all over your skin.

“Mmm, I know, right?”

Chris hugged you close, leisurely kissing and licking your neck and shoulders. His soft, lingering touches seemed to shoot straight to the deepest areas within your heart, and even though you’d just had a mind-numbing orgasm, you certainly wanted more. More of him.

“Chris?” You mumbled, hugging him a bit tighter.

“Mm?”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then moved to take his earlobe between your teeth, tugging gently before you whispered, “want you”.

Chris took in a shaky breath, and he pulled himself away from your neck to look at your face. God, you wanted to kiss him, his flushed face and his swollen lips would be a sight that’d haunt your wettest dreams from now on, you just knew.

He licked his lips. “We don’t have to, pretty”.

“Mm… You’re right, we don’t have to”, dragging one of your hands from his shoulders, down his chest, his abdomen, all the way to his length, you pressed your palm firmly, feeling him still hard under your grasp. “But do you want to?”

“Fuck, yeah, I want to”, Chris held your hips tighter, and you wondered if you’d see bruises tomorrow just as he placed a kiss on your lips. “I want you so bad”.

“You have me. Right here, baby. You can have me right here”, you mumbled against his lips, pressing a kiss there right after, just as Chris swore under his breath.

“Shit… Gimme a sec”, he detached himself from you, rounding the desk and pulling one of the drawers open, muttering to himself. “There were some here, I’m sure…”

You turned to look at him, oddly amused by the way he carelessly moved things around in his drawers. “What are you looking for?”

“Aha! These”, he pulled a three piece box of condoms, and he turned it around a few times in his hand with a frown on his face. “I seriously hope these aren’t expired…”

You chuckled at the sight of his focused face, amused, but also incredibly curious. “Why do you even have a box of condoms in your desk’s drawers? How many girls have you had in here?”

“Believe it or not, you’re the first one”, he chuckled, opening the package and taking one of the foil packets out, examining it closely for a moment, only to finally heave a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Not expired”.

With a smile on your lips, you quirked a brow at him, just as you watched him round the desk again to stand in front of you. He shrugged to your silent question, taking the foil packet between his teeth so he could untie the top of his boilersuit from around his hips and tug the rest and his underwear down enough so his length was free again, and you’d admit you got a bit distracted by the sight.

With the corner of the condom packet still held in place by his teeth, he finally tore it open, and you took the bit of foil that was still in his mouth to drop it somewhere on the desk while Chris carefully slid the condom down his length.

“You’d be surprised how many things a condom can be used for when working with cars. They’re always useful when you need to get creative and use whatever you have at hand”, Chris stood between your parted legs, placing his hands on your hips and squeezing.

“What kind of MacGyver bullshit is that?” You chuckled, but the sound quickly turned into a surprised yelp when Chris held you tightly and pulled you closer to the edge of the desk.

“They’ve always been helpful when I’ve needed them”, leaning into you, Chris placed a hand on your cheek, pulling you into a kiss just as he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down your slit, spreading your juices around and teasing your clit in the process, making you whimper into his mouth. “But I’ll be honest, I’ve never been more happy to have them at hand than I do right now”.

You brought a hand to play with the hair at the back of his head, pulling him for a brief kiss. “Put them to good use, then”.

“Demanding, are we?” Chris chuckled, but he lined himself with your entrance anyway, slowly easing his length into your heat. “Oh, shit…”

It was a stretch, alright, but he was being just so incredibly careful, and you appreciated it, you really did. But you were also incredibly desperate to be filled, so you wrapped your legs around his torso and pushed on his ass with your heel, urging him on, making him jut his hips further forward.

“Shit… Have mercy on me, will you?” He mumbled against your cheek, pressing a soft kiss on your skin while his now free hand made its way to your hip again, holding you tightly.

“Want you”, you replied simply, probably whinier and less demanding that you were trying to sound, but Chris complied with your request anyway, finally thrusting all the way in, making you gasp with just how incredibly full you felt.

“Want you, too”, he pressed his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking on your skin. The thought of waking up tomorrow and seeing his marks on your neck or your hips made you flush impossibly further, even as he moved along to press kisses on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “Want you so bad I’m genuinely about to burst just by being inside you right now. Need a second”.

Bringing a hand to his cheek, you made him turn away from your shoulder to look at you, and the way he bit his lip before he leaned in for a kiss had you involuntarily clenching around him, eliciting a choked groan from his lips.

“Fuck, driving me nuts… Seriously, we’re gonna have… the best fucking date ever… You’ll see…” He mumbled his words between kisses, and it genuinely had you laughing, because of course he was still thinking about your future date. “C’mon, beautiful. Hold on to me”.

So you did, bringing your arms to rest on his shoulders, burying one of your hands in his hair, all while he placed one hand on the small of your back, and the other on the desk for stability. Finally, Chris moved, starting a rhythm with precise thrusts, making you gasp at the sensation of his length dragging against your walls, making him groan.

“Fuck, shit… That’s good. So good. Feel so fucking perfect around me, baby. Perfect”, with the increase of his tempo you could barely register the words coming out of his mouth, all you could do was whine while you nodded in agreement, hoping that he, too, would know how just incredibly good he felt inside of you.

The way Chris kissed you, almost desperate, the way he started to ram into you, stretching you so deliciously you were already starting to feel lightheaded, all combined had that little bit of sanity you had left in you leave your body entirely, finally letting you succumb to just your utmost primal need for pleasure. But more specifically, for pleasure you could share with Chris.

You honestly couldn’t tell how long you spent getting pounded to that desk, you could just feel Chris’ cock repeatedly splitting you open and his lips on yours and the words that he’d occasionally mumble against your skin, his words of praise and encouragement that had you once again feeling tingly all over, words that fed that pool of arousal inside of you, threatening to spill it all over. You vaguely registered words of your own leave your mouth, too. Words that seemed to spur him on, that seemed to pull blissed-out sounds from his lips and yours nonstop.

“Lean back a bit for me, gorgeous”, and you couldn’t help but comply, removing one of your hands from his shoulders to place it behind you to lean on it, leaving just enough space between your bodies for Chris to sneak his hand between your bodies, finding your clit and drawing fervent circles on your already oversensitive bud, eliciting a moan from your lips as soon as he did. “Fuck, fuck, that’s it, baby. Just like that, milk my cock just like that, huh…”

“Chris–” You honestly weren’t sure what you were even going to tell him, you could just feel your next high approaching increasingly fast, and you needed it. You needed it badly.

“It’s fine, pretty. Whenever you’re ready, just let go”, he mumbled the words against your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss on it, a complete contrast to his sharp thrusts and the fast movement of his fingers between your legs. “Want to feel you so bad, fuck…”

“Shit–” With a few more flicks of his fingers on your clit, you finally got that sweet, sweet relief. The feeling spread all throughout your body, dragging sounds of pure, unadulterated pleasure out of your mouth, making your legs shake from exertion as you tried to keep your hold around Chris’ torso.

Bringing both of his hands to your hips for leverage, Chris chased his own release, his grunts and groans getting lost in your mouth while he kissed you again. One, two, three thrusts and he was flush against you, shooting his load into the condom while he was buried as deep as he could within your warmth, a mix of his groans and your name and a colourful string of swears flying past his lips as he rode the waves of his ecstasy with minute rolls of his hips.

“Holy fuck”, he cradled your face in his hands, pulling you in for one more heated kiss while he came down from his high, and you couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“I agree”, you were panting a bit, breathless, leaning back on both of your hands as you tried to catch your breath.

Chris laughed, a hearty laugh that had a smile appearing on your face immediately. Taking a hold of the condom by the base of his length to make sure it was secure in place, he finally pulled out, carefully sliding it off of him, tying a knot and throwing it in the bin by his desk. You missed his warmth inside of you immediately.

Taking a roll of toilet paper from one of the tool carts nearby, he quickly cleaned any remnants of his release from his length before he was tucking it back into his briefs, finally wrapping the top of his boilersuit around his waist again. With more paper in hand Chris asked you to ‘please open up those pretty legs for me, hm?’ so he could clean you up, helping you back into your underwear right after.

As soon as you were standing back on your–admittedly unsteady–feet, Chris wrapped his arms around your waist, placing a quick kiss on your lips only to move up and press another on your forehead. “You okay?”

“I’m more than okay”, you chuckled, melting into his embrace. “Everything hurts, though. How’re you?”

“On cloud nine”, he replied simply, giving you one of his blinding smiles, making your heart race with the sight.

When Chris finally detached himself from you, he reached for the soda he’d taken out of your hands earlier, giving it back to you once you told him ‘I still want to drink it. Even if it’s not cold anymore, seriously’, and after a bit of back and forth he simply relented.

“Would you…” Chris started to ask, while he bent down to take the bag out of the bin. “Would you like to come to my place? I mean, I can take you to yours, too, that’s fine, but I figured, you know, you could stay over, and we could have dinner, and I can make you breakfast tomorrow, and I’m sure Wolfgang would love to see you, and we could cuddle to sleep, you know? But if you don’t want to, it’s fin–”

You took a hold of his hand, squeezing it in yours to stop his rambling. “I’d love to”.

Chris just giggled a bit, pressing a quick kiss on your lips and tugging you out of his office back to the garage once he’d switched off the light. When you were outside, you made your way to his 4X4, watching him chuck the small bin bag from his office into the bigger bin out in the garage and going through the motions of switching every light off in here, too.

As you watched him, your eyes drifted to Herbie, parked in his–by now–usual spot. Maybe Chris was right, maybe it was time you considered letting him go. He’d served you well for those two months at the beginning, and when you were in a pinch he was very forgiving, but his condition was unsustainable at this point.

As soon as Chris was by your side again he gave you a kiss for good measure, opening his 4X4’s passenger door for you. You just smiled at him, pressing one more kiss on his lips before you finally hopped in. Chris rounded the bonnet and started to very animatedly talk about a funny thing Wolfgang had done just this morning, gesturing with his hands while he recounted the event, making you laugh.

While Chris drove you two to his place, with soft music playing on the radio, with his hand occasionally shifting from the gear lever to squeeze your thigh, all while a light, easy conversation flowed between you two, you figured that Herbie might’ve been the worst financial decision you’d ever made, but at the very least, he’d brought you to Chris, so you really couldn’t hold a grudge against him, not when you felt so incredibly light and couldn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

You can find part two here

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#bang chan smut #chan smut #bang chan fluff #chan fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan fic #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #✨🌙✏

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glenechoslasher · 1 month

Text

"Here With Me" ||

Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader

Rating: None

Asked by @photo1030

Ok, I gotcha….what about the first time someone tells Arthur they love him? Could be reader, m or f, or an existing character?

Oh I like this idea a lot and think it’s such a bittersweet feeling for Arthur, I won’t get into the meat of it, but you know how he feels about people calling him ‘a good man’, or just how Mary ended up treating him before she left. This man deserves the world, okay?

It had been an age since he heard those words, never had he thought he would actually ever hear them uttered to him, nor did he think he'd ever find the courage to mutter them aloud again to any living soul. He found himself undeserving of any kind words, living the life he had, he knew there'd be a mark upon his soul, and anyone foolish enough to accept him as he was, well they were just that: foolish.

But there you were, admiring him from afar for so long that it almost felt like a fever dream when you two met. He'd brushed anything off at first, just thinking that whatever the weird spark he felt was just in his head, he always ignored those gut feelings because he felt that they didn't deserve to be had. But slowly, those large thick walls were chiseled away one by one over time.

When you had decided to tell him how you finally felt, he wasn't sure what to do, he sat there unblinking, staring directly at you. What was he thinking? Why was he just… sitting there? You knew he wasn't one to delve into his feelings so openly, but your admitted confession had meant a lot to you, so your leg bounced up and down due to your nerves. You knew Arthur well enough that if you rushed him or made him feel like he needed to supply an answer right away, it wouldn't work out so well for either of you, but that didn’t stop you from assuming the worst.

As you sat there and allowed Arthur to think your confession through, you sat back and thought of all the ways he'd changed your life and the way you saw things, but most importantly, he always looked out for you, even when he felt that he shouldn't have gotten you involved in his life to begin with. Boldly, you reached across the wooden table that sat in the camp, the smell of fire and booze hung heavily around you, the lingering gang members that were awake were too drunk or tired to pay you two any mind. Your hand was placed on his, you didn't need to exchange words, you felt that he understood how you felt and why, well, you hoped he understood.

Arthur was good at thinking of others, though he wouldn't care to admit it, always thinking of what was best for you, but never what was best for himself or you both. He was a stubborn man, but it was one of the many reasons you did love him.

His silence wasn't odd, you preferred that he sat back to think things through rather than immediate dismissal, it meant that he was considering your words more than anyone could realize. But you loved to hear him speak, that gruff voice that you could never get enough of, and he graced you with the sound of it.

“You uh, you sure you'd wanna love a man like me? You know what that means, don'tcha?” He asked you, his eyes stared at you beneath the brim of his hat. The light from the fire illuminated half of his face and he looked so beautiful, like a painting that was created with love and carefulness with each stroke.

You just nod in response to his question as you sit across from him, a small smile across your face. “I do, yeah,” you say with a small breath of laughter. “I wouldn't say it carelessly, Arthur. Loving you with all of the ups and downs it comes with is something I'm willing to live with.”

Arthur listened to you once again, his jaw slightly clenched as he held back what he truly wanted to say, which would only be dismissing himself, and you smiled at his ability to bite his tongue.

You couldn't help but chuckle at how his face contorted with so many emotions at once, and he just looked up at you with a hard stare, but it softened as soon as he locked eyes with you.

“No matter what I say, you ain't gonna listen to reason, are you?” He asked you, his tone more gentle this time.

You shook your head. “Nope. I've made up my mind. As grim as it seems, this world doesn't promise us anything, so why not take what time you have and enjoy it? You deserve it, Arthur.” Your grasp on his hand tightened, showing him you weren't going anywhere, he was stuck with you.

The gunslinger swallowed, how mouth suddenly dried as he nodded to your words. “It's… been a while since I heard ‘em, figured I never would again. But… it's nice to hear ‘em, ‘specially comin’ from you.” Arthur offered a smile as he continued to look at you beneath his hat, not wanting to give away just how happy you'd made him. Not yet.

“I love you, that's all you need to know,” you assured the man, “you don't have to do things alone, you never had to, okay? Let me share your burdens with you, and if you don't wanna say it back yet, that's okay. I ain't going anywhere.”

Arthur just nodded again, the smile widened, stretching his lips. “‘Course you ain't, wouldn't let you if you tried,” he said with a chuckle that followed.

For now, those were the only words you needed to hear from him, you knew that with time and patience, that man who was so closed off to the world would allow you a glimpse of his heart.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan drabble #arthur morgan writing #writing drabble #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 arthur morgan #red dead writings #tinalbion writings #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader

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shalotttower · 5 months

Text

Permanence

Title: Permanence Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: A simple evening at an art gallery turns into a daring decision to slip away from Chrollo's grasp. Word count: 2400+ Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, exploration of power dynamics, power imbalance.

Tonight you spend in the shower longer than you normally do. There're no tears, no, just exhaustion, both mental and physical that seems to be seeping into your bones deeper than ever. Waiting is the worst part. You don't know whether there will be any kind of consequences after the stunt you've pulled. You don't know if the extent of Chrollo's composure has stretched to anger - and that's after you've tried so hard to keep yourself from pushing him - or it's just annoyance. Which is not ideal, but workable.

It was supposed to be a nice, as much as it can be, evening. Just a walk through the gallery, a little bit of art admiration here, a little bit of talking there, maybe getting some dinner.

After the shower, you sit on the closed toilet lid, naked, and stare at the mirror that's still fogged from the steam. You don't like looking yourself in the eye lately, or rather what you see there. Fear doesn't become you. Neither does hopelessness. Your reflection seems foreign, unrecognizable at times when it should be familiar and safe, a thing you grew up with and are supposed to know by heart.

***

"I want to leave," you whispered when Chrollo put his arm around your waist. Yet another painting by an unknown artist; names that didn't ring a bell and suffering deities depicted on canvas twirled in an odd dance.

He didn't react immediately, so you repeated yourself. Something hinted that you should keep quiet and admire in silence, but something else entirely urged you to push. Perhaps it was too hot. Perhaps too many people were surrounding you and Chrollo's touch felt stifling rather than reassuring.

"Can we get out of here?"

He looked down at you, expression calm, and you could almost call it considering. The hand on your hipbone tightened just a notch, as if making sure you won't slip away.

"Not yet, dear. We haven't seen everything."

A sigh died somewhere in your chest before it got the chance to escape your lungs. "We've been here for over an hour," you managed. And while art usually caused pleasant emotions in you, right now it did nothing of sorts. People brushed past, paying little mind to the couple blocking one of the main hallways. You tried to not fidget under Chrollo's gaze.

Maybe he would've granted your request - who knows? Chrollo wasn't the type to deny you anything reasonable, not after almost four months of compliance - if a man had not appeared right next to you like a ghost out of thin air. You remembered him from a fine dinner, one of many. The memory was hazy, you had a glass of martini at Chrollo's indulgence which proved to be a bit stronger than expected. But the feeling, that sinking sensation of unease you got back then from the man's presence remained. As well as the smell of his cologne, leathery; it lingered behind him even after he left the table.

One look of his dark eyes was enough to make your stomach clench.

And then they started talking.

When you were a child you hated shopping with your mother. Groceries or clothing - no matter. It was not the process itself, but rather occasional encounters with other adults she knew. The chit-chats about everything and nothing could last forever, and you stood there, tugging on her hand to remind about your existence. Can we go? Can we go home, are you finished?

You weren't a child anymore, yet the impression of your own invisibility and being a silent accessory to Chrollo, although he occasionally looked down at you, brought those memories back.

The gallery room was too small. There were too many people.

The nape of your neck tingled.

You wrung your hand out of Chrollo's hold faster than any reasonable thought could stop you. He blinked in surprise, and that was the only time in four months you saw him taken aback for a small particle of a second. Before having a chance to see his composure settle back or properly regret your actions, you slipped through bodies like a fish. Stupid heels of elegant shoes with ankle straps and pointed toe tips hindered your every step. Your heartbeat hammered in your ears as if someone hit them with blunt force repeatedly. The dreadful dress he chose rustled against your legs, black velvet fabric clinging to your thighs when you tried to maneuver between visitors. You wanted to get out. Just to have some air. Just to take a breath.

"Dear," Chrollo's voice reached you from behind, but you didn't slow down. You passed paintings one by one. Saints screaming at your hasty steps and angry expressions seemed to judge you. "Dear." Louder now. People were throwing curious glances at you both.

You did not spot a waiter who stopped abruptly before you with a tray of wine glasses in time.

It was really supposed to be a nice evening.

***

You towel dry your hair until it feels acceptable enough and pull the pajama on, a silky set Chrollo gifted (replaced yours with). It is more comfortable than anything you've ever owned, but still too short on your frame and reveals way too much skin for your liking. He won't let you sleep not in the bed tonight, this much is obvious. The makeshift mattress you've made on the floor is nowhere to be seen just like you expected.

So be it.

Quietly you slip under the covers and turn on your side, facing the window. The sheets smell fresh and clean and there's even a hint of lavender underneath if you focus hard, but right now all you can focus on is getting through this night. Sleep comes quick. Or so you think because when Chrollo lies down next to you, you jerk awake. His body radiates warmth, not close enough to touch just yet, but the knowledge that it'll change soon causes a surge of nausea within you.

He shifts with a faint rustling of silk sheets. An arm comes to drape around your middle like a shackle; you move closer to the bed edge, curling yourself into a ball. It almost seems like you might fall off, and perhaps you will, really, your leg is already hanging in part.

A delicate kiss is placed at the top of your spine, bare where the shirt doesn't reach your shoulder blades. Another one follows on your vertebrae and then he pulls you flush against him. Your heartbeat speeds up and palms become cold; his - is slow and steady, like always.

"You're going to fall off," he whispers.

"Fine by me." You whisper too for some reason, despite there being nobody else to hear you.

There's a soft exhale from behind and his hand begins to rub circles on your tense stomach, lazy motions that go up to your rib cage and down to the belly button. Chrollo's breath tickles your nape and you know that if it wasn't for four months of constant touches, caresses and brushes, you would've pushed him away. Careful conditioning - that's what it is, you're not stupid. Your body knows him, his scent, his hands and voice now, even though your mind screams at them to keep their distance.

He hums when you shudder.

"Cold?" Chrollo asks. One of his fingers traces the hem of your shorts. Your hand comes over it and halts it midway.

"Please stop," you say, and it's the first time since this all started your voice is actually cracking, like an eggshell. Fragile at the edges.

He doesn't say anything but the motion ceases. Slowly, his hand retreats to come rest on your hipbone where it grants you a gentle squeeze.

Chrollo kisses the back of your head.

"Sleep," he tells you.

Easier said than done.

***

The new penthouse looks pretty much like any other you've stayed in – large bed and luxurious decor. It even has a grand piano standing in one of the corners which you have no idea how to play. Chrollo releases your hand and heads into the bathroom while you wander around, poking at things just for the sake of having something to do. A glass figurine of a little ballerina catches your attention. She seems frozen in her sorrowful stance, looking downwards to the ground beneath her tiny pointe shoes. You turn it this way and that, watching light catch on the shiny surface.

The shower starts running.

It's been only three days after the incident in the gallery and Chrollo hasn't commented upon it in the slightest. Maybe he's simply biding his time, you wouldn't be surprised.

Eventually you settle down onto the soft mattress and grab the first random book from the side table. Reading helps. Immersing yourself into fiction distracts from reality.

You thumb through the pages and find out that it's some sort of a romance novel, a period one judging by the writing style. Some duke-like character seems to be enamored with one of his maids but can't do anything about it because of social stigmas. The woman herself is poor as a church mouse yet beautiful beyond words - a bit cliché if you're honest, still there's nothing wrong with it per se, everyone can enjoy their guilty pleasures.

Chrollo emerges from the bathroom after some time, drying his hair with a towel. He moves about the room: unpacking your luggage, hanging up clothes in the closet, etc. Your eyes follow him without meaning to. There are times like this when Chrollo almost feels like a normal person. What he is doing seems domestic enough to trick your brain into short periods of blissful ignorance. Then your gaze falls onto the cross tattoo on his forehead and the illusion breaks like a soap bubble on a sunny day.

You turn another page and read half a paragraph before realizing you've absorbed absolutely nothing.

"What are you reading?" Chrollo sits by your side after he's finished unpacking. His voice is light, almost casual. Almost playful. It puts you on edge.

"Something I found." You close the book and show him the cover. "It was next to the bed."

He leans forward, glancing at the words written on the page. When Chrollo speaks, there's amusement in his tone. "Interesting."

Interesting. What's that supposed to mean? You keep your eyes trained on the text, but try as you might, the words seem meaningless, jumbled. Chrollo rests his hand on your calf. He keeps it there for a few moments before sliding it upward, slowly, toward your knee. You give him a look. "What are you doing?"

"Getting your attention," he responds with the simplicity of someone stating the weather outside.

"You have it. What is it?" It's that type of a stare he gives you that had almost transformed into his personal form of art. One that takes everything in without any effort – from your eyebrows furrowed in suspicion to the corners of your mouth turned downward into a frown.

"You know," Chrollo says thoughtfully. "I've been thinking."

Isn't he always?

He squeezes your leg under your knee, where skin is more sensitive and then you're cornered - right between him and the headboard.

"Your behavior in the gallery, dear. It was rather unexpected," he tells you and the sinking feeling turns into full blown nausea in your throat.

You knew it. Knew that he was going to get back to this, sooner or later. Fuck. "You've been behaving so well these past months and I wonder what prompted this."

Chrollo tilts his head.

"I'm sorry." You reply and shift. "I got anxious."

"Go on," he says when you don't elaborate, not sounding angry or upset, just curious. The warm thumb traces patterns on your knee cap - you hate how Chrollo does this, makes you talk when he could leave you alone and drop the subject.

You have to continue now.

"New spaces isn't really my thing, and yesterday I felt... Pressured. It wasn't intentional, I simply," you shrug your shoulders, "got overwhelmed and acted on impulse. I shouldn't have."

Your voice doesn't crack once and you're proud over that.

"Hm." Chrollo hums but it's neither approving nor disapproving, more like pondering. He moves closer so your knees bump against each other. This is dangerous territory – him being close while questioning you, you know better than to pull back now.

"You're sorry," he says, a strand of damp hair falls onto his forehead. "Are you sorry because you understand what you did wrong," each word is precise as if to drill into your head. "Or are you apologizing because you're afraid of the consequences?"

You stare at his shirt instead of his face. The top three buttons are undone, revealing a patch of pale skin. You want to button them up - knowing him, it's hardly a coincidence.

"Both, I think." You opt for honesty, because lying to Chrollo would most likely end with him seeing right through it, regardless of your efforts.

His frame effectively blocks out everything else from view: up close like this he's handsome, there's no denying it. Dark eyes framed by long eyelashes and soft lips and high cheekbones that make him look like a model out of a fashion magazine. And yet there's also coldness underneath it all, hidden behind those charming smiles and polite remarks. It sometimes gives you an uncanny impression: Chrollo seems frozen, suspended in that state of perpetual calmness, like time stopped ticking inside of his chest.

"What now?" You ask, heart thrumming somewhere deep near the bottom of your rib cage. The book lays forgotten next to you, pages bent after it slipped from your grasp and hit the mattress.

Chrollo cups your cheek with one hand, "Now we continue the evening."

Continue?

The confusion must show on your face because he chuckles. "You apologized," it feels patronizing but you try to ignore it for the sake of getting over with whatever this is. "And admitted your faults. I can overlook a single instance of defiance–especially since you explained yourself so well."

Relief washes over you, making your shoulders sag. You take the book, careful not to let your fingers brush, he seems to like skin on skin contact.

"I expect better behavior next time, dear."

"I'll try," You mutter under your breath.

His hand slips away from your thigh and moves to grab the remote - news, of course, - Chrollo watches news almost religiously every night before going to sleep. "I appreciate when you behave," he adds smoothly. "It makes everything much easier for both of us."

He settles his head on your lap, and it feels heavy, and his damp hair tickles, but you don't dare push him off.

#hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucifer x reader #yandere #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #shalott fanfiction #hunter x hunter fanfic

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little-pondhead · 1 year

Note

Some fic because I love your au, Fenton is gender brainrot, and little baby dan cracks me up. Full disclosure, my only familiarity with DC is DP crossover fanfic, and a Batman movie I fell asleep during. (If I had a better grasp on the characters I would totally write more :(( i love interactions) also sorry for the weird spacing. Idk why tumblr did that

~~~~~~~~

There was an empty cardboard box on the table of the Justice League’s main conference room. Taped on the top flap, next to a doodle of Fenton’s logo, was a jump drive.

Heaving a sigh, Batman plugged it in and pulled up his screen on the projector. The drive, which was named “little baby dan’s evil playtime”, contained two files; WATCH_ME_FIRST.mp4 and its-a-secreeeet.pdf. He clicked on the video file, and immediately the projector filled with a blurry close-up of Fenton’s goggles.

After a moment of fiddling with the camera, Fenton stepped back, giving a cheery wave. His lab coat and goggles were a pastel pink, which was new. “Heeeeya, Bats! Whoever else is there! If you’re watching this, you probably weren’t there when I dropped the box off, aaand it’s probably empty.”

He clapped his hands together gleefully. “And Connie, if you’re there, this is payback for cussing around my daughter.” Batman was instantly relieved that Constantine wasn’t on base. Hopefully the situation wouldn’t require Constantine’s expertise. (Or any of the Justice League Dark. Fenton seemed determined to drive them all to an early grave with his casual refusal to acknowledge the supernatural air around him.)

“Now, as you’re all heroes, I’m sure you’re all familiar with the whole,” Fenton paused for a moment, as if searching for the proper words. “”You ate a burger on a Tuesday or something equally inane, and it kickstarted a series of events that led to you going insane and evil and murdering 95% of the Earth’s population and now you must fight your evil alternate self, because your time-controlling cryptid Peepaw said so,” shtick, so I’ll skip the backstory. Say hi to Dan!” Fenton grabbed the camera, and Batman quickly jotted down several notes about the concerning number of things the boy had just said.

The camera swiveled around to show Nightingale, holding a strange beast in a manner that reminded Batman of an “elongated cat meme” Nightwing had shown him when he was still a Robin. The creature bared a maw full of razor sharp fangs at the camera. Nightingale adjusted her grip to hold the creature’s paw and make it wave, which evoked a deep growl.

“Haha, he’d kill me if I did that. Dan likes Nightingale much more than he likes me.”

“Because the worst she has ever done is attempt to shoot me.”

The camera had moved, so Batman couldn’t visually confirm that the deep voice had come from the creature, but the voice didn’t match any of Fenton’s previously revealed companions. “Yeah yeah, her aim sucked back then.” Fenton gave the camera a toothy grin that was only slightly less unnerving than the creature’s. “Dan’s not technically me, he’s much more like Dani, actually, but the world would probably end again if we left him with his other... What did you call him?” Fenton glanced offscreen.

“Bane of my accursed existence.”

Fenton chucked. “The other half responsible for his existence.” Batman added more notes to his file. “So, yeah, Clocky left him with us for a bit to help along his rehab. But a certain psychologist-in-training I know says that repressing rage isn’t healthy, and even without a lot of his powers, he can wipe out most of a city in- what, an hour? We tested it. It was around an hour.”

Everyone present shared a look of deep concern. As if able to see their reaction, Fenton quickly held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t worry! Clocky reset it. Approximately zero people have died from Dan in this timeline.”

“Yet.” Came a furious rumble from off-screen.

“Yes, you’re very scary.” They heard Nightingale coo.

Fenton laughed. “Yeah, we need him- and all of you, -out of our hair for a bit while we concoct more evil plans, and you’re all the least likely to die to him, so you get to babysit! Thanks!”

He reached to shut off the camera before pausing and turning away. “Foley! Which of the furries is the one who really likes animals?”

“Man, do you realize how that sounds out of context?” Foley laughed. “I think Tim said it’s the little one. Damian?”

Fenton nodded and turned back to the camera. “Don’t let Damian try to adopt Dan. Or anyone. Dan will bite their hands off. I mean it!” To emphasize his point, he removed one of his hands.

Batman sighed and added “ability to remove limbs” to a list of Fenton’s powers.

“I’ll include a list of “tasks”” Fenton’s disembodied hand made finger quotes, “we gave Dan to keep him occupied. There’s some at the bottom for you guys. They’re mostly just blatant abuse of his powers for the sake of fun and science. I’d appreciate it if you’d let him mark things off the list and add notes on how it goes. Or you can do it. Or I can steal your cameras. Your choice.”

He thought for a second. “I think you’re supposed to leave, like, pizza money or something, but I don’t think you can get pizza delivered to space. Anyway, thanks for letting me blab your ears off while Dan’s probably committing war crimes for twelve minutes. For your sake, I hope he inherited my interest in space. Good luck! Thanks for babysitting!”

Waving with his still detached hand, Fenton ended the video. Batman closed it and opened the PDF as the few other members present murmured amongst themselves. Most of the pages were filled with a curling script Batman didn’t recognize. The fourth page had a huge, bolded header, reading JP TASKS.

The door opened and shut in half a second as the Flash burst in. “Superman!” The speedster wailed. “I can’t get this thing off of me!”

The Flash waved his arm around, sending small droplets of blood flying as he tried to dislodge the creature sinking his teeth into the speedster’s arm. Batman raised an eyebrow beneath his cowl as Superman quickly lent his super strength in attempt to pry the creature’s jaw open. Dan didn’t budge.

Well, he could certainly see the family resemblance been Fenton, Dani, and Dan. Shaking his head, he turned back to the list.

Task 1: Find Dan. He’s probably attacking someone.

He highlighted the text and crossed it out. This was going to be a long shift.

[Anon, this is me crying over the wonderful gift you have given me. You bastard.]

---

"Do you think Fenton's regeneration powers extend to his..." Green Lantern frowned, trying to remember the word the kid had used but coming up blank. "I dunno. But do you think if we cut off little Dan here, he'll heal back up with no problem?" He gestured helplessly to the scene in front of him. Flash was still screeching about the beast on his arm, and now Superman and Wonder Woman were trying to pry him off. Batman was standing to the side, silently bemoaning the lack of quiet. He just wanted one peaceful shift. Just one. Please.

"I'd like to see you try, hero. And I'm not little." Dan spoke, startling all of them. His grip on Flash's arm tightened, making the speedster squeal before releasing the man and spitting out a mouthful of his blood. Batman noticed that his mouth didn't move despite the clearly spoken words. In fact, when Dan closed his mouth, it was like he didn't have one at all.

"So you do speak!" Superman marveled.

"Of course I do. I am not unintelligent, unlike you lot."

Despite his pain, Flash still made sounds of protest that everyone promptly ignored.

Superman flushed. "I just wasn't sure. It was hard to tell in the video."

"Ah, yes. The video that the Fenton menace sent you. Was there a note for me in the flash drive?"

"Uh, no." In one of his less finer moments, Green Lantern stuttered over his words and moved in front of Batman, obviously lying. Dan merely growled and flew through both men, heading straight for the giant monitor. Batman barely suppressed a shiver. Density shifting? Might as well add it to the list. He could see Martian Manhunter, who was in the back of the room, tilt his head at the display.

Dan ignored the room as he used his entire body to manipulate the computer mouse and scrolled back up to the top of the page. Staring intently at the scribbles no one could make out, the heroes could do nothing but shoot each other nervous and confused glances. More than a few of them jumped when Dan chuckled deeply. Honestly, his tiny body was at complete odds with his baritone voice.

"Maybe rehab will be fun if he's letting me do this." Dan sneered, flashing their reflections a sharp fang. No one wanted to ask what exactly he was in rehab for. The little beast turned his gaze to Batman. "You are the one called Batman, who rules the cursed city, correct?" The dark hero nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. "Excellent. You will be my chaperone for now, just as Fenton decreed it. Good luck, mortal man. Pray, I do not destroy your home a second time."

Without any time to unpack that conversation, Dan promptly disappeared from view. Some blinking text caught his attention, and Batman scrolled back down to the English text, glancing at the next few items on the list.

Task 2: Do not let Dan read his portion of this letter until you have a way to track him. There is no containing him.

Task 3: Keep him with a chaperone at all times. (If you can)

Task 4: Do not let Dan back into Gotham unless you're fine with a sudden decrease in the clown population.

Task 5: Take him for a walk in Death Valley. He likes hunting lizards.

Task 6: Make sure he goes down for his 2pm nap every day.

Task 7: He'll ask for it, but do not give him any burgers for mealtime. It upsets his stomach.

Task 8: Dan gets ONE(1) sweet after dinner before brushing his teeth. Those green pop rocks Batman always carries will do fine; he likes those. :)

A sudden alarm blared from his wristwatch, making Batman tear his eyes away from the screen, indicating an emergency at Arkham. This time, Batman actually sighed out loud. There was more to the list, but right now, he really needed to find their new charge before he killed the Joker, from the sound of it.

#pondhead replies #anon let me kiss you on the mouth (platonically)#danny phantom #little baby man danny #except he's dan #supervillain danny au #god i can't get the elongated cat meme image out of my head #you are a genius #if you didn't catch it gotham was the city he destroyed #what did fenton tell him to do you ask?#well dan is very good at hunting #causing chaos and bringing certain peoples to justice all over the world #like a reverse santa #he also gave dan permission to go buck wild on the joker if batman brought him to gotham #if batman didn't STOP his escape to gotham #that counts right?#long post #dpxdc

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aurelim · 8 months

Text

As the Ocean Lures Intro Post

As the Ocean Lures is an interactive novel about being a Merfolk. You will go on hunts, learn more about humans, and perhaps explore the land above.

As the Ocean Lures is a 16+ game with themes that may be triggering to audiences. This includes drowning, murder, death, body horror, dark humor towards death, potential transphobia, and the MC will exhibit sadistic traits with certain choices. This will be updated as the game goes on.

This game is loosely inspired by the Little Mermaid, and has taken inspiration from games like Beyond The Waves and Abysm's Veil.

CHECK OUT THE DEMO HERE!

Everyone has heard of sirens. Mysterious humanlike beasts who use their powerful singing voice to lure sailors to their untimely death. However, the only thing modern mythology mistaked was the fact that sirens retained bird-like features rather than fish tails.

You, on the other hand, are a Merfolk. As a Merfolk, you maintain most of the qualities often associated with mermaids and "sirens". With your family, you work to bring down sailors using your voice and abilities under the sea.

But do you actually want this fate? Is this what you want for the rest of your life?

It was.

At least, that was what you had always thought.

When you meet a captain who is dead set on showing you everything about the surface, you are quite literally pushed into a whole new world. And you discover that perhaps the human world...is not as bad as you were told.

But now you have a dilemma. Will you question everything you know? Or will you remain a part of the ocean?

Customize who you are as a Merfolk, from gender, pronouns, looks and personality.

Helping your family to sink ships full of sailors (or not...)

Watch a captain drown or save them from certain death.

Maintain your relationships with your family—follow what you have been told your whole life or go against everything they have taught you.

Romance one of four characters: your best merfriend, the strange siren who assists your family on their hunts, the human captain you saved(?) or that royal who seems to love spending time by the sea...or no one since being a Merfolk is already hard as it is.

Will you live out of the sea or under the sea? The choice is yours.

Kai/Kaia (He/him or She/her): The Best Merfriend

Your best...er, merfriend. You have known them your entire life and they remain a constant in your life. K has always been interested in the surface, whether you agreed with them or not. If given an opportunity—any, really—to go on land, they would jump at the chance. Friendly and caring, K is loyal to a fault, never-ending when it comes to you and your family. But is there something underlying your friendship? Guess you'll have to find out.

Echo (They/them): The Siren

Echo is...in short terms, a mystery. They first came to your family's rescue during one of the worst hunts of your life, and has stuck around ever since. Your mother treats them like her sixth child, though you are sure the sentiment is not reciprocated. Despite knowing Echo for almost eight months, you have yet to learn anything about them beyond their name and pronouns. It seems like they don't want to get attached to you or your family. They are professional, keeping away from personal questions. Will you be able to break down their walls?

Louis/Eloise (He/him or She/her): The Royal

You don't know much about them, besides knowing they are the heir to the throne of Oceanic. They can sometimes be found standing by the ocean on their private beach, eyes closed as if they are in another world. They address the world with such maturity, garnering them fans across the kingdom. And it certainly helps that they are attractive. Many look forward to the day they take the throne from their father.

Anthony/Anne Maddox (He/him or She/her): The Captain

The captain who you (or someone else) saved from certain death. They once claimed mermaids existed, which brought a reputation that preceded them. To prove it, they recruited a group of sailors to join them. The day they sailed out was the day you found them, the only survivor. A has a knack for getting into trouble, as well as a sense for adventure. Now knowing you exist, they want to show you the human world. Will you let them?

#As the Ocean Lures #atol #if: intro #status: wip #status: demo #twine game #interactive fiction #if #twine if #interactive novel #merfolk #16+#romance #fantasy

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Dirty Work 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I had the worst Monday that could have ever existed. Onto Tuesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"I trust this should be amenable to your work," Mr. Laufeyson holds open the door along the east wall of his study. One you've never opened before though you're familiar with the space within. The library also opens into the hallway and keeps you busier than many of the other rooms. "When you should require it. I expect much of your work will keep you afoot."

You peer past him, his tall figure like a second shadow. You clutch your kit tight and nod. You didn't exactly bring the tools for this new role.

"I should have a blank ledger somewhere, oh and a pen of course," he advises, "given our new... arrangement, I would require a contact point."

You nod and tear your attention from the full shelves and luxurious velvet chaise. You won't get to enjoy those but they give the space a much more welcome feel than the rest of the house. You face Mr. Laufeyson as he keeps the door propped open with his foot. He slides out his phone as if it's a task.

"Never to worry, I wouldn't bother you much so long as you do your work adequately," he assures, "but in case of... emergency."

"Oh, erm," you sputter and reach into your hoodie pocket, revealing the tiny flip phone.

"Hm, vintage," he muses, "as you would."

He holds his phone, gesturing to it with his other hand. You teethe your lip before you recall the digits of your number. Your plan doesn't include a lot of talk minutes but he doesn't promise much of that. He keys them into his screen.

"You'll have mine," he taps his thumb and your phone chimes. "In case."

"Thanks, uh, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Mmmm," he hums again. "Suppose you would need some sort of proper device, a computer of sorts." He clucks and checks his watch, dropping his arm with a huff, "I've an important event shortly, I'll try to venture by the electronics shop before I return.”

You nod and fold your phone, slipping it away as you peek back into the library. He inhales deeply, "suppose you should begin. The list is on the writing desk.”

You accept the command easily. You’re even thankful for it. It gives you a proper reason to find distance. You go to the desk and look over the typed list. You don’t sit, hesitating as you wonder if it would seem lazy, maybe even presumptuous.

“Let me fetch that ledger,” he says before letting the door drift closed.

You run your finger over the top line. ‘Create a schedule’. Hmmm. You look over the bullets that fill the paper. You can only assume he refers to all of that. It’s straightforward, you can handle a schedule. It’s everything that comes after that gives you doubt.

“And you’ll have to review what my wife, ex that is, left in shambles,” Mr. Laufeyson interrupts as he pushes through again. “Her little folder is here. She was always fond of order, even though she left me in much less. This is what’s left of her handiwork,” he approaches coolly and sets down a plain fawn coloured ledger, a fountain pen, and a white folder with golden flowers on it.

“Thanks,” you eke out as his hands linger on the edges.

You sense his gaze, discerning and weighty. He leans forward slightly and you nearly take a step across as he points to the list. You follow the line of his arm and his extended finger.

“Another point to add, ‘acquire work attire’,” he instructs and turns his hand over, flippant flicking his finger in a gesture to your plain hoodie and worn gray denim. “I trust my pay should afford that necessity easily, however should you require a write-off, I suppose it could be argued as a professional expense.”

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you frown in embarrassment, “I didn’t…” You look down at yourself, wanting to hide behind your arms.

“You wouldn’t think of it, just a maid,” he dismisses, “very well, I think you have more than enough to begin. I should be some hours.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you agree. He is correct, there is more than enough to keep you busy.

“I will review the schedule upon my return,” he affirms. “Should you require refreshment, you recall where to go.”

You nod and cautiously reach for the ledger, sliding it closer as he backs up. You slowly sit, hovering before you let yourself rest. He lingers by the door as you roll the pen aside and put the ledger and folder parallel. You open the former and line up the list inside the cover, resuming your perusal of the bullet points.

The door closes and you keep your attention to the paper. You don’t dare a glance up until you hear his muffled footfalls cross his study. You feel as if he’s waiting for you to make a mistake. You think you might be too.

🧹

A clunk sharply pierces the tenuous peace of the empty house. You hadn’t heard the door or his approach, not even right next door, not until the hefty thunk. You listen but keep your nose down.

You’re just about done with the schedule. Two cleans throughout the week to spread the duties evenly. The main floor on Mondays, and the upper on Thursday. You’ll be able to fit in an unexpected tidying between your other to-dos.

You flutter through the pretty white and gold folder. The embossed suede speaks of a sophisticated owner. You wonder why she would ever abandon it, though you assume, a separation may not inspire sentiment.

You turn over another note. This one about the gazebo. A blurb on a repair. You’ll have too go out and check to see if it was actually done, there’s no confirmation of the job. You stop to admire her loopy writing, as elegant as the folder.

The door opens without pretense. You sit up and wiggle the pen between your index and thumb. Mr. Laufeyson as a flat white box in his hand, along with a smaller one on top. He does not near you, instead place his lot on the square table by the window.

“Here,” he orders shortly.

You rise and leave the pen in the centre of the ledger. You cross to him as he moves the smaller box aside and unfolds the two smaller flaps from the large one. You can’t help but watch curiously.

“This should suffice,” he shimmies out the cardboard insert, revealing a sleek silver laptop, “hmm?”

He shifts it towards you and lets you look it over. You put your hands behind you to keep from touching. You lean in just a little.

“It looks nice, Mr. Laufeyson. Thank you.”

“For your work, of course. These days, it is a requirement. And this,” he takes the smaller box and offers it up, “a proper work phone. It is more professional. Any calls on my behalf, you will make on this. That relic you have won’t do much.”

“Uh, yes, Mr. Laufeyson, that’s really thoughtful.”

“Thoughtful? Practical. Company property, of course,” he insists, “another point to add. Set these up. They should be functioning by the end of the day. You’ll need them to keep up with the rest of your tasks.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. I will put it on the list.”

“Mm,” he circles around you, striding to the writing desk before you can react. You follow at a few paces, not wanting to crowd him. He takes the pen and uncaps it. He adds the bullet himself. “There you are.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson,” you recite again.

He snaps the lid on the pen and his lips twitch, not quite curving, “I’ll review,” he snatches up the open ledger, your schedule open to see. You almost rush forward. You meant to rewrite it before you handed it over. It has scribbles all over it. You won’t argue.

“Go on,” he steps around the desk, waving to the side dismissively.

You return to the table and gather the laptop and phone, along with the stray box. You bring them back to the writing desk and stay standing as you free the laptop from the insert. You let your eyes edge along the top of your vision as Mr. Laufeyson sits on the chaise and browses the ledger.

You refocus and investigate the cord buried in the box as a collection of booklets fall out. You sort through them and find the one in English. You start on the front page, reading over the different buttons and features. The diagram is especially helpful. You’ve never had a computer before, not that it belongs to you.

You squint as you read the precautions. Your mind flits back and forth between your current task and everything beyond. You would go to the library sometimes and spend an hour on the PC, and in school you did all your work in the resource room. This is much fancier than any of the boxy computers you’d used before.

It says you should plug it in and charge to full before booting. You unravel the cord and search for an outlet against the wall. There’s one not far. You hook up the cord to the port on the side of the slender laptop then trail it to the wall. The little light on the side glows yellow.

Then you take the little box. A phone. The flip phone was second-hand but this is shiny and new. You’re like a kid at Christmas, not that you got much for the holiday, even when you were younger.

You slide out the small device. Your hand is unused to it. It’s not clunky like your phone. It feels easy to drop even if it’s bigger than the flip. You peel off the plastic film around the border and across the screen.

You take out the booklet and read it as closely as the first. Same thing; charge before use. You don’t want to mess up any of this. You plug it in above the computer and place it on the closed lid. You carefully sit in the chair, careful not to jostle the cords.

You peek up and find Mr. Laufeyson looking at you over the top of the ledger. His green eyes gleam and flick back down to the page. You hope he doesn’t see how clueless you are. This stuff that’s all so normal to everyone else is new to you. A job alone is a novelty still.

“You may ask it,” he says abruptly.

You wince and shrug. You don’t know what he means. His brows tweak in amusement.

“You’ve not asked about time off. I am unaware of your previous commitment, what days you had to yourself.”

You didn’t think of it but he does seem to think of everything. You twiddle your fingers on the desk. You would work as much as you need to. You still haven’t seen the final hospital bill.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I worked three shifts per week, but I was on probation,” you explain carefully, “I can work more than that.”

“How much is more?” He wonders, his thumb tapping the corner of the ledger.

You blink. You don’t know what’s appropriate. You don’t want to say too little and come off lazy, or say too much and seem ignorant.

“Six?” You utter, “six days, Mr. Laufeyson?”

His thumb stills, “per week?”

You nod. His eyes narrow and his lips thin in consideration.

“Should do,” he accepts and his eyes fall back to the page.

You think you got the right answer. You look down at the bullet points. It seems like a lot written out but surely it can’t be. Besides, the more you think about it, the more exciting it is. This house is so beautiful and this list means you get to explore it.

You don’t sink too deep into the moment of optimism. Mr. Laufeyson stands, still intent on the ledger. He paces blindly around the library, a click of his tongue as he reviews your handwriting.

“There will be some nights,” he intones, “other occasions where I require you in the evening.”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you accept as you flutter the pages of the laptop instruction booklet.

“Mm,” he hums flatly, “I do think the cook liked you, didn’t she? Suppose we might retain that service for the time being.”

You nod and make a note in the corner of the list; simply, Corissa. He shuts the ledger and grips it tight. He walks around the table then turns back, coming back to you. He lays down the book on the desk.

“I won’t know until the day in question. You understand, this would be on-call. I’ve a busy life and so will you,” he girds, leaning on the book as he bends over the desk. “You will be doing more than watching little birds flapping around the garden.”

You nearly recoil as he plucks the memory out so precisely. That was careless of you. You should’ve kept your head down and just got to work. It’s a warning you’ll remember.

“I won’t, Mr. Laufeyson, I understand,” you assure.

“Not to say that you can’t,” he stands and pushes the bottom of his jacket back, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, “but only when there are no other pressing matters.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He sighs and tilts his head back, “you must resist distractions. You are prone to it. I’ve noticed.”

You chew your lip and accept the remonstrance. You’ll take it instead as advice. He is right, you do find yourself bewitched by this place at times.

“Like that man,” he says staunchly, “don’t think I forgot. I will warn you, he is my brother… regrettably. He is well above the staff and he knows it.”

You take the hint. It’s improper of you to stare. Even if he had touched you. Or maybe, you misinterpreted an accident.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Hear me when I tell you, he is not interested in the likes of you,” he sniffs, “with any luck, he won’t be much around for you to believe anything of the like.”

You nod and pick up the pen, nervously rolling it between your fingers. His reproach scalds your cheek. To think he assumes you would ever think of something like that. That you might encourage a stranger in that way.

He watches you for a moment before he spins away. He checks the time on his wrist as you reach for the ledger.

“Very well, I must be at my own work,” he declares, “as I trust you will be diligent in your own.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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xiao-come-home · 9 months

Text

Genshin + HSR men as dads;

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✰ Characters:

↳ Genshin: Ayato, Itto, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Zhongli, Xiao.

↳ HSR: Blade, Jing Yuan, Luocha.

✰ Words: 3,5k.

✰ SFW ; afab!reader, because pregnancy mentions. fluff.

Warnings: established relationship, the characters are reader's husbands, mentions of pregnancy, babies, ayato always ends up kinda horknee????? slight spoilers about blades past, not beta read THERES NO TIME FOR THAT

A/N: this is my first time writing for hsr and kaveh, but I tried my best </3 also I have work in 2h and I haven't slept yet. this is more important. pog also give me feedback if you like hsr pieces ;q;

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Ayato Kamisato:

he's such a girl AND boy dad you can't convince me otherwise. i just can't get that out of my head: imagine just chilling with your husband, you two enjoying some tea or coffee, while watching your children happily yell and play outside; ayato plays with your palm slightly, switching between rubbing it with his fingers and interlocking it, giving you occasional glances and tiny smiles.

ayato's definitely a strict parent, but wants his children to feel freedom - he does not force them to practice something they don't like, but teaches them necessary stuff they need to know if they are to be the future of the Kamisato clan.

he DEFINITELY had a boy first. and his son DEFINITELY looks like a perfect mixture of you two - he has ayato's eyes and hair type, but your hair color and smile.

your daughter, on the other hand, is exactly like ayato's copy, except with your personality - and he's extremely whipped for her. his little girl wanted to practice a new hairstyle with multiple pink hair clips? oh well, looks like he goes like this to his important meeting.

though, your son is just as mischievous as his father, if not worse - has probably trolled Itto more than once by the shy age of just three. he's also definitely interested in ayato and ayaka's battle styles, like hello??? HOW DO YOU JUST DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT??? AND TURN INTO SNOW??????

even though some fights between his children happen, as it's a thing you can't avoid - the big brother is very protective of his little sister and would do anything to make her happy! even if it means princess tea time. it reminds ayato of his, though not as fortunate, childhood memories with ayaka before she grew up to be the strongest woman and best auntie we know.

ayato probably teases you about wanting a third one, so they look like you this time. "say, darling, how about we get another little one?" feeling his smile, ayato whispers into your ear, "think about it, love," he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, "you just look so perfect I can't resist you."

Arataki Itto:

i do nOT care, his child is just as hyper as him. they're his absolute best buddy, partners in crime, you name it. but there's a plot twist - thank god your child thinks more often than their father AND stops him sometimes.

listen. absolute boy dad. his son is his pride and joy,he bragged so much about his boy to the point that Raiden Shogun herself heard about him.

so, remember itto being severely allergic to beans as an oni? his son absolutely loves beans and could eat them with no side effects. but itto being itto, prepares him meals with beans and takes it as a challenge. he just might cry, or throw up at worst. but hey, everything for his little sunshine.

^^your son absolutely cheers when he's making him dinner and suffering like?? "go dad! you're so awesome!" "yummy!" and itto's screaming back with tears dripping down his cheeks, "yes, YES!! THE BEST COOK OF INAZUMA, ARATAKI ITTO!"

itto prides himself in creating the most perfect small person to ever exist. your son inherited itto's golden heart and your brains (thank god). he's truly a ball of sunshine, and possibly the happiest and polite boy in Inazuma. with a pair of red horns just like his dad, red streaks in his hair and markings, itto's pupils and your eye color.

hear me out: total best pals with ayato's son. they love playing board games and battle onikabuto with each other, and much to itto's delight, his son is usually the winner, but the boys always politely thank each other for the game and move on.

your son is actually such a smooth talker to ayato's daughter to the point that he considers giving them a blessing and suffering being in-laws with itto.

he's also (great)grandma oni's favorite child now... he loves baking, cooking and sewing with her, and showing her his favorite onikabuto that you and itto let him keep as a pet!

itto's actually VERY down to have a few more kiddos if your pregnancy went well. he'd love a little girl to spoil his long hair, or maybe two. and two more sons so he wouldn't be lonely..

that time itto caught ushi sound asleep with his ball of sunshine next to him was the day he'll never forget. with tears in his eyes, he covered them in a warm blanket and let them snooze for a little more before bedtime.

Alhaitham:

literally no one, not even one soul knew that alhaitham has a child until they saw him walking a three-year-old. and the said child is probably the most behaved child that has ever been born.

seriously, your son is probably the smartest child ever. alhaitham, despite some worries, did and still does very well as a father - he began teaching him to talk earlier, he also seemed to have taken a liking to some instruments when he got older. the scribe's little one also enjoys it when his dad reads with him! be it alhaitham's books or fantasy ones, they have a special routine just for reading.

your son absolutely looks up to his father. when he sees him drafting some documents, his eyes shine with curiosity and adoration. alhaitham, can't help but smile slightly when he isn't looking.

nahida promoted alhaitham as the Acting Grand Sage. he promoted her as his babysitter.

^^but in a more serious tone, I genuinely think Nahida would be somewhat interested in your child - not in a negative light in any way, but.. it does make her wonder how a small child could be so smart. though his son has a long way to go and grow up, each year he manages to surprise her.

when his son is too bothered by the attention of other people, alhaitham gives him his noise-canceling headphones; they're a bit too big on him, but he appreciates it anyway.

alhaitham makes sure your son remembers his late grandmother, despite having not met her. even if the scribe does not consider himself a very emotional person, he wants the memory of her to live on.

he encourages his child to make his own decisions, too - just like he had that choice as well; if his son wants to break the ice and become more outgoing - alhaitham will not stand in his way. he wants him to grow up as the person he truly wants to be.

he definitely explained some god-tier science to his toddler son while holding him in his arms, receiving only some confusing "blah blag bwwwug" in return, watching him bite his tiny hand in happiness. he continued.

if there's something that alhaitham shares with his son, it's his love for naps. sometimes you all sleep together, and when it's time to wake up - both of them whine and your son snuggles up to his dad, to which your husband responds by getting his arm over the little one and giving you a small chuckle with one eye open, shortly before falling back asleep.

kaveh is your child's godfather. no, it wasn't his choice.

after a bit of hesitation and a lot of thoughts, he wouldn't mind to have another one; genders don't matter to him by any means, but I see him with yet another son :)

Kaveh:

kaveh and his twins could rival itto and his son's enthusiasm - it's what kaveh wants his kids to always remember - he wants them to enjoy every single bit of life, even if it's something simple.

the famous architect has decided to work hard to provide for you and the baby when you told him about the pregnancy- or, rather, about his future children; some of his work truly shone and got him quite a bit of attention, and therefore - a bunch of well-paid commissions.

kaveh has fought his empathy many times and tried not to overly spend money, which resulted in him being able to create and build your house that you share together; each of the twins has their own room, decorated according to their tastes.

your children have great emotional intelligence, just like your husband; if there's ever any conflict, they rather talk about it, than pout for hours, similar with you two. kaveh teaches them to always be honest, especially to themselves. they're also talented, but in different ways - your daughter seems to be fascinated by the role of the architect as well, but your son, regardless of what he's doing - he always makes sure it's perfect and polished as much as possible.

you cannot tell me this man doesn't do some kind of weekly family time - kaveh loves his family to the bone and would risk his life to protect you and your children with no hesitation. he's very involved in his children's lives and wants to be considered as their friend as well, not just a father; kaveh wants to know what they are interested in the moment, who they had their last beef with and who their crush is. he just really wants to gossip with them lol.

contrary to what a lot of people think, the twins and alhaitham's child(ren?) get along very well, and are aware they're just mirrors of each other. they can't however, understand how they managed to live together under one roof for so long... they never complain if they visit uncle alhaitham though, as he lets them search through his library so they can find out more about their interests.

in revenge, alhaitham is the godfather of the twins, just so you know.

Zhongli:

not only did he fall in love with you, but after hearing the cry of his little girl after she took her first-ever breath - zhongli fell in love once again.

he's so, so overprotective of his baby, regardless of her age. he's swooned by her - how tiny her fingers are compared to his when she finally grips them for the first time, how every month she looks even prettier than last one - he's always by her side, making sure she's the happiest she could possibly be.

since he has to sleep only once for a few days, he's willing to spend every second with her, especially after birth - zhongli also wants you to rest as much as you can, so you can both create memories together.

he most certainly takes her on a lot of walks with you when she gets older; not only around liyue harbor, but places dear to him and her only, if they discover one.

when your daughter grows up and begins to show interest in zhongli's hobbies, he smiles at her gently and sits her in his lap, only to start explaining it and feeding her curiosity; sometimes he has to stop himself for a moment to admire her twinkling eyes.

oh he DEFINITELY does her hair every morning. he's practiced on you before, having learned many new hairstyles to later on perform on your daughter; he carefully strokes her hazel hair with golden tips with a brush, feeling as he's almost watching his own in a mirror. sometimes, he adorns her hair with his own hairpin.

xiao was definitely the first person to know about your daughter. knowing that archon blood runs in her veins, he's less worried about being around her, therefore always more willing to spend time with her. both grow from this interaction - the little one knows how to protect herself (or to call uncle xiao when she's in trouble), and xiao understands small humans just a bit better.

zhongli's thrilled to know what her favorites are - no matter if it's tea, food or fabric, he has to know! perhaps they share the same favorites?

with the help of kamera, he's now able to immortalize the sight of you and your daughter. each birthday, he takes a picture and cherishes the young years of your baby, knowing they won't last long; erosion be damned, as long as he has the pictures - he'll always remember.

Xiao:

xiao was clueless. clueless and frightened. he wasn't supposed to have a child - with a mortal on top; albeit he tries to stay calm for your and baby's sake, he wants both of you to heal well.

it took quite a bit of time for xiao to fully embrace that he's a parent - and he adapted very well, having you by his side; the only worry that hasn't gone away is the thought of harming his daughter with his karmic debt.

but so far, the little one hasn't shown any signs of it, which makes xiao more than happy. she's yet another reason to warm his cold heart up, which he always compares to being engulfed by comfy scarf in the winter.

he automatically turns his head around whenever he hears her tiny little "tap taps" with her feet; not only does he find it adorable, but he knows she once again managed to lose her slippers and socks.

listen. she inherited the same diamond mark on her forehead - and he finally understands why you always insisted you liked kissing it for no reason.

he always. ALWAYS shares his almond tofu with his baby girl.. and she always makes a mess while eating it.. but it's worth it.

your daughter seemed to have taken a liking to watching finches from a distance; they always look for a nice spot in liyue plains, make a small picnic and feed the leftover bread to the birds. she finds them so adorable to the point that xiao was looking for a finch plushie for WEEKS. that made her good friends with qiqi, whom she tries to remember as "the finch friend."

Zhongli never says it out loud, but thinks of Xiao as his son. therefore, he finally earned a title of a grandpa (though unofficial). he's very proud to see Xiao stand up in a role of not only a protector of liyue, but the ones closest to him.

yes, your daughter actually calls morax himself, grandpa. (he doesn't correct her. ever)

imagine xiao with baby carrier. now you don't have to imagine it anymore.

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

Blade:

don't even say he isn't a girl dad. HE IS.

he thinks he's a mere blade whose humanity has been lost hundreds of years ago - it's nothing more but a delusion in his mind. if that was the truth, why would he stay near his daughter's crib and watch her sleep peacefully, flinching when he saw her stir in her sleep?

she's absolutely not afraid of his cold, death stare, in fact - she looks at him back, waiting him to break first. just imagine a tiny baby eating a rice waffle, blade next to her and he just.. stares at her. but she stares at him back and eats the waffle like it's nothing.

your baby girl inherited blade's hair- or rather, yingxing's pearly white hair. he often pats her head gently and goes his hand through her hair, his eyes holding a tinge of bitterness and anger; not at her, however, but at the one he's after.

since blade spends most of his time on various missions with the stellaron hunters, he tries to make it up to your daughter by giving her gifts; hairpins, stickers (ekhem, silver wolf), coloring books, you name it. he slowly warms up to the idea of spending more quality time with her - after so many missions and the thought of his family waiting for him at home, his heart longs to see you again.

sometimes.. you can catch a faint smile on his lips when he plays with her. it's a sad smile - a smile yearning for it to happen back in simpler times, before getting reduced to a weapon, or perhaps in another lifetime.

he never admits it out loud, but he gets used to the new routine a bit too comfortably. before, when it was just you - in contrast to now, when he barely closes the front door and hears his daughter sprinting to him and clinging to his leg; he picks her up and feels her squishing her cheek against his while grinning. "welcome home, daddy!" are the first words he hears - and hopes to hear until it's his time to leave.

at times, blade becomes genuinely terrified - terrified of no longer craving death and wanting to stay. it sends him in so much emotional turmoil he starts to shake; how else do you process this? after so many years of attempting to look for that one thing that finally stops your breath, only to get swarmed by the thoughts of not wanting to leave your daughter behind? what if something happens to her and there's no one to help her?

there's a thing that I can't stop thinking about: I want to leave it up to you how you name your daughter, but I feel like blade would truly like the name Mari.

he lets her decorate him with stickers. it was silver wolf's idea.

Jing Yuan:

he was blessed with a daughter, as well. and then again. and then... again.

he absolutely adores his three little girls, hellO?!?!? but if you think about it, it makes sense - almost all of them took after his personality.

there is a mandatory nap for him and his girls that no one can disturb, unless the planet is on fire or someone got you mad. they all snore quietly while cuddling their dad, one of them on his chest, second on his stomach, and last one has her face somewhere next to his hair. makes you wonder how they got in these places, considering they started sleeping beneath a pink blanket decorated with lions.

speaking of lions, mimi claims your daughters as her cubs and does not let jing yuan take them away. she loves being pet and getting small kisses from them, there's no way she gives him that amount of attention back.

jing yuan loves your daughters to death and spoils them with absolutely EVERYTHING. new plushie? will be here in a few hours. a damned rock that's stupidly expensive, holds no value but one of them liked it? he'll take five. hell, he might even buy them a dog or another lion and hope for easy consequences from you.

he's slightly scared of how fast his oldest got so good at chess.

the girls get very upset when someone mentions they have no older brother - after all, how could they forget about yanqing?

there is a high chance of him losing one of them at home. they're walking, he turns around and.. suddenly the math doesn't add up..

if it's princess tea time, it is princess tea time. fu xuan either becomes a princess or comes back later.

even though they sometimes bring a lot of trouble, jing yuan always tells them to appreciate you - when it's mother's day, they all sit down and prepare a gift for you, same for your birthday; your special days will never go unnoticed.

probably wouldn't mind having another child, but is fully prepared for another girl lol.

Luocha:

he fathered a beautiful boy and girl a few years after. none of them were planned, but very welcome by both of you.

he's.. such a doting father. he always takes care of his children well, shows them affection - especially as small babies, he can't get over their chubby cheeks and peppers them with kisses, so he could hear them giggle.

in general, I think he just. can't get enough of them when they're toddlers or even younger. he loves holding them. he loves seeing his tiny babies get curious when he prepares medicine. he loves when they extend their hand to him for seemingly no reason, so he has an opportunity to give it a kiss. ARGH

he's thrilled to share his medical knowledge with his kids, if one shows interest in it!

luocha's definitely the one to style his babies' hair, I mean have you seen this man's gorgeous locks???? he's also the one to cut it if they don't like it long.

this isn't really about the children themselves, but.. he's just so grateful that you brought them into this world?? and he makes sure you know it every day, be it through actions or words. when you gave birth to your daughter, he held her in her hands and approached you from behind, leaning down and planting a chaste kiss on your cheek. "love, she's so wonderful, thank you for your hard work. I can't stop looking at her, and I wouldn't have that opportunity if I didn't meet you. I've never been more happy to meet such a person like you."

just like kaveh, he wants to be very involved in their lives. he always asks them about their day in school, if they made any friends. luocha also tries to be stern and has only one expectation as a father - he wants them to have a good, comfortable life, in which he'll assist in achieving as long as they need.

your son is very, very talkative with his dad and they could converse for hours. like for real. he's so smart, luocha is more than happy to broad his horizons, even in topics of lesser importance.

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irkimatsu · 3 months

Text

Filling a request for @christinaatyourservice92! She requested a Husk x Reader where Reader "cleans up nicely", so to speak.

Husk/Reader, featuring Angel as an enthusiastic wingman. Some other characters kind of exist I guess. Reader is wearing a dress but otherwise their gender isn't specified; we're friendly to mascs in dresses here. Nothing further than dancing and kissing, anything with Husk is going to be a slowburn. But I love a good slowburn.

I'm still new to this fandom and haven't written most of these characters at all before, so please be patient with me! And feel free to send requests; I can't promise to have something for all of them, but who knows what could happen if you strike my fancy! (Probably only answering Husk related ones for now, though. Fuck I love Husk. Give me some Husk time for a bit. Husk... ahem.)

A ball wasn’t the worst bonding idea that Charlie ever had.

Granted, calling whatever was going on in the lobby of the hotel a “ball” was a bit of an overstatement. There weren’t that many guests, for one thing; the hotel didn’t have enough people for that, even including the employees. The decorations were set up quickly and cheaply, making the whole thing look more like a child’s birthday party. Entertainment was provided by Alastor, who stood off to the side and played instrumental ragtime music through his staff, presumably wondering what kind of nonsense this whole affair would lead to.

It had already led to Niffty dancing through the lobby with a “partner” made of bug carcasses, dust bunnies, and assorted other unmentionables, so that was a start.

Husk didn’t have to put in any sort of effort for this mess, but something had inspired him to clean himself up for once. He’d changed into a full suit and forgone the top hat, and he stood by the tables gently sipping a glass of red wine instead of chugging whiskey like it was a water bottle.

Angel, of course, noticed the discrepancy.

“Ooh, lookit you, all fancy,” he remarked as he took a spot beside Husk. Angel wasn’t too keen on the whole event, but he’d taken the opportunity to dress up in a nice skirt and wig, not one to waste a chance to play with his appearance. He certainly wasn’t giving up the chance to show off his legs, given how short his skirt was. “What’s the occasion?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Husk asked. “Not like I’m the only one dressed up.”

“Yeah, but I was born to look good. I ain’t showing up to even the shittiest party without showing off what I got! You, on the other hand, look uncomfortable.”

“It’s these wings,” Husk said. “It’s so damn hard to find a shirt that fits ‘em.”

“So why not take the shirt off?” Angel suggested, sing-songy tone confirming that he knew exactly how that sounded. Husk merely smiled and rolled his eyes at his friend’s sense of humor.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Husk asked.

“Ohhhhh.” Angel chuckled. “Ohhhh, I see what this is about…”

“Have you seen them?” Husk responded, his expression not changing.

“Someone like them at a ball? Uh-uh, ain’t no way they’re comin’ down here. You know they’re too much of a recluse for this fancy dress-up business.”

“You really think so…?”

“Aw, what’s got you lookin’ so down, Whiskers?”

Husk ignored Angel for another sip of wine, his desire to maintain some semblance of class preventing him from downing it as quickly as he’d like.

“Right. Be right back.”

“You better not be thinking about what I think you are!” Husk called after Angel as he walked away, but Angel didn’t respond.

—

You’re not going down there. You are not going down there. Not in this.

It’s not like it’s a revealing outfit or anything. It’s just a frilly, floor-length red dress. You’d picked it up when Charlie first announced the ball, fully intending to wear it that evening.

This is the first time you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror while wearing it, and the mirror is doing nothing to convince you to leave the room in this thing.

Even when you were alive, you were never particularly feminine; being feminine required being cute, and that just wasn’t something you were ever comfortable considering yourself as. Your appearance became even less of a concern after you died, with clothing being more of a suggestion than anything else. But a formal occasion sounded like the perfect chance to change that status quo.

What a stupid idea that was.

“Hey, Toots!” That voice along with three simultaneous knocks could only be one person. “You comin’ downstairs?”

“I’m fine! Thanks!” you call back without another thought. Why couldn’t you have gotten a nice outfit that was more gender neutral? Maybe you could change to your plain clothes and join the party that way…

But you know his tastes, and he might be disappointed to see you showing up for what’s supposed to be a major event in casual streetwear…

Better off not risking it.

“Aw, but it’s borin’!” Angel called from the other side of the door. “We could use some company down there!”

“Go ahead without me!” you assured Angel, preparing to change out of the dress and spend the evening to yourself in your room.

“But Husk wants to see you!”

The sound of his name makes you freeze.

It’s not a surprise that he wants to see you, really. You two have been getting along well, talking about your shared appreciation for music and the performing arts. Even the other members of the hotel have commented that Husk never softens quite as much as when you show an interest in his stories of his days as a performer in Vegas. He really does seem to like spending time with you.

But to hear it spoken out loud…

“You okay in there?”

You slowly open the door to see Angel standing there. At least you don’t need to worry about being overdressed; Angel’s got you beat in that department. He’s always impressed you with how he can take an outfit that should be so, so tacky on paper and yet make it work.

His eyes widen at the sight of you, and he lets out a whistle. “Well, damn. You in a dress. Never thought it’d happen.”

“I look stupid,” you mutter, holding your upper arm as you turn your head away. “I have no idea how to wear this thing…”

Angel scoffs. “You kiddin’? Look at me, honey. You know the types of people I hang out with, and let me tell ya, there is no one who can’t pull off a dress if they wanna.”

“Do you think Husk will like it?”

Angel laughs, and you immediately regret letting those words escape your mouth.

“Um, not that I… it’s just, he went to parties like this all the time, right? When he was alive, and when he was an Overlord, so he knows what people are supposed to wear… we’ve been getting along, but it might look bad if I’m underdressed…”

“You could go down there in a brown paper bag, and ol’ kitty cat down there would still be staring at you,” Angel assures you.

“Are you sure…?”

“Jesus Christ, you two are clueless.” He takes your hand in two of his and starts tugging you toward the stairs. “C’mon. You’re gonna go give Husk something to do besides finish off the wine all by himself.”

—

The reaction you get when you reach the lobby is less than you expected. Charlie’s happy to greet you, which you appreciate, but hers wasn’t the reaction you were looking for.

The only reaction you get from Husk is a briefly surprised glance before he turns away to refill his wine.

Is that really it…?

Angel must be equally unimpressed with the response. He storms over to Husk, and while you can’t really hear the conversation, you can see that it involves a lot of arm flailing from Angel and tail lashing from Husk.

The only phrase you can pick out is Angel saying, “Well, forgive me for trying to get you some-”

Should you go back upstairs? Husk doesn’t seem as happy to see you as Angel implied he would, and all you’re doing down here is standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. While you try to decide whether to run off and never think of this again, you notice Angel approach Alastor. He’s talking to Alastor with the same animated arm motions, while Alastor listens on in mild amusement. As Angel walks away, Alastor rolls his eyes and shakes his head, then gently taps his staff against the floor.

The bouncy ragtime music abruptly shifts to a downtempo jazz number.

Husk’s ears perk up at the sound, and as he looks up to figure out what’s going on, he locks eyes with you. You’re looking back at him, maintaining eye contact for far longer than he had when you first entered. He can’t just ignore you after that, can he?

Indeed, he can’t. Slowly, he walks toward you, uncertain at first but progressively gaining confidence. Angel flashes thumbs up signs that he can’t see behind him.

“Good evening,” he greets you, his deep voice so much more smooth than anything he’d shown as recently as thirty seconds ago. “You look nice tonight.”

“Thank you,” you respond, flashing your best smile. “You, too.”

Husk in a suit… you could get used to this.

His smile is surprisingly gentle when he does it without teeth. He holds out his paw. “Shall we dance?”

You take his paw in one hand, and he takes your other hand in his other paw. The two of you gently sway together, not making much contact, but even this proximity is making your chest pound. His confidence has grown considerably; he’s clearly used to things like this. He’s perfectly on rhythm, not holding your hands too loosely or tightly.

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he places a paw on your shoulder and pulls you close to him. You’re at a loss at what to do with your now free hand. It finds its way to his hip, and instantly your face starts heating. No, that’s way too much, way too quickly-

He doesn’t say anything about it. He only smiles.

Maybe it’s okay.

You stop focusing so much on where his hands are, or how he’s moving his feet. Your only concern is the gentle look he’s giving you as he dances with you, leading you in a perfect rhythm.

His arms have found their way around your waist at some point. You’re too lost in the moment to question it.

He whispers your name, and is it just you or is his face getting incredibly close? You raise a hand to stroke the fur on his cheek.

His lips are on yours, so chastely but they’re there, and you’re so floored by the action that you barely even register Angel whooping in the background. The kiss only lasts an instant, but you’re both a little more breathless now than when you started.

It’s the only time you kiss for now, but you spend much more time swaying together. You don’t know where one song ends and another begins; it’s only the underscore for one long dance, where the sliver of space between your bodies feels like a chasm.

No… not tonight. Not here. Not while they’re watching.

—

If it were up to you, that dance would have never ended… which is why it’s probably for the best that the sultry saxophone music abruptly changed to a loud swing number.

Alastor looks rather pleased with himself for the interruption.

You’d spend more time with Husk in the lobby, but not only is the music giving you a headache, but Angel keeps on staring at you with a raised eyebrow and a grin, and you don’t want any more time to think about what he’s theorizing in regards to your personal life.

“I wanna go back upstairs,” you tell Husk. Before he can look too disappointed, you then add, “You can come with me if you want.”

After you shout a good night at Charlie and Vaggie and Husk flicks a good-natured middle finger to the smirking Angel, the two of you head upstairs, and after some brief discussion, you agree to spend your time in Husk’s room. The two of you sit on the edge of his bed for a while as he shows you his collection of vinyls, and you discuss the possibility of the two of you possibly performing some of his favorite songs as a duet, with him on his saxophone and you singing.

“It’d be nice if we could sing together, too,” you say. “You have a really nice voice.”

The compliment flusters him enough that it takes him a moment to respond. “Maybe… but most of the duets I can sing are love songs.”

Now it’s your turn to blush, and it’s a lot more obvious on you than it is on him. You can’t hide the truth; you might as well say it out loud.

“I’d like singing a love song with you.”

Husk looks at the ceiling and smiles to himself, his thoughts elsewhere. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done a duet. Singing a love song with someone, and meaning every word of it… there’s nothing like it. I wouldn’t want to sing a duet like that with someone who doesn’t mean it.”

You snap him out of his daydream by placing your hand over his paw. “What about me? If I did mean it?”

He chuckles to himself. “You’d mean it? This soon? You just got here. We barely know each other.” Despite his words, he turns his paw around so he can hold your hand in return.

“You’re the one who kissed me down there,” you remind him.

“A single kiss isn’t love. Love takes time.” His body language doesn’t seem to be matching his words as he squeezes your hand. “It takes patience. Compromise. It’s not gonna fall into place easily. It’s easy to screw up… I’ve done it before.”

He’s looking at your face again, a once-unseen vulnerability in his eyes.

“...I don’t want to screw it up again. Not with you.”

“We can at least try.” You stroke his cheek again, now more focused than ever on the white hairs in his dark fur and the bags beneath his eyes. He’s been around for so long… he’s been hurt so many times.

If you could be the one to help him with that hurt…

You press your lips to his, and he accepts the kiss, holding it much longer than he did while you danced. He wraps his arms around you, not pulling you as closely as he could, but still letting you share in each others’ body heat.

It will take time, but you hope that someday, the two of you can sing that love song.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin husk x reader #uhhhh are there more tags. fuck there's so many #irk blubbers about nothing #irk huskposts

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