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skzdarlings · 2 months

Note

omg that sounds so fun!!!! (Sorry if this was quick I have your post notifs on) imma jump on this early!!! can we get “do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” W changbin? 😩😩😩

summary: you are in love with the son of your family's greatest enemy. he sneaks into your room one night after a party.

pairing: seo changbin/reader content info: petite!reader. mentions of past body insecurities. romeo-and-juliet style love affair. sneaking around. gun play that is somehow more romantic than kinky but still kinda kinky. explicit sexual content. word count: 2900 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy!

You catch his eye across the room.

There are a hundred people between you, bustling in their designer gowns and glittering in their jewels. The hotel ballroom is an incandescent chamber of silver light. The sun has long since set but the party plays on in its excessive splendour, never tiring of itself.

You are tired of it. The glamour of this lifestyle has turned more tedious than not. At the centre of all this majesty is money, and everyone in this room prioritizes their wealth and capital above everything else. They have fought and slandered and killed each other and they will do it all again, but they throw their galas nonetheless. Places to celebrate themselves and their so-called achievements, to flaunt their successes in self-congratulation. Everyone laughs and dances, spinning around the ballroom, sipping their champagne.

You smile and demur, pretending you are having a good time. You sit with your family and only interact with their trusted allies or those who would be.

He is vehemently not included in that.

Seo Changbin.

He is across the room with his family, your family’s greatest enemy. Your father and his father are titans of business and the family rivalry spans generations. It started with your great-grandparents and you are destined to uphold it. You will marry an appropriate man of standing, someone who will expand the empire, someone whose allyship is worthwhile in both the monetary and social strata. You will have children and raise them to take your place, to inherit your name and all the blood and money that comes with it.

Those same expectations are on your enemy. You hold gazes across the sparkling sea of people. You look away first.

You are coerced onto the dance floor by one of your father’s chosen men. You join that sparkling sea. It is always bizarre to brush elbows with these people, knowing very well they would not hesitate to put a bullet in your head under any other circumstance. You catch the sight of a few discreet weapons as you are twirled around the dance floor. Ostensibly, weapons are not allowed inside the gala as fighting is prohibited, but these people always take their precautions.

Your dance partner spins you. You twirl as per the dance, then stumble to a halt because Changbin is standing there. He is dancing with someone too, has them spun out the opposite way. You stand in the middle of the ballroom looking at each other, faces equally stoic.

He is dressed in all black, austere and intimidating. His black hair falls in a sweep across his forehead, just this side of too-long so it obscures his eyes if he tilts his head a certain way. He is always so meticulously hidden in public, nothing but a walking shadow. He is a dark reflection of his family and their grim reputation.

But his jovial laughter is in your mind, his witty quips, his jokester nature. He is devastatingly charming and endlessly humorous.

You would never know just looking at him. Changbin is not the tallest man in the room but he more than compensates with his bulk and power. Pretty much anyone would be big next to you, but you know what your hand looks like when laid against his, how all encompassing the breadth of his big arms feel when they wrap around you.

He does not touch you. He looks. He smirks, like he knows your heart is racing. Then he spins away. Your partner pulls you back.

The dance continues.

You say you are sick and leave the party early. You are escorted back to the house with your usual security flank, sitting in the backseat of your limo with a guard on either side of you. They wear bulletproof gear under their uniform, matching pale blue in the family’s colours, and wearing bulky glasses to shield their eyes. They are all armed to teeth, wearing their holsters and belts. They dwarf you almost comically. They do not speak to you.

When you reach the house, you go straight to your bedrooms. You have three rooms to yourself, each lonely space spilling into the next. You dress in your closet, leaving the gown pooled in a silk mess on the floor. You discard your jewelry and amble to your main room in a satin nightdress and robe.

You almost miss it, the sound so faint, but you swear a gentle knocking comes from your balcony doors. They are still sealed shut. Security did not notice anything remiss upon arrival, but there is a blind spot in the security camera on your balcony. There are no cameras inside your room for privacy purposes. But no one would know that unless you told them.

And you have only told one person.

You approach the balcony doors, wary. You peer into the night, eyes roving the grand expanse of the brightly lit garden and swimming pool. Wind rustles through the leaves of the trees and a security guard is finishing his round.

You step onto your balcony slowly. The security guard can only see you when you lean over. He waves at you before leaving the yard, continuing the rest of his patrol elsewhere. You watch him go.

The world is quiet as it ever is. You can hear the buzz of the pool lights and the tinkling of your wind chimes, little else. You lean against your balcony railing and look over the yard. You weigh the luxury of the estate against its cost. Not for the first time, you ruminate on how it is absolutely not worth it.

You sigh and turn. Then you freeze at what, who, you find.

You mistake him for a security guard for half a second, which nearly gives you a heart attack because they are never on your balcony. But he is just wearing one of their uniforms. You are not sure when he stole it, tonight or previously.

Seo Changbin stands there in the blue uniform shirt and gun holster, winking at you behind bulky glasses. He is pressed against the wall in the solitary blind spot, nodding his head to your balcony door. If you open it a little wider, he can sneak in undetected.

Like he has done a dozen times before.

You feign nonchalance for the camera, humming to yourself as you step into your bedroom. You push your door open all the way, positioning yourself in distracting view of the lens while he sneaks inside. Then you follow and slam the door shut. You both take a curtain and draw them together, meeting in the middle.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. It is not what you want to say. You want to say, thank god you are here. I missed you so much. But that is an utterly foolish proclamation. You know better. You have always known better.

But the son of your family’s greatest enemy is standing in your bedroom anyway. He looks at you, at where you clutch your robe, at where you wet your lips. He removes the glasses and tosses them aside, as if to study you more closely.

“I shouldn’t,” he says. You cannot tell if it is an agreement or a question.

“No, you shouldn’t,” you say. You take a step back, because every second in his proximity only compels you closer. It is surer than a planet caught in a gravitational pull, threatened to be shattered by the sheer cosmic power of the star holding it in orbit.

He steps with you. When you take another step, he follows. Back and back and back. He feels big in this space. Even though your room is massive, his presence shadows your little world. When your back hits the wall and he looms in front of you, he is all you can see. Nothing else exists beyond him.

“Changbin, we shouldn’t be doing this,” you say, though you know it is useless to protest your liaison with any logic, because this is a matter of the heart and not mind. That rebellious heart of yours beats faster. “If anyone found you here… we’d both be in so much trouble.”

“I won’t let them hurt you,” he says. He speaks with such easy confidence, like it is a matter of fact and not hope. He says it so certainly that you almost believe him.

“You can’t promise that,” you say.

“Yah, shame on you,” he teases. “You know I always keep my word.”

It is true. Though Changbin has a formidable reputation, it has little basis in actuality. He is a man of strong moral principle. He does not like the fighting and brawling and warring. He does not hurt innocent people, nor does he put civilians at risk for the sake of a stupid business.

And he has treated you with more loving respect than anyone else in your life.

Of course you surrender to him, again and again, sighing now as you lean against the wall and release your robe. It falls open and reveals your little nightdress. His gaze dives down your body, igniting sparks inside you. You were once insecure about your appearance, taking to heart your mother’s admonishments, that you were scrawny and gaunt, nothing but a burden as they struggled to find a match for you.

It is no struggle for Changbin. He curses even though he has seen you a dozen times. He holds your hips, then runs his strong hands up your body so you shiver all over. He cups the back of your head and draws you close, like he intends to kiss you. You are ready for it, eyelids heavy and lips parting.

With his other hand, he reaches for his chest holster. You blink as he slowly draws the gun, as he brings it closer to you. It feels like your whole body turns to liquid heat, heart thundering as he rests the barrel so delicately against your temple.

“See, baby,” he says, “if they find us, they’ll blame me. What was a little thing like you supposed to do, ah? Fight me?”

You are breathing harder, already so hot with anticipation. You gasp when he tugs you closer still, the gun still tapping your temple.

His lips are so close to yours, they almost touch.

“Poor baby,” he says. “She’s so good to her family. It’s not her fault Seo Changbin climbed in her window and fucked her in her little nightdress.” He moves the gun, making your breath catch again. The barrel touches your lips then moves down, down. It brushes a sensitive nipple, then moves lower still. The cool metal brushes your inner thigh under your nightdress and your knees starting shaking, a delicious heat twisting in your belly. “Tsk, tsk,” he says. “No panties. Maybe it’s not my fault completely.”

“We really shouldn’t do this,” you say, but it is still not what you want to say. I want you, I need you, so so badly.

He smiles and lifts the gun again, all the way up to your mouth where he taps your lips.

“Do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” he asks.

It is so funny; Changbin is holding a gun to your lips but you feel more safe than dancing among those people at the party. You trust him so completely, so irrevocably, that you do not feel truly threatened for even a moment. There is something so liberating and joyous in allowing your body to go completely lax, in forgetting all your many grievances for the short but blissful time you have with him. Your heart is so full you could burst.

You kiss the tip of the gun, then smile.

“Well,” you say. “What are you waiting for?”

He tosses the gun onto the bed so he can hold you with both hands when he kisses you. You moan against his lips. His searching hands are careful where he touches you, squeezing and loving. He cups the small curve of your breast in his palm, rubs there until electric desire shoots to every extremity.

You shrug your robe off and he wastes no time gathering you into his arms. He holds you so securely, picking you up with no effort at all. Then you are pressed against the wall with him pressed against you.

“Yes, yes,” you say, gasping, as he kisses down your neck. He hikes you higher, catching you effortlessly, guiding your legs around him as he kisses down to your breasts. He wraps his lips around a nipple through your dress, making you clench your thighs around him, which makes him giggle like the maniacal tease he is.

“You like that,” he says, and tugs your dress down to get his mouth on you properly. He is so good with his tongue. You feel a little giddy, thinking to yourself that it is his true weapon. Fast, precise, teasing you and working you until you are tugging at his head and grinding against him.

“I need you,” you say, breathlessly, “Changbin, Changbin—”

You seldom take your time, given the danger of the situation. With the house empty and both your families occupied, you have time tonight to go a little slower, but you simply cannot wait. You are both accustomed to instant satisfaction when together. Your body feels wrong without him inside it. You need him like a breath of air.

“Please,” you say.

You do not have to beg much. He fiddles with his belt and his zip, then he repositions you. You cover your mouth to catch your squeal when he pushes inside you. He moans into your neck to stifle his own sounds.

“Baby, so good for me,” he murmurs, sounding intoxicated from the silky feel of you, wrapped around him so completely.

You know the feeling. You are incapable of forming sentences, clinging to him desperately as he fucks you steadily against the wall. He holds you with just one arm, the other palm planted flat to the wall, near your head. You clutch his big bicep while your other hand sinks in the hair at his nape. You fuck until he is close, when he carries you to the bed and lays you out.

You lean forward and take him in your mouth, sucking him down until he comes. He bites his wrist to keep his volume down.

You wipe your lips, smiling. Then you sprawl back on the bed, nightdress turned to little more than a sash around your middle. You slide it off completely. Even though he just came, he is already looking you with hungry eyes. He puts a knee on the bed, evidently ready to pounce.

You pick up the gun and point it at him, quirking a playful eyebrow. He blinks at you, surprised, then smiles as well.

“Baby,” he says. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“Do you really think you’re in a position to give orders?” you reply.

It just makes him laugh. The sound makes your heart gush with sentiment. He looks so handsome and sweet, hair pushed back, a light sheen of sweat on his neck. He is still mostly dressed, tucked back into his pants, but they are open and slung low, his shirt all untucked.

He gazes at you with deep, dark eyes, nothing but affection on his face. He plays your game and strips his shirt off, then he crawls across the bed until he is close enough for you to rest the barrel of the gun against his temple.

“Go on,” you say, nodding.

Truly, his tongue is the greater weapon. The gun does not stand a chance, falling out of your hand, forgotten, as he descends between your legs. You feather his hair through your fingers, then dig into his scalp, riding the motion of his mouth as he licks and sucks and kisses you down there. You come with a shivering sigh, your legs shaking.

He lifts his head and wiggles his eyebrows. “Good?” he asks, to which you can only nod. “Ha-ha,” he says, lightly slapping your thigh. “Of course it was. It’s me.”

You laugh, shaking your head and playfully rolling your eyes.

“You are incorrigible,” you say.

He climbs up your body and kisses you on the lips, tasting of you. It makes you whimper, delighted.

“I think you meant to say incredible,” he teases. “That’s okay, I understood you anyway.”

“I’m sure you did,” you say. Because there is a great deal of truth in that statement. You and him are on opposite sides of this ridiculous feud, but you are in exactly the same place. No one understands you better than him.

That understanding is written all over his face. He smiles tenderly, cupping your cheek in his hand. His next kiss is the definition of romance itself, sweet and long, enough to make you swoon.

“How much time do you think we have?” you ask.

“Not much,” he answers, then kisses you again. “Don’t think about it now. It’s okay, baby. I got you.”

“I know,” you say. You wrap your arms around each other and hold tight, kissing again while you can. The truth is, neither of you is in any position to dictate your fate. But he kisses you like that does not matter, with no past and no tomorrow on the horizon. You take control of this moment and consider it a happy ending for as long as you can.

#seo changbin x reader #changbin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #changbin x you #changbin smut #seo changbin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x you #valentinesdaystories #anonymous request

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theswordmaiden · 2 months

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Love Bug

Miranda Hilmarson x Fem!Reader

valentine's day, domestic lifestyle, and unspoken words. fluff ensues. clingy little cuddle bug who adores covering you in kisses, but sometimes needs reassurance. word count: 1700... @vivendraws

“In here, babe!” your voice rang out as you heard the front door open and shut. Miranda kicked off her work boots and tossed her keys onto the coffee table before quickly following the sound of your voice and smell of food. You were in the middle of cooking up some late night dinner for the pair of you, humming out a ‘hello’ as you felt big arms wrapping around you from behind.

"Hey, love bug," she murmured softly into the messy locks of hair, lips pressed to the top of your head. A pleased hum left you both at the action and you turned your head to glance up at her, the warmth of her breath meeting your cheek, tinted with the lingering scent of cigarettes that greeted your nostrils. Miranda pouted, gingerly tugging at the bottom of your shirt, a silent gesture to ask for a kiss.

You turned around in her embrace, arms moving naturally to find their place around her broad shoulders, as you pushed up on your toes to meet the blonde's height and press your lips to hers. It was sweet and simple, a display of how much she'd been missing you while she was busy all day at work, lasting for a few moments before you were first to pull away. "I missed you.." she mumbled, gazing down at you with puppy dog eyes.

"I missed you too, Mir," you replied softly, unable to hide the smile that tugged at your lips at the sight of your lipstick faintly smudged against her own mouth. It makes your heart swell with affection, and a blush begins to work its way across your cheeks and down your throat. As the vegetable stir fry began to crackle in the pan, you spun back around to face the stove, pushing the spatula around. "How was work?"

Miranda sighed quietly, unable to keep herself from frowning ever so slightly as you pulled away, though she didn't quite want to let go of you. Her arms slid down to wrap around your waist once more, palms cradling the softness of your stomach as she leaned her chest against your back, perching her head against your shoulder to watch you cook. "Hectic, as always," she nuzzled her nose against your cheekbone, desperately growing clingy, which she often did after a rough day. "But I'm fine now that I'm with you..."

You chuckled, feeling the comfortable weight of the blonde's head against your shoulder as you continued to stir the sizzling vegetables. "I'm glad I can make you feel better, then," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, not wanting to disturb the gentleness between the pair of you.

It was moments like these —such mundane domestic tasks— where you'd find solace in each other's presence. Her life was fast paced and constantly moving, yet the simpleness of coming home to just.. you made her heart soar. Miranda could never see herself 'settling down' before you came into her life, but the thought of it being with you was enticing enough.

She began to get lost in a dream-like trance, a happy grin plastered across her face as she got lost in the thought of such a life with you, and all she could do was pull you closer when you suggested she go take a shower while you finished up with dinner.

Miranda's grip on you tightened every so slightly, yet still gentle, as she sighed contentedly. "And miss out on the chance to help you cook?" she murmured, her voice laced with fondness. "I think I'll stay right here. . ." And once more her lips met the top of your head as she hummed happily, beginning to lightly sway the pair of you to an invisible rhythm while you cooked.

Of course, you knew better. By her 'helping', she simply meant distracting — not that you minded much. You’d happily be distracted, if it meant being engulfed in her affections. Her presence was a balm to your tired soul and vice versa, soothing away the fatigue that'd accumulated after a long day.

"You know," she began quietly, her tone light and playful but sincere, "I could get used to this.. coming home to you every day, I mean." The warmth of her words seemed to radiate from the blonde, beginning to spread throughout your chest. "Though, your cooking is definitely a plus.." she added lightheartedly, causing you to laugh.

You knew the older woman would survive purely off of cigarettes, stale beer, and chinese takeout if you weren’t around to take care of her. If she couldn’t throw it into the microwave to reheat it? She wouldn’t touch it. You happily spoiled her with weekly home cooked meals and treats that never lasted longer than a few days in her fridge.

Miranda reached towards one of your hands and began to slowly spin you around to face her once more, and you obliged, turning the stove on low before finally turning your body the direction she wanted. She kissed at the back of your knuckles as your eyes met, grinning proudly at the blush that adored your precious face. As her lips pulled away, you stepped closer, free hand coming to rest at her side to bring her closer until your bodies met.

Your head found itself resting along the comfortable space of her shoulder, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest against yours, while you listened to the comforting thrum of her heart and softness of her breathing; getting impossibly lost in the scent of her. The two of you were content with being in each other's silence, allowing you both a chance to unwind as you continued to sway together within the space of the small kitchen, your breathing falling into sync with hers.

The blonde remained the lead in swaying your bodies together in a waltzing motion, the hand not holding yours traced idly along your waist, lightly stroking the material of your shirt as it moved. She enjoyed the calming effect your body seemingly had on hers, muscles easing and exhaustion fizzling into nothing.

Sapphire orbs peered down at you, drinking up every detail of your side profile when you weren't paying attention. Every mark, blemish, and hair had been memorized to heart, yet the sight of you never failed to make her heart skip a beat or two.

The soft cadence of Miranda's voice broke through the silence, whispering against the shell of your ear. "I don't know what Gods I must've pleased to deserve you," an uncharacteristic vulnerability creeped into her voice, you knew, leaning up to stare at her sympathetically as she continued, "I just- I dunno. I really, really love you.. and I don't want this feeling to end, y'know? Like, what if I do something.. wrong, and you decide you've finally had enough of me and leave like the rest of them because I’m too much to handle, and—"

Before the blonde could finish her babbling, you leaned up to press a reassuring kiss to her lips, hoping to soothe the insecurities that lingered within her soft heart. A tender smile formed on your face as you pulled away, bringing a hand up to cup her face, brushing your thumb gently against a cheek.

"Hey," you began softly, trying to regain her focus. "Listen to me.. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to that, okay? I promise you, you aren’t too much to handle, I love the way you are just fine. You deserve all the love and affection in the world and more. There is nothing you could ever do wrong that would make me even think about leaving you, do you hear me? I love you, all of you, the good and bad. . My angel, flung out of space."

By the way her eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of deceit or doubt, you could tell it wasn’t often she received such assurance in the past. She was the one constantly putting in the work, the one chasing after the other, the one fighting to make things work—never having someone be the one putting in the work for her. And then there was you. It was a foreign concept to Miranda, but one that she was more than willing to learn to accept.

Tears threatened to form in her eyes as the words sank in, as if some invisible weight had been lifted off from her shoulders, relinquishing her of the pent-up insecurities that'd been plaguing her. You could still feel the weight of her vulnerability while holding her in your arms, but it wasn't so heavy now. She gave your hand two tight squeezes, as if to say 'thank you for loving me when I struggle to love myself', without needing to verbalize it.

You understood. Old wounds took time to heal, but she was worth waiting for. Worth tending to. Your hand squeezed hers in return, repeating the silent message right back.

The next few minutes were spent gently murmuring and crooning soft nothings into her ears, pressing the slowest, most gentle kisses across the apples of her cheeks until her aching heart settled and her face was painted red with lip prints. Soon she was back to smiling, returning the show of affection by spinning you around and dipping you low — hands clutching onto you tightly as she pulled you right back up soon after, pressing a kiss to your forehead, nose, then settling on your lips.

She released you as the timer on the oven rang, silently ushering you to the table so she could plate up dinner while you sat and relaxed for a moment, not even bothering to wipe off her face. Plates were laid out, scooping a hearty helping of stir fry onto both, making a pit stop to the fridge to snag two beers before she'd make her way over to where you sat — a certain pep to her step that wasn't quite there before now.

Your chin rests against the palm of your hand as you watch her move around the familiarity of the kitchen, the sight of her not-so-graceful movements bringing hearts to your eyes, and a fluttering to your belly. Miranda grinned down at you as she placed the plate in front of you, quirking up a brow at the way you stared at her, but making no comment as she quickly began to chow down; talking with a mouthful about something she remembered happening at work she’d been excited to tell you about all afternoon.

. . . you definitely could get used to this.

─────⋅⋆.‧₊☆₊‧.⋅⋆─────────⋅⋆.‧₊☽₊‧.⋅⋆─────────⋅⋆.‧₊☆₊‧.⋅⋆─────

a/n: you know it's serious when you gotta pull out the Carol reference.

viv kept doing sad miranda stuff in the groupchat, so i felt the need to dabble with some fluff for them—first time writing both that and mir. i do hope they'll like it. (: when she's sweet, i definitely picture miranda to be just the clingiest thing imaginable. and so this was born.

and, if you're curious, here is the playlist i made/listened to while writing this. all of my gwen character playlists are there as well.

#mirandahilmarson #miranda hilmarson #miranda hilmarson x reader #gwendoline christie #gwendolinechristie #gwendolineuniverse #topofthelake #topofthelakechinagirl #top of the lake #theswordmaiden

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theemporium · 1 year

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hii!! i love ur writing!! could you do 21+23 with remus lupin??🫣🫣

21. “bite me” ”if you insist”

23. “this is a one time thing”

Remus Lupin always considered himself a calm, collected and patient man.

With so much of his life defined by his lycanthrope lifestyle, he liked to think the moments where he was human and himself, he was the opposite of whatever stereotype witches and wizards whispered to their children as they grew up. He never wanted to be the angry, short-fused monster that they always spoke about.

But there was one person who always seemed to bring out that side of him—you.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Why would I deprive you from hearing my lovely voice?”

Remus gritted his teeth together, eyes focused on the open textbook in front of him rather than the irritating witch to his side. He had decided the second Professor Slughorn announced a group project that he wouldn’t let his temper get in the way of his work, but being paired with you was proving to make that promise very difficult.

“Are you always such a brat?” he muttered as he snatched the spoon from you, spinning the potion a little faster until orange bubbles began forming–just as the potion required.

“Are you always such a prick?” you retorted with a huff, arm brushing against his as you leaned over to see what the next ingredient was before popping it into the cauldron. You only had to go through another five minutes of torture with him before you could run back to your common room and avoid him until the class presentation.

“Can’t even admit when you’re wrong,” Remus grumbled.

“Bite me, Lupin,” you snapped.

“If you insist,” he snapped back with a wolfish grin. And you hated the way your eyes lingered on his smile a moment too long.

And you hated that he clearly noticed.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?” he asked, the words mocking and cruel, and yet they still made your thighs clench together.

“Wanker,” you stated simply before turning back to the potion, the wall of hair covering your peripheral being the only saving grace at the moment.

But Remus didn’t stop. He made a point of pushing your buttons a little further, getting under your skin a little deeper. He made a point to always have some form of physical touch with you as the five minutes went by silently and he fucking loved the effect he had you.

He loved that he affected you just as badly as you affected him.

“In a rush?” he questioned when he noticed you quickly cleaning up the desk, shoving books into your book bag half-hazardly.

“I have somewhere to be,” you said simply, refusing to even look in his direction.

“I’m sure you do,” Remus drawled.

You quickly spun around, eyes narrowing on the tall boy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Remus answered with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Just that you’re a liar.”

“I’m a liar?” you scoffed.

“And you’re annoying.”

“You’re no treat yourself, Lupin.”

“At least I’m not a brat.”

“And at least I’m not a massive arsehole—”

You hadn’t even computed the fact the distance between you had disappeared, not until Remus was close enough to grab your face and pull your lips against his. It took a whole few seconds of your brain fighting with your body before you sank into the kiss, hands fisting the material of his shirt as you pulled him closer, moaning into his mouth as his large hands slid down your body.

“Dickhead,” you whispered between kisses as he lightly nipped your lip.

“You did ask me to bite you,” he mused before kissing you senseless, hands sliding underneath your skirt so he could grab a handful of your ass.

His palms were warm and rough, his lips were soft and plush and you had never felt more fucking confused in your life—but Merlin, that didn’t stop you from wanting Remus Lupin.

“This is a one time thing,” you murmured, eyes falling shut and head rolling back as he ducked down to place a line of kisses along your jaw and neck.

“Fine by me,” he muttered before spinning you around, pushing you until you were bent over the desk and his warm body was pressed against your back. “Maybe this will be a good way to shut you up. A little brat like you just needs the attitude fucked out of you.”

“Just fuck me, Lupin,” you snapped, breath hitching when you felt his fingers sliding along your clothed cunt. A pathetic whine escaped your lips when he pressed his thumb against your clit.

“Gonna beg, sweetheart?” Remus mused, warm breath fanned across your cheek as he watched your hips buck against his hand.

“In your fucking dreams.”

“Keep that mouth going and I’ll make sure all you can dream about is me fucking you.”

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starrydixon · 1 year

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Wildflower

Era: Pre-Prison Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: None! Just fluff!

Summary: After confessing that you had never been given flowers before, Daryl finds himself becoming determined to be the first one to do so.

A/N: I thought the idea of Daryl picking flowers for someone and then becoming really bashful about it was such a cute concept, so I just had to write it! I hope you enjoy!! (also the gif used is NOT mine, so credit goes to owner!!)

“What the hell are ya doin’?” Daryl drawled from his spot by the fresh animal tracks that were imprinted on the cold dirt ground below him.

“Huh?” Glenn shot up to his feet and spun around on the heels of his worn sneakers in order to face the archer.

Daryl raised an eyebrow at the young man and nudged his chin towards the flowers that were clenched tightly in his hands. Looking down, Glenn’s face flushed a light shade of pink at the realization that Daryl had just caught him picking flowers. Looking back over to the archer, who was still waiting for an explanation, Glenn shrugged his shoulders as a proud smile began to stretch across his lips. “I’m getting some flowers for Maggie.”

Daryl couldn’t help but let out a puff of air from between his lips in disbelief. “Why?”

With a smile still planted firmly on his face, Glenn jogged back over to where Daryl was standing. “I want to do something nice for her, and picking flowers is the only thing I can do right now.”

It had been one month since the Greene’s family farm had gotten overrun with walkers, which had caused the group of survivors to live on the road. With this type of lifestyle in an apocalypse, most romantic gestures had to be modified. For example, instead of making a reservation at a fancy five star Italian restaurant for a dinner for two, couples now had to settle with sharing a can of goods between them over a campfire (if they were even lucky enough to find a can that is). In other instances, you’d have to settle with a box of stale truffles instead of fresh ones, or being given a stuffed animal holding a heart between its paws that had a layer of mildew coating its fur.

For Glenn, this meant picking a few random wild flowers from the side of the road instead of buying a beautiful floral arrangement from the local flower shop.

“I think catchin’ this damn deer would be nice too.” Daryl huffed as a frown formed on his face. With his hand, he gestured towards the animal tracks that were becoming less and less scarce to come by as winter was nearly approaching.

“Man, you’d be surprised how far a few flowers will go…maybe you should get some for Y/N.” Glenn pointed out while carefully placing the flowers in his backpack.

“What?” The archer gawked at the young man in a mixture of confusion and accusation.

Sensing Daryl’s sudden unease, Glenn shot his eyes back towards the archer, and straightened up his posture when he took notice of the hardened expression on his face.

“Uhm…” Rubbing the back of his head anxiously, Glenn struggled to find a way out of the hole he had suddenly found himself in. “I see how you are with her…you guys seem to have a great connection…so I figured you might want to do the same?”

“Connection?” Daryl drawled as his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Glenn swallowed hard and shifted uneasily on his feet.

“You like her, right? In like, more than a friend way.”

Daryl could only stare at Glenn in silence as the young man fidgeted uncomfortably under the archer’s intense stare, silently praying that the ground would suddenly open up and swallow him so he could escape the hunter’s wordless scrutiny.

“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on between me and Y/N.” Daryl finally stated after a few heavy moments of silence had passed between the two men.

Nodding his head eagerly in agreement, Glenn raised his hands up in surrender. “I got it. Loud and clear.”

Seemingly satisfied, Daryl turned back towards the tracks and resumed his hunt. As he skillfully moved around dry twigs and crunchy leaves that were laying on the ground, and pushed away almost completely barren tree branches from out of his eyesight, his frown from earlier deepened, while his furrowed brows caused a shadow to cast over his eyes. As much as he tried to focus on hunting this deer and bring it back to the people who he was starting to consider family, Daryl couldn’t stop Glenn’s earlier remarks from ricocheting in his brain.

Was there some kind of connection between you and the archer that he wasn’t aware of?

Would you find being given flowers better than a deer?

Did you even like flowers?

Daryl wasn’t sure why he suddenly cared so much, but the thoughts and feelings he had about it were distracting him so much that he almost blew his cover from the deer when he hadn’t realized he had caught up to it. Readying his trusted crossbow, Daryl shook his head to rid himself of those distracting thoughts and refocused his attention on the thing he was the best at; hunting.

Later that day, when the sun was beginning to turn the once bright blue sky into warm hues, the two men walked through the front door of the house they were currently squatting in with the rest of the group. Daryl had the deer he was previously hunting hauled over his broad shoulders, while Glenn wore a grin so big it threatened to split his face in two.

At the sight of the deer perched on the archers shoulders, the group visibly relaxed and had smiles on their faces that actually reached their eyes for the first time in weeks. Tonight, and maybe for the next few days if they rationed, they’d have food in their stomachs.

Although you were also excited to see the deer, you couldn’t help but be a little bit more happy and relieved to see that Daryl had made it back safely and in one piece. For the few hours that he and Glenn were gone, you couldn’t tear yourself away from your spot by the windowsill. You tried to keep the curtains closed for safety, but every once in a while you found yourself peeking through the middle part, hoping you’d see the archer within your sights again.

Seemingly busy with getting the deer prepped for eating, you were only able to give Daryl a wave of greeting from afar. Despite having a 90 pound deer draped over his shoulders, the archer still managed to give you a curt wave back before moving towards the back of the house where the kitchen was and taking up shop there.

When he was out of sight, your focus turned to the group's love birds: Maggie and Glenn. You couldn’t help but smile at the two as Maggie happily smelled the wildflowers that looked to be falling apart due to being placed in a bag for so long. Glenn rubbed the back of his neck bashfully due to the wilted flowers, but his happiness of being able to make Maggie’s day better was clear through the light that shone in his eyes as he looked at her.

By the time the orange and pink sky had turned into a black and glittery blanket, you and the rest of the group of survivors had gathered around on the floor in the living room, eating warm and cooked venison that Daryl had cut up and made for the group. Despite the quietness that fell over the group due to the focus of filling stomachs that had been empty for days, there was a sense of peace and comfort settling over them.

You and Daryl were sitting beside one another, eating quietly and observing the group as they shared giddy looks and hushed laughs with each other. Much like the others, you had found yourself wiggling happily in your spot on the floor when a plate of meat was handed to you, unable to contain the joy of eating something that wasn’t from a can.

When your celebratory happy dance caught Daryl’s eye, he couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. Seeing you content and happy sent a warmth spreading through his chest that wasn’t caused by the warm food or from the fire that was alight in the fireplace just a few feet away from him. Shaking his head slightly to himself, Daryl ducked his head and poked his plastic fork around his plate of venison.

“What?” You asked the archer when you noticed his head shake from the corner of your eye.

Bringing his gaze up from his plate, Daryl blinked his slightly widened eyes as if he was an animal caught in the headlights of a car. “Nothin’?”

“Why were you shaking your head?” A kind and gentle smile fitted your face as your head tilted to the side to show your curiosity.

“Oh…uh, just had a thought pass through…somethin’ Glenn was tellin’ me about earlier.” Daryl explained bashfully while shifting anxiously in his spot.

Instead of responding with words, you silently motioned for him to expand his previous answer with a few coaxing nods of your head. Getting the hint, Daryl let his shoulders drop in defeat. “I told Glenn huntin’ this deer would be just as nice as pickin’ flowers…and seein’ you and the others wigglin’ around, can’t help but think I had a point too.”

By the time Daryl was done explaining his thought process to you, his eyes had drifted back down to his plate. He only looked back at you when your warm laugh reached his ears. At first, the archer was worried you were laughing at him, but the genuinity that filled your face told him otherwise. He didn’t understand what you found funny about what he had said, but knowing that he was making you laugh nonetheless did cause his stomach to flutter.

“Those are two completely different scenarios!” You expressed earnestly while wiping an invisible tear from off your cheek.

“What do ya mean?” Now it was Daryl’s turn to tilt his head to the side in curiosity.

“Picking flowers is a romantic gesture…I’ve never heard of hunting a deer as one.” You explained while setting down your now empty plate besides you.

“Didn’t say it was romantic…just said it’s nice.” Daryl frowned, which caused his eyebrows to furrow and the worry line between them to deepen.

“Okay, okay…but judging by the love sick puppy eyes they were giving each other after he gave her the flowers, I just think Glenn meant it romantically.” You pointed out while raising your hands up in surrender.

Daryl hummed vaguely in response before finishing off the meat that was still on his plate. After a few moments of silence fell over you both, Daryl spoke up. “What do you think?”

“About?” You took your gaze from off of the flickering flames of the fire so you could look at Daryl, who had begun to gnaw on the side of his thumbnail nervously.

“Flowers...you think they’re nice?”

After pondering over his question for a few moments, you shrugged your shoulders loosely and leaned back against the couch while stretching your legs out in front of you. “I don’t know…when I think of flowers I think of bees, which I hate since they scare me, but I can also appreciate their beauty or whatever.”

“So, that’s a no then?” Daryl raised an inquisitive eyebrow at you as you continued to ponder over the complicated stance you had on flowers.

“Not necessarily…I’ve never asked for flowers or have ever received them from anyone before…but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

Daryl scoffed in disbelief at your answer. “Ain’t no way no one's never given ya flowers before.”

“What…do I look like the type of girl whose parents brought them obnoxiously large bouquets of flowers after performing in my school play?” You raised an eyebrow at Daryl while placing a hand on your hip.

“Yeah, ya do.”

You couldn’t help but let out an amused snort of disbelief. “Well, I didn’t...maybe I would have liked to have experienced that, just once, but it’s not like I was known as the type of person who adored flowers.” Shaking your head, you turned to look at Daryl. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason…just curious.” Daryl shrugged his shoulders dismissively as he thought back to Glenns earlier remark.

‘Maybe you should get some for Y/N.’

The resources around the house you and the group had been staying in for the past few days had run dry, and Rick figured it was time for the group to move on to another part of Georgia. Daryl wanted to see if he could catch anything before leaving, so he found himself in the woods early in the morning, just as the sun began to rise over the horizon.

From the little bit of light that the barely-there sun was radiating, Daryl could see his breath fog out in front of his face whenever he exhaled out of his nose, indicating that winter was approaching faster then he or the others would have liked.

Daryl wasn’t sure why he was hunting for tracks of anything that had a bushy tail or feathered wings, considering the woods within the surrounding gridlock seemed to have dried out due to the increasingly cold weather. He supposed he just needed an excuse to be alone for more than a few minutes since he had been holed up in a small house filled with eleven people for the past few days. Despite the lack of privacy and having his cherished personal space almost constantly invaded, Daryl had to admit he didn’t mind when you were within his personal space.

Most of the time, you would sit beside him in the corner of the living room he had claimed for himself with a book in your hand and a very worn and old sleeping bag draped over your legs. Other times, the two of you would engage in light conversation; sometimes Daryl would ask you questions about the book you were reading, and other times you’d both get to know each other more by unintentionally playing twenty questions. Daryl never felt uneasy or felt any kind of pressure when he engaged in conversation with you or when your presence kept him company. In fact, he felt like he could truly let some of his many walls down when you were around.

Maybe that’s another reason why he needed to get out of that house for a little while. Although the feelings and thoughts he had whenever you were around brought him unfamiliar feelings of comfort and warmth, it also freaked him out. So, inhaling the cold fresh air from outside into his lungs just at the crack of dawn seemed to help him clear his head a bit.

Daryl had no idea how long he had wandered rather aimlessly through the woods for, but with the sun now brightening the sky, he figured he had stayed out long enough. With no game to bring back to the group, the archer was just about to head back to the base camp when a small patch of purple caught his eye from his peripheral vision.

Turning on his heel, Daryl took a few long strides towards the purple patch and paused when he realized, thanks to the plant book he had half-heartedly flipped through one night when the group had squatted in a local library for a few days, it was a patch of purple Georgia Aster wildflowers.

‘Maybe you should pick some for Y/N.’

Groaning under his breath, Daryl rubbed at the scruff on his chin with the pads of his calloused fingers and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily as he attempted to rid Glenn’s voice from out of his head.

Daryl recalled you mentioning the other night that you had never received flowers from anyone before, and he would be lying to himself if he denied the fact that he had a want and need to be the first one to do that for you. The archer also recalled you mentioning that you weren’t a huge fan of flowers due to your fear of bees.

Glancing around the woods to make sure no one was watching, the archer reached down and plucked one of the wildflowers from out of the ground. Daryl stared at the long purple petals as he rolled the stem in between the pads of his thumb and index finger, momentarily transfixed by the spinning petals.

Not wanting to overthink anymore, Daryl clutched the stem in his hand and began to make his way back towards the group. His heart pounded against his ribcage while his lungs had a sudden need for more oxygen. His stomach twisted in nerves that he couldn’t understand.

Was he nervous because he was afraid that you wouldn’t like being given a flower?

Was he nervous that you actually would appreciate being given a flower?

Or was it because he was nervous that this gesture would open the door for expanding on that connection that Glenn had claimed he and you had.

When the archer emerged from the treeline, he instantly spotted you walking across the front lawn towards one of the vehicles with a rolled up sleeping bag tucked under each arm. For a second, his heart felt like it had stopped beating while his chest suddenly felt as if an anchor had been thrown on it, weighing him down and making it hard to breathe.

He wanted to drop the flower as if it was a hot metal pipe and step on it until the long purple petals broke from the stem and became disintegrated into the dirt. Not wanting to let his anxiety get the best of him, Daryl took long strides towards you until he was standing only a few inches away from where you were standing by the bed of the silver pickup truck.

Seeing his broad figure from the corner of your eye, you turned to face the archer with a smile on your face. Before you had the chance to greet him, his clenched fist was suddenly in your face, his calloused knuckles just centimeters away from grazing the tip of your nose.

“Uhm…” You took a step back in order to get a better look at what he was trying to show you.

“You want it?” Daryl asked rather bluntly as a bead of sweat trailed down the back of his neck.

Blinking in surprise, your eyes focused on the purple flower in his possession. “Is…Is that for me?” You couldn’t help but be a little dumbfounded at the foreign gesture.

“Only if ya want it.” Daryl swallowed hard as he uneasily shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his arm still stretched out stiffly in front of him and his clenched hand getting clammier by the second.

“They’re ain’t no bees on it either...so ya don’t gotta worry about that.” Daryl quickly added as his free hand instinctively went to the back of his neck to scratch at an invisible itch.

The biggest, and probably the brightest smile Daryl had ever seen, suddenly spread over your face as your eyes lit up like stars. One of your hands was placed on the center of your chest while the other was clasping the side of your flushed face. “Of course I want it!”

Carefully, you took the wildflower from Daryl and grinned as your eyes gawked over the long, delicate, purple petals. Glancing back up towards Daryl, who was now staring down at his boots as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, your smile never faltered as your head tilted slightly to the side. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Darting his gaze back to your face, Daryl hoped the cold weather could be used as an excuse to explain why the tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks were flushed pink. The archer shrugged his shoulders loosely. “I know…just thought you deserved to be given a flower at least once.”

Warmth spread throughout your body at the endearing comment while your cheeks flushed another shade of pink. Biting down on your lower lip, you kept your gaze on the flower that was held between the pads of your fingers. “Is this because you wanted to do something nice…or for another reason.”

Daryl’s eyes widened at your question, his heart seemed to have been jump started by an invisible jolt of panicked electricity. Not wanting to put all of his cards out on the table in fear of being rejected, Daryl shrugged his shoulders again.

“It can mean whatever ya want it to.”

Your beaming smile only seemed to get brighter at his answer. Nodding your head, you tucked the flower in the front pocket of your jeans. “This was very nice of you, Daryl…and romantic.”

The archer felt another wave of heat rush to his cheeks as he ducked his head bashfully. He could only muster up a vague hum of acknowledgment as he was unable to tear his eyes away from the tops of his muddied boots.

After bidding Daryl a goodbye, you spun around on your heels and made your way back towards the house so you could continue packing up the group's supplies. Your cheeks ached due to the permanent giddy smile that was stretched upon your face, and you felt as if butterflies were fluttering in a continuous loop in your stomach. Despite the ache and the nerve endings within your body being set alight, you welcomed the sensations nonetheless.

As Daryl watched your figure get farther and farther away, he found himself unable to stop the lopsided smile from forming on his face. Pride and excited anxiety warmed the archer's chest in ways he had never felt before. Shaking his head to rid himself out of the haze you had put him in, Daryl was about to start heading towards the house after you, but paused when he noticed a figure standing in the living room window.

With a proud smile on his face, Glenn peered through the curtains that covered the grimy window and watched Daryl and you share a seemingly intimate moment with one another. Although he was surprised that the archer actually listened to him and picked a flower for you, he was happy nonetheless for the both of you. Also, Glenn couldn’t help but feel a bit smug that he was right in thinking that giving flowers was just as nice as hunting down a deer.

When the young man gave Daryl two thumbs up of encouragement, the archer responded by flipping him off and stalking back towards the house with a bashfully ducked head.

Daryl would be damned if he ever gave Glenn any kind of credit, especially when it was about his potentially blossoming love life, but Daryl had to admit that the young man may have been onto something when he said that giving flowers to someone can go a long way.

The archer wasn’t sure where this new connection he had with you would lead, but he was excited, and not as hesitant as he was before, to find out.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction

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minniesmutt · 1 month

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♱ ━━━━━━ 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋: 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐀

♱ ━━━ CONTENT: MENTION OF DRUGS, ALCOHOL, VIOLENCE, PRISON, THERAPY MENTIONS, MORE OF A FILLER CHAPTER, WET DREAM, COCKWARMING, GRINDING, PET NAMES, IMPLIED MORE ROUNDS ♱ ━━━ WC: 1K ♱ ━━━ PAIRING: FELIX X READER ♱ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog ♱ ━━━ a repost from my old blog

Information was always easy for Felix to find. Everything was on the internet. Everything was put into databases. Police files, card info, medical information, everything. It was such easy access.

From day one, Felix was already looking into Y/n, even before Minho asked him. He knew they didn’t find anything at her old apartment. So to the internet, he went. Checking her social media first. The fabricated life people selectively chose to put out.

Most photos were with friends. Trips, clubs, drinks, anything. Normal twenty-something-year-old behavior. Moving on to her friend’s profiles, it was the same story. Looking into them first.

Seana was clean essentially. She had no issues with the law and worked a good job to keep herself afloat. Posted about her friends just like Y/n. Nothing was an issue with her. Karina had a bit of a record; driving under the influence, hit and runs, possession of illegal drugs. She had a job but more of a part-time thing. Nothing that really helped support the lifestyle she wanted to portray online.

Looking into the family was next. From what he gathered and found out from reports, her dad hadn’t been in her life since she was young and was in jail on the other side of the country. There were no records of calls to anyone since his incarceration. Pretty content with rotting away in the system. Multiple times considering he had a bit of a history of being released and getting back in months later.

Her mom had passed away a few years ago. Coroners report stating a mix of drugs and alcohol. Grandparents having passed away or lived elsewhere in the country. Y/n essentially had no family from what Felix could tell. He felt a little bad for her, being on your own like that could hurt.

Checking through medical records were next on the list. The first thing he noticed was notes from therapy sessions. Becoming very interested, he made his own copy of the notes and saved it onto his computer before he heard the elevator ding.

“Felix?” He heard Y/n’s voice call.

“Yeah?” He called back as he minimized the windows and pulled up some other things he had been looking into for Chan.

Y/n walked into his little home office as he turned around in his chair. Sitting in his loungewear— a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt— as she made her way over to him.

“What’s up, princess?” Felix asked as she made her way over to him.

“Just a bit bored, figured I come bug you,” Y/n said as he pulled her onto his lap.

“Keep me company while I work then, yeah?”

“Can do,” Y/n smiled as he spun the chair around back to his screens.

Y/n wrapped her arms around him and listened to his keyboard taps and mouse clicks. It was soothing to listen to honestly. Lulling her back into sleep on top of the blonde’s lap.

Felix noticed her asleep a few minutes later, gently rubbing her back before pulling her medical files out again. Reading through it, a few things jumped out at him. Trust issues, compulsively lying, unwilling to work through trauma.

Felix emailed the notes he thought were most important to Chan but kept reading.

“Client has mentioned early life with mother but not much. Briefly mentioned biological mother being under the influence often and redirecting anger onto the client.”

“Client laughs when explaining a core event in her life.”

“Clients says alcohol intake has gone down; was previously using to cope.”

Felix kept reading. He could make guesses now why she chose to stay with them. Given her family history, maybe some lack of attention growing up caused her to seek it from anywhere in her adult life. Now, she had eight men ready to do that at any time of the day.

Being a liar could be useful to them. But it made him wonder; only one friend had been caught by law enforcement and charged. The other one was clean from head to toe. Y/n seemingly had a history of issues— using to cope could mean getting into some trouble. But nothing.

But she seemed so unphased by the eight being gangsters. Maybe she’d never been caught? Maybe she was clean? It was a little difficult to tell.

Felix reclined back into his chair and wrapped his arms around Y/n. He gently rubbed her back as he took in the information. He knew Chan had a plan from the beginning of this arrangement, but he also had a feeling this information was going to give him a bit more of an idea to use her.

Felix chuckled a bit to himself as he went back to some other tasks. “Lix,” Y/n mumbled

“Yes, princess?” He asked looking down at her. Her eyes still closed but little moans came out of her as she subtly grinded on him.

“Silly girl,” Felix said as he moved his hands down to her ass and pulled her closer, kissing the side of her head, “Y/n.” He said

“Mhm?” She asked, moving her head to hide in his chest.

“Having a fun little dream?” Felix teased

“Yes.”

“Want some help?”

“Please.”

Y/n was happy she was just wearing panties and one of the boy’s t-shirts. Made it easier for him to move his sweatpants and boxers down and push her panties to the side. Lining his tip up with her entrance and slowly sank her down onto him. Y/n moaned as her walls stretched for him till he was fully inside of her.

“Feel so good,” Y/n muttered into his chest.

“Yeah? Think you just like having a cock in you princess,” Felix got back to work. Y/n held onto him tightly as she slowly started to grind herself against him.

“Gonna use me to make yourself cum?” Felix asked, his baritone voice going straight to her core.

“Please lix,” Y/n whined

“Go ahead, princess. Just know I get to use you to cum later.”

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 9 months

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hi! can i request ken x (male) reader who’s from texas and breaking ken’s idea of the patriarchy (mostly the realities of cowboy life lol) thank you!!

"Now what're you supposed to be, a cowboy or somethin'? Because it looks like you're goin' to a fashion show upstate."

Blinking owlishly, Ken spun around on his heels, coming face-to-face with you. He looked at your clothing up and down, noting you had a hat similar to his, along with ripped jeans, cowboy boots, and a buttoned plaid shirt.

His eyebrows furrowed with confusion, not seeing an apparent difference.

Nevertheless, he realized you were another human male who was trying to talk to him, and he was excited! This was his big chance to learn more about the patriarchy of the Real World!

But he didn't wanna let his eagerness show too much, so he leaned against a nearby pillar, keeping the books tucked against his side.

"Nah, I ain't goin' to no fashion show....partner..." He made a poor attempt at mimicking your accent, which he noted was heavily Southern, and it took all your willpower not to laugh your ass off.

Yet you couldn't help chuckling anyways, which made the blond pout as he adjusted the brim of his hat. "Awh I'm only teasin'." You shook your head. "I will say it does fit ya pretty good. Haven't seen anything like that back in Texas."

"...oh really? Thanks!" He put a big smile back on, trying to sound cool and casual. "Sounds like a fun place. I'm just here..seeing what this world's all about...getting accustomed to the patriarchy. Man, I wish Barbie told me about-"

"Hold on..." You stopped him in his tracks, being perplexed by several things he just said. "What about the patriarchy? You act as though it's a lifestyle-"

"Is it not? Because I see it all around us!" He spread his arms out. "It's incredible! Everything's backwards but yet...I'm just amazed! This world caters to us men!" Then he stepped closer, showing you the books in his hands depicting studies of horses and patriarchy, a sparkle in his eye. "Look, these books have already taught me so much!"

You blinked, taking one of them and frowning as you recognized the barcode as being from the school your cousin attended. "Ya realize you stole these from a school library, right-?"

"Back in Barbieland, we Kens had none of this stuff!!" He ignored your remark, yanking the book from your hands as he continued to babble on and on and how "awesome" the patriarchy is while pointing to a nearby horse statue.

He's acting as though this was the first time he's ever heard of it, firmly believing that it's all about men and horses.

That would've convinced you that this guy was either insane or living under a rock all his life....had he not mentioned "Barbieland", "Barbie", and "Ken".

'As in...the dolls my little cousins played with?' You pondered. 'Well it would certainly explain the outlandish outfit..and how it doesn't look like any lights are on upstairs...'

"So.." You cleared your throat, he was quick to shut up and let you continue, blinking as you offered your hand. "Before I forget...the name's [y/n]. A pleasure to meet ya."

He studied your gesture intensely, before putting forth his manliest handshake possible, his eyes lighting up when you laughed and complimented his strong grip. "And I'm Ken, the pleasure's all mine."

"Yeah, I figured."

"Well, [y/n]. You seem to embody everything a human man is, so...you got any advice for a fellow man who only just recently learned of all these great luxuries?" He raised an eyebrow.

You thought about it for a few moments, letting his hand go as your gaze went back to the books tucked under his arm. "Yeah, uh..for one, ya seem to be holdin' onto this "idea" that patriarchy's all about the horses. I hate to break it to ya....but it ain't that simple."

"....wait, it's not..?" He blinked in bewilderment, looking to the books and frowning. "Are you sure? Because these books told me-"

"They're outdated an' used for history projects at school. They don't accurately showcase modern cowboy culture, which is what ya seem to be enthralled with."

"...these don't???" His voice became higher-pitched, becoming utterly devastated that he was lied to. "But if it's not about horses..then...then what about the statues, hm? And those officers riding them?!"

"Ken..in this world anybody can ride a horse if they wanted to. You just happen to see more guys than gals doin' it."

"Oh..."

"Look, it's true that more men are in charge of stuff here in LA, but the patriarchy is really just a messy system that harms both sides." You frowned slightly. "It ain't somethin' I'd wanna idolize."

"...but why?"

You sighed, unsure of how you could possibly dumb it down for him even further. "'cuz it's turned some of my own friends and family into vile dirtbags who think the world owes them everything. I'd hate to see ya fall down that same pipeline."

He nodded in slight understanding, but seemed rather sad as he hugged the books to his chest, feeling like his dreams were shattered just as he began to realize them..

"I thought it was just like Barbieland..."

"Ya'll got a matriarchy there?"

"...I guess..? They write all the constitutions and stuff."

"And...how do they treat ya?"

"Like we're accessories." Ken huffed, eyebrows knitted together in frustration. "They aren't terrible, but...I only have a good day when Barbie looks at me..which...hasn't been happening lately. I was thinking if I could show her the cool horses and stuff...she'll see me differently. See me for the man I can be."

You never expected for this conversation to derail into you trying to resolve a doll's identity crisis, but it's clear he was holding onto the misconception that the "Real World" was just opposite of Barbieland--where men had it all here and ruled without flaw.

That was far from the truth.

"Now changin' yourself for a lady isn't what ya wanna do, son." You patted his shoulder, causing him to look up at you in astonishment. "You're good enough as you are. But I take it that deep down...ya just care about the horses?"

He nodded again.

"Then..how about instead of reading this misleading garbage--" You tapped the binder of one of the books "--ya talk to someone who's lived the authentic cowboy life? Somebody with experience?"

Looking all around, he seemed confused for a moment, before his gaze returned to yours. "Like....you?"

"Yup."

"Isn't being a man and wearing this not enough?"

"It's a wee bit more complicated than that. It's hard work. But if you're interested in that sort of life, I can tell ya all about it." You offered, smiling as you watched the grin return to his face.

"I'd love that. Now if I don't need these stupid books, then I'll just--" He went to toss the stack into the nearest trash bin, but you were quick to intervene.

"Hey, hey, hey! Ya can't just throw away school property like that!"

"...but you just called this "garbage"."

"It's a figure of speech, Ken." Sighing, you just shook your head, taking the books off his hands. "You'll learn a lot about that here. Let's just go return these and I'll tell ya all about my life back in Texas. Whatever ya wanna know, I'll do my best to answer."

Ken's eyes shimmered at the prospect of hanging out with another guy..like all the other humans he's seen. That's all he truly wanted, really--just to bond with someone and not be in some aggressive rivalry unlike what he had with the other Kens.

He's lucky he ran into you.

"Can I ask something now?"

"Sure..if it's less than ten words." You humored him.

"Do..you..own..horses..? That's four." He grinned, counting on his fingers just to be sure of it.

"I do. Poor things couldn't take the dry heat of Texas, so they came along with me in a truck. I'll show ya pictures after we return these books."

Ken nodded eagerly, unable to hide his excitement as he followed you back to the library, ready to learn more about your culture.

#clanask #anonymous #barbie x reader #barbie movie x reader #ken x reader #ken carson x reader #male reader #texan reader #platonic

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theplumsoldier · 9 months

Text

money shot

summary: when recruiting you, pedro didn't realize he would get jealous from seeing other men fuck you, so he decides to pull your jobs, now only offering you solo scenes. you (dumb and dubious) ask why.

pairing: porn director!pedro pascal x reader

warnings: 18+: p in v sex, oral sex (female receiving), vulgar language, pet names, dirty talk, lil self-doubt

word count: 2,9k

˗ˏˋ inspo ´ˎ˗ & @cannolighost for the idea (hope i did it justice babe!!;3)

When the man who approached you, talking about "star quality", handed you his business card, you glowered up at him. "Porn?"

He frowned and surprised you as his hands waved around in such animated gestures, which merely added to his charismatic demeanor. It also made the muscles in his tan arms protrude from his Versace silk shirt. "I prefer the term 'adult film director'."

Glaring at him with squinted eyes, you looked back at the card. Bubble productions. You snorted.

You had done this kind of work before. Amateur style, of course. With your old boyfriend, actually. At one point, he had convinced you to make a little home video, just for the two of you. You enjoyed the way you looked on the camera, which made it a whole lot easier for him to persuade you into letting him upload it. The two of you ended up filming yourselves regularly and sharing it online—and it gained a lot of attraction, too.

Now it had been a couple of months since your break-up, and frankly, you missed it. Not exactly the relationship itself, but feeling sexy, feeling admired, and worshipped by random people online. You had thought about it before, doing porn at a whole other level, but had dismissed the thought as quickly as it merely reminded you of him. The cheating bastard.

This time, with this man asking you to be "his new star", it was no different.

As you gave him your best smile, he thought he had reeled you in, but you then you kindly told him to "fuck off" and spun on your heel.

It wasn't until a few of days later, when you were scrolling through your feed and found a picture of your ex with a girl, that the thought occurred to you again.

You convinced yourself that it wasn't to make him jealous, simply for your own good, to give this thing a shot and do something fun for yourself. That same day you rummaged through your purse, certain you had shoved the business card away as opposed to throwing it into the trash, and sure enough—your eyes gleamed with a certain thrill as you dialed the number.

Of course, you couldn't just accept the offer right away. You needed to know what kind of thing you were getting yourself into, set some boundaries if you were to do this, and so you asked Pedro to meet you for a couple of drinks.

Pedro smooth-talks you all night and reveals what he's been thinking. Truth be told, you didn't have a lot of expectations, but he made his business sound just glamorous and the money was not too bad either.

He ensures you that you would be able to add input, requests, and such, and insisted that "it was all up to you". You told him that if you were to do this, you wanted to be able to turn down anything, anyone, no questions asked and he did not hesitate to agree.

At some point, you excused yourself and disappeared into the bathroom. While feeling the soft alcoholic buzz enveloping your body, you felt his eyes on you and naturally became aware of the sway in your hips.

Pedro was certainly not bad-looking. With his brown hair, caramel eyes, and honey-dipped skin just begging to be licked, you began wondering if he himself had starred in any productions. You certainly would not object to a bite of him. While his charm had its wanted effect on you, you convinced yourself it was simply his eccentric persona, and not something directed specifically at you.

This charm he wields just so appears to comfort you, and welcome you to join his alluring lifestyle that it made you feel warm and fuzzy. It might be the alcohol, but he spoke with such passion, an intensity that it compelled you to take his hand and dive headfirst into his world.

Then came the dour reminder of your ex-boyfriend. He had been the one to put all these thoughts into your head in the first place, so you wondered what he would think. Would he reach out to you again? Would he be jealous? Or would he perhaps just think you for a slut?

A part of you wanted to provoke something inside of him—might be jealousy or even anger, a little possessiveness, just the right amount of toxic.

No.

This was not about him. It's about you.

With that inaudible dialogue with the bathroom mirror, you finally returned to Pedro. His skin was dewy from the heat and alcohol, and his enormous hand (which made the glass seem miniatures comparison) put his drink back down. He cocked an eyebrow as if quizzing you.

"I'm in."

The first day on the job was fantastic. There was time for the crew to mingle, the actors got to know each other a bit and you wrapped up with a nice cumshot on your tits. It was fun. You immediately felt that Bubble Productions were a safe space. The crew was focused on making the actors feel hyped up and confident, as you did your thing.

You figured it was quite normal to see a few boners here and there amongst the set crew, but you couldn't help but notice the tent in Pedro's pants as he directed from his chair. There was a point where he became unusually quiet, which made you think something was not to his liking. But as the cameramen flocked and closed in on you, you figured he was just concentrating on the money shot.

From then on, you found yourself with just three days of work in a week, trying different things with both guys and girls.

A couple of films later you began realizing Pedro had decided to take things down another road. Lately, he had handpicked you for several solo shoots, and you began pondering whether you did something wrong while performing with other people. While you enjoyed having to focus on just yourself, as well as being the center of attention (more specifically the center of Pedro's attention) you couldn't help but wonder.

Had someone complained about you? Did the audience not like you as much as they did in the beginning?

It prompted you to stay behind one time after the remains of the crew had left for the day, wanting nothing but to please the man with the vision.

It was the first time you had been alone with Pedro since that night at the bar and as you approached him with nothing to cover your figure except a dainty pink silk robe, he was ready to renounce every bit of professionalism left in him to take you right there, on the setup of fluffy pillows, wanting to see you teary-eyed as he fucked you into the Love-a-Lot Care Bear.

When you asked him if the audience did not like you, he immediately assured you: "they adore you!"

It should have lifted a weight off of your shoulders, but it did not—you were convinced something was wrong.

So you asked him if anyone had expressed aversion to working with you and Pedro realized he was the reason for your sudden self-consciousness.

It made him feel bad, for cutting your gigs down to a minimum and only offering you solo performances had been a very conscious choice. The jealousy brewing inside of him as he watched you do the job he had given you—he knew it was unprofessional of him but when the sin turned to downright anger, he just had to do something—what kind of director would he be to fire men for doing their job?

"Baby, everybody loves you! It's just—the audience doesn't wanna see a pretty girl like yourself bein' ruined, they want you all to themselves! Your solo's been a hit—"

You could see his lips move around the words, but you zoned out for a second. Of course, the audience wants to see you being ruined by filthy men, you thought, and once again, the thought that Pedro wanted you became dominant.

Did he want you all to himself?

"The audience..."

"Yeah!"

You frowned at him. "So this has nothing to do with what you want?"

Shit.

You saw right through him. He had hoped you were just pretty and dumb—that would have made his case a lot easier.

He gave lying a shot. "What? No!"

Pedro hoped you didn't notice that his voice pitched an octave. It was too obvious.

Really, you thought it was cute how flustered he got. For a man directing adult films, you would never have guessed he would find trouble flirting.

You put on a pout and sighed heavily, drawing your hand up his chest to toy with the gold chain framing his thick neck.

"S'a shame. Had kinda hoped you made me do all those, 'cause you were jealous," mused you, feeling confident as you leaned closer and twirled the hair at the nape of his neck.

His tongue danced along the line of his bottom lip as his eyes trailed down to where your chest revealed itself beneath the robe.

"Jealous, huh?"

You nodded, pulling back to tilt his chin up so that you caught his eyes. It seemed as if though that had darkened, his pupils had dilated and you felt his cock had grown too.

"Wanted to know 'f it was 'cause you wanted me all to yourself."

The coy smirk grew. "That somethin' ya want?"

"Dont know yet," you shrugged.

Pedro closed the space between you.

"Lemme help you find out."

His lips were crashing against yours the next second, rough and passionate, hungry and needy.

You moaned into his mouth as you felt him slip down the robe and as it pooled at your feet, you were about to trip backwards. He didn't let you and in a swift movement, he had your legs wrapped around him.

The feeling of his restrained member made you all the more excited, and as he maneuvered you over to the set you had been coming on a little earlier, you keenly pulled him with you, eager to finally have him.

You couldn't shake the thought of him limiting your scenes. Had it been anyone else, who had done it out of personal interest, you would have been furious.

Pedro had noticed the way your moans had changed recently. When you played with yourself, made yourself come, your cries had become much more authentic, less of a performer, more of an aroused insatiable woman. He couldn't help but strive to make you sing for him, make you writhe, and make you beg for him to stop while simultaneously keeping his hand in place because you would fucking kill him if he dared cease.

He didn't want those pornographic sounds you offered the mic, he wanted those greedy moans to tear through your throat as orgasm after orgasm ripped from your body.

The kisses are wet with tongues and teeth clashing, but it doesn't matter because as the pad of his index runs through your slit, every thought disintegrates in your mind and your brain becomes mush.

"So sensitive for me, baby. Pussy sore from working so hard for me?"

"Hmpff..." you mewled, acrylics clawing at his back as you stuffed your head into the crook of his neck.

"Ya done so good for me, baby—you gonna lemme take care of ya, hm?"

You whined as Pedro's finger delved into you, the curious tip exploring and prodding at your walls. The combination of being touched by someone you wanted so badly as well as his significantly girthier finger made you gasp in a lower pitch, unlike that factitious moan his so-called "stars" had elicited from you.

It made him rock hard, hearing that genuine sound sputtering from your lips like you couldn't contain it.

He drew your slick through your folds, steadying your hips with his enormous hands as you began to squirm.

"Lie still, pretty baby," Pedro tsked, a devious smirk complimenting his face, and before you could protest he lapped his tongue through the wetness that had pooled between your legs.

Another moan, this untamed and frustrated, a whimper turning into a growl while your hips bucked upward, aiming to catch his mouth completely.

But he insisted—he was going to show you just how devoted he was to making you feel good, better than you did yourself. Pedro wanted you to know he had been schooling himself with those films of you, taking notes to make sure he knew exactly what you liked, and even what you did not know you liked yet.

You cursed when he inserted two fingers. Pedro's tongue occupied your swollen clit in such a way that it left you wanting more of him.

"Pedro," you moaned but as he hooked you with a third finger, curling them against your spongy walls, carving you perfectly for his cock, your pleads were punched out into cries.

"'S fuckin' tight, baby—who'd a thought such a little slut whorin' her body out would 'ave such a tight little hole?"

Under different circumstances, you would have punched the man calling you a slut in his teeth, but this, as Pedro claimed you, you found yourself desperate for the degrading behavior.

He pulled an orgasm from you before he allowed himself the pleasure of filling you with his cock, and as his member sprung free, you had to stop yourself from drooling.

A weeping head plastered on top of his thick, veiny girth, forged to perfectly destroy any woman.

It was almost sad to hide such a wonder from the cameras.

Pedro chuckled, cooking his brow, "impressed yet?"

Just to fuck with him, you put on an indifferent demeanor and turned on your stomach, pushing a pillow down under your stomach. He certainly didn't require an ego boost.

"I'll have to get back to you on that."

His hands felt so perfectly hot on your hips when he dragged your ass closer to him, propping you on your knees and slotting himself by your entrance.

You expected him to ram straight up into you and wanted to fucking cry when he merely dragged his mushroom head along your folds, collecting your slick in a fine mixture with his precum.

"Pedro," you whined in a bated breath. "Fuck me already—"

And there it was the merciless fucking. He bottomed out only to smash back into you, heavy balls slapping against your cunt with every thrust.

The sudden movement made your knees buckle beneath you and you were back on your stomach.

The new position did not seem to face Pedro as he continued to plunge into you from behind. If anything it allowed you to feel him even deeper, a bulge hitting the deepest spot possible making you sob into the pink Care Bear.

"Mmpff—fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Pedro caught your wrists in a harsh grasp, holding them steady on the small of your back to stop you from clawing desperately at him.

"'S the matter, baby? Didn't my guys fill ya up this good, huh?" It came out like a growl and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he fucked you at a relentless pace.

You couldn't help but love the way he called his pornstars his "guys" like he was some creep who had taken you prisoner, the sole purpose of your kidnapping being that you should be fucked day-in-day-out by him and all his ravenous men.

Pedro grasping at the roots of your hair, forcing you to bend back just enough for him to see your fucked-out expression, pulled you from your fantasy.

"Asked you a question, baby."

For the first time, the pet name sounded less affectionate; way too menacing to be loving as the cruel grip on your hair loosened, only to force your face down into the mattress.

"No, no, no!" you cried, barely able to form a proper sentence between his ruthless thrusts. "Ff-uck! Never felt this good!"

Pedro chuckled and abandoned his hold on you, his arm snaking under your body to skillfully locate your clit, deft fingers beginning a dance. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten, heating up as you neared your release.

Pedro emitted a sound, something between a growl and a moan, as he felt your pussy clench so nicely around his cock. Feeling your cunt choking his cock, he gave you one command in that cocksure tone.

Fucking you through yours, he slipped into his orgasm as you practically squeezed it out of him. His brutal pace faltered only when he pulled out and as you mourned the loss in your throbbing cunt, you hastily rolled to greet him with your tongue rolled out for him to paint.

His jaw hang ajar, eyes dazed as he watched you hungrily await his seed. With a few more pumps Pedro coated your face in hot velvety strings.

He leans back on his haunches, admiring his masterpiece for a minute or so. He wanted to take a picture of you so badly. If Pedro asked, you would probably say "yes", but there was something about this moment—this was your moment, something just for the two of you.

Pedro muttered something to himself, something you didn't quite catch between your frenzied phase and the buzzing in your ears.

"Huh?" you hummed, looking so not innocent batting your come-coated lashes at him.

His large hand catches your jaw in such an affectionate manner it made your heart flutter for the umpteenth time. Just then, for a second or two, Pedro looked as if he was about to say three very specific words. He didn't.

Instead, he shook his head and cupped your sticky cheek as he planted an uncharacteristically soft kiss on your forehead, before moving away — to get towels for the mess he had made (you were equally responsible) — murmuring with a small chuckle, "ya gonna fuckin' ruin me, baby."

#pedro pascal #theplumsoldier #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal au #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #money shot

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lazyneonrabbitt · 4 months

Text

Shielded

Daryl Dixon x Reader | fantasy AU

Everyone openly shows and uses their powers, except for Daryl. Until you get hurt.

🩸 🪽 🩸

Daryl always saw you as a sweet, small lady who’d be easily hunted down or snatched away. Not because you were weak or inexperienced, but because of the way you looked.

Some generations ago children started to be born with animal attributes that came with a set of skills or powers that oftentimes altered their appearance.

Where Rick was blessed with the precision of a hawk that showed in his eyes and never missed a single shot, Rosita had cat-like reflexes that came with a tail to balance her out more evenly and pointed ears with the smallest tuft of fur at the end. Then there was Carol who was given the ability to heal, which as she learned turned her hair more and more gray with every physical wound she healed and took from her happiness as she brightened someone else’s dark thoughts.

And you, you were born with the long ears and fuzzy tail of a rabbit which on one hand made you easily anxious, but also gave you the leg strength to kick a walker’s head clean off with a single strike.

Of course there were also people who despised the conditions they were born with and did everything in their power to hide them. One of those people was Daryl.

People would often take guesses what he kept hidden but he never budged and would often walk away from any of said conversations.

Conversations like this one.

“Have I ever told you I love those wings of yours?” Daryl was quick to wave you off with a “dunno wha’ yer talkin’bout.” He turned to walk away you, showing you just the thing you talked about. “The wings. On your vest. The one Judith fixed for you.” Oh how stupid he felt in that moment. He’d always been so stuck on people only talking to him when they either needed his help or came to pry that he immediately shot you down when it wasn’t an ask for help.

“Yeah uh. Thanks I guess.” He had been wearing that vest for so long he sometimes forgot what it meant to him. He was so conditioned to hate his traits that he had kept them hidden ever since he was a child. Whenever it was mentioned he was told it was a shame how it ruined his masculinity, how it made him look like he didn’t belong in their family. And how it didn’t fit his dirty looks and lifestyle as a hunter and tracker who’d often hide away in the woods.

He wanted to like all of him but it all brought back memories of year upon years of abuse and the pain that came with it, mentally and physically.

“Come on, we should start heading back, we got enough food for now.” Carrying around more was only gonna slow you down if you had to start running. Plus it was going to be hard to stash it all in your temporary bridge building campsite.

It was around dinnertime when everyone had stopped working for the day or was taking a break to eat as the distant growling and rustling caught people's attention.

From almost every side walkers stumbled out of the surrounding woods, catching you off guard and easily outnumbering your current group. You hopped up and ran off to your tent to grab the weapons you had left there but not managing to make it as you were surrounded in an instant.

Having to work with the one hunting knife on you you opted for a wide kick to the front row of walkers to give you some breathing room and a moment to unsheathe said knife before sinking it into the skull of one stumbling forward. All around you there were people fighting this herd that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

You spun and stepped around taking walkers down with kicks and stabs, ready to spin back and kick one's lights out as it ducked out of your way and a knife was sunk deep into your leg.

You shrieked in pain as a easily recognizable crossbow bolt sank into the attacker's skull. But with the amount of walkers swarming towards you you weren't sure if that one bolt really made a difference.

With the knife stuck in your leg you sat crouched on the forest floor with only a small knife to protect yourself. You closed your eyes and braced for the agonizing tear of flesh and loud growling and gnawing. You duck down, hiding your face in your arms and surrounding yourself in darkness so that you wouldn't see any of it, sobbing into your arms as the panic fully set in.

Everything was dark.

And it stayed dark, your ears were ringing from panic and everything was dark.

Sucking in a breath you slowly opened your eyes, still down in your arms and lifted up your head. Ears still ringing but your eyesight was alright, but it was still dark.

Slowly shapes came back into view, small spots of light coming from behind you and peeked from underneath at the forest floor. The ringing in your ears faded as a panting noise came from beside you and only now were you registering a weight on your shoulders.

The sounds of walkers and fighting still surrounded you but it was all muffled, like you had your head buried under the covers at home to drown out the yelling. Your head turned to inspect your surroundings, still not entirely back on earth yet as all you saw was ..white? and red stains.. it was all around you until your eyes met with Daryl who was crouched beside you. He was the one panting, a pained expression on his face as a hand went to rest on your knee now that you were coming back from your panic attack.

"Ya alright?" A soft whisper left his lips, not wanting to startle you and rubbed soft circles onto your skin. "Yer safe, I got ya."

Whatever it was that surrounded you wasn't moving. Not until the sounds outside of it had died down and someone shouted for Daryl.

Everything in your vision shifted at the call of his name, but never moved away as he made sure you were alright. Only after you had reached for his hand and given it a squeeze he slowly moved to sit back and light poured back into your vision.

A wave of shock came over you as you realized what kept you safe. As the forest came back into view, so did your ability to properly see in the daylight again. There was a massive pair of wings moving out of your view.

Muted white feathers were splattered in reds. Its movements erratic and paired with pained groans coming from behind you.

Without thinking you spun around, wincing in pain and dropping down on your good leg and staring at the man behind you.

Daryl sat there, on the forest floor with his button up shirt torn up. His leather vest wasn't on his anymore and the bloody pair of wings that kept you safe were sprouted from his back.

Every little movement his wings made had him try to pull away from them in pain, a clear sign of abandoning his powers for so long. The blood covering the feathers on both the in and outside of the wings also showed another story of why he'd hide them. But even with the gore all over them they were so pretty.

By now two people had rushed over to you and were making quick work of patching up your leg as you kept your focus on Daryl who looked to be having the worst time.

His gaze went from person to person, erratic breathing and a panicked look in his eyes. In his rush to save you he had summoned his wings after hiding them for almost forty years. But not even the open wounds and torn skin on his back hurt as much as the memories flooding back to the front of his mind. The voices of his family and their friends talking about him like he was a disgrace, a failure and a downright worthless being.

He kept his eyes on you then, focusing on the skilled hands of the medics working on your leg but immediately backing away as they got up and came towards him.

He backed up against a tree, his back hitting the bark. He let out a pained groan as he kept his eyes on the two trying to help him. No words were needed to let it be known he didn't want anyone near him.

Behind the two, you had gotten back on your feet and held onto a makeshift crutch to stay upright and had silently asked Rick to fetch you a blanket which he happily brought you.

Stumbling you made your way past the pair that still kept their eye on Daryl and crouched down with great difficulty. “If I put this over your back, will you follow me to the medical tent?” You held the blanket out to him, allowing him to take it from you on his own terms. “That way no one will see, and no one has to touch unless you say it’s okay.” You could see on his face he was still hesitating to come away from the tree that was doing his back more bad than good. As he reached forward his shoulder twitched and his wing slumped to the ground, almost pulling his full body with it. You took this as a sign to go ahead and drape the fabric over his back as well as you could while keeping yourself up on your crutch and being careful to not touch his wings. You slowly stepped back as he tried to get up off the ground but clearly not being in great control of his wings. Once he was upright you asked him again to follow you but he wasn’t moving just yet. His wings were still spread rather wide. You gave him a sweet smile, being as patient and understanding as you could. Luckily you were the one with the ‘patience of an angel’ according to the group. You watched as he looked at his wings one at a time to guide them into a folded position. Normally movements like those would be hardwired into someone’s system and it would all go without thinking twice, but in Daryl’s case he needed to see where his wings were going to keep them in check. When he had them folded close to his body he took his first steps towards the medical tent, falling into step with your slow hobbles.

“Alright,” You let out a sigh as you ran into yet another problem. “I’m not gonna get you in here with your wings out..” It was already hard enough for him to be moving around right now, let alone retract his wings in his current state, but you had to ask. “Do you know how to retract them?” He scoffed like child not wanting to speak up about a broken vase to his mother. You turned to look at him after securing the tent’s entrance open. He wouldn’t look you in the eyes as mumbled something you couldn’t make out.

“What was that? I can’t treat your back with your wings in the way.” Your tome was almost apologetic, knowing it would probably hurt him more than summoning them earlier.

“Dun wanna.” He looked up to find your gaze, his voice low. “Makes a mess..”

You wondered what mess he meant, but you were sure of the fact they weren’t gonna go for a while so you had to come up with something. Back inside the tent stood an armless chair that you offered Daryl at the entrance, asking him to sit in it backwards, facing away from the tent so you could tend to his wounds with the most possible coverage. “I’ll treat the open wounds as best as I can right now, but I’m gonna have to actually see what’s going on there.” Your hand reached over to his shoulder and laid there. “Is that okay? Just for medical purposes.”

He gave you a grunt and a wary okay, and with that you ever so carefully took the blanket off his back to reveal the tattered button down that his wings had torn through.

You dig for a knife and skillfully cut away at the fabric, freeing up space to clean as more of his back was revealed to you. Two thick streams of dried blood ran from the base of his wings down into the waistband of his pants and stained the entire base of his wings, white feathers completely dark red.

You took the supplies and got going, apologizing every time you touched the cloth to his skin earning a wince from him. As you wiped away the dried blood more details on his skin came into view. Tattoos of creatures with demon like wings made you wonder if he preffered to have those same kind of wings. And scars of different ages, most of which you didn't even dare to ask about. You chose to keep your thoughts for another time.

“I’m gonna try to dress some of the wounds, make sure they don't get infected."

He let out an agreeing grunt, and you went ahead to talk him through your process as you worked.

Soon enough his back was patched in white bandages, but you had no spare clorhing for him that would fit over his wings..

You stared around, thinking and letting out a frustrated huff as you scolded yourself for not thinking this far ahead.

"Wha's botherin' ya, cotton tail?" Daryl's tired voice sounded through the tent and you turned back towards him to explain yourself.

"There's no spare clothing that fits over your wings." You sounded defeated by the setback, but Daryl quickly gave you a solution before your anxious bunny brain went back into panic mode.

You thanked him for his input and went to fetch one of the leftover blankets that were too small to sleep under and cut it as he instructed.

"Alright, so I cut it halfway over the lenght. That's it?" You held the thing up and inspected it, unsure what to do next.

"Ya, tha's it." He holds up his hand as far as his body allowed it.

"Nah hand me the thin ends tha' ya jus' cut." He held his hands at his shoulders to take the pieces of fabric from your hands. When he had both ends in his hands he pulled them forward until the end of the cut touched the back of his neck.

You watched him pull the garment over his torso and onlg when he showed you how it hung over him did you realize how dumb you were for not getting his explaination at first. "Oh damn, it's like your poncho." It worked great to cover his front and back while still leaving the sides open for his wings. If he kept the base below his shoulders it would sit well enough.

"Should I find a way to get you home? Get you some privacy to deal with your wings?" Daryl's eyes followed your struggling movements as you hobbled around deep in thought.

"Yo Rick!" He called over before you had even taught of an option.

The man in question showed up at the tent only seconds later, happy to see his friend more comfortable again.

A request to get a ride home was quickly approved and fixed with some creative seating in the flat back of the pickup. You had never in your years of knowing him seen Rick drive so carefully, but it did give you time to really take in the scenery of the woods like you used to before the world ended.

Back within the walls Rick had dropped you off at Daryl's home where he assisted you up the porch steps and helped maneuver Daryl's wings carefully through the doorframe.

Once inside you had Rick generously help to move around furniture to accomodate Daryl's wings.

A matress in the place where the coffee table sat, that was now next to the dinner table.

You had drawn the curtains and were preparing some warm food, leaning against the counter on your good leg while Daryl laid on the matress in the living room, on his stomach trying to get comfortable.

"I got us some food, wanna eat now or later?" When you got no response you grabbed a small portion for yourself and ate where you stood before going to take a nap on the couch.

Even with him passing out way before you, you still woke up earlier. The light that shone through the curtains now almost entirely gone and deciding you'd just go back to sleep and deal with things tomorrow. Daryl really needed the rest as well.

When morning came you found Daryl awake but still laying down in the matress. He had his head turned to you and resting on his arms, greeting you lazily as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

"G'morning, Dee. Sleep well?" You leaned up on your elbow and gave him a once-over. His wings rested against the floor and the fabric over his back had shifted only a little bit.

"Yeah I did. Been thinkin' as well." He sat up on his knees and let his wings hang down beside him.

You had sat up against the armrest of the couch as well, legs stretched out in front of you.

"Ya got supplies here. I'll put mah wings away if ya make sure not ta tell anyone." His hand that rested in his lap came up to chew at his skin in a nervous habit.

Your smile lit up the room, and maybe having you stay when he retracted his wings wouldn't be much of an issue. You had only looked at him with admiration in your eyes

You looked him over and gave him a kind nod, slowly making your way into the kitchen to fetch the box of medical items and scooted it over to the livingroom with your crutch. When you came back he was still sitting there. You saw his body move with every deep breath and suddenly a cracking sound filled the room. Daryl let out a pained noise as his wings started shedding all their feathers and the flesh structure disappeared back underneath his skin. The process wasn't fast and Daryl's sounds made it clear it was a painful one. Blood from reopened wounds trickled down his back again as the skin fully settled.

You huffed as you dropped down behind him to patch up his back again, cleaning up the tears where the bone came through and asking permission to stitch him up before doing so.

When he was fully patched up you planted a soft kiss at the base of his neck, and the right between his shoulderblades where you kept yojr lips against his skin for a moment before sitting back up.

"Thanks for saving me, Daryl." He gave a pleased hum in response before moving to lay back down, shoving the feathers off the matress. "I'll help clean later, promise." A long drawn sigh escaped his lips as he slid all the way down. "Sleep first." And with that he passed out again.

While he slept you gathered up the prettiest feathers and snuck one of his bolts into a bag. Cutting off a small strip of the red rag he always carried you carefully put it in the bag with the feathers as well.

With lots of effort and as little sound as possible you snuck down to his room where you knew he kept tools and supplies you needed for your little plan.

With all the luck in the world you found a small piece of wood, perfect to hold the bolt upright i to it as you worked to strategicly tie the nicest feathers to the bolt, just below its own feathered end and hid the wire with the red cloth that you tied artistically around it. With one of the woodworking knives you found you carefully cut a bit of the bark off to get a smooth surface to carve text into.

After finishing your little thank you gift you went back upstairs to find Daryl still passed out on the matress, softly snoring away. It was the most calm you had ever seen him and you hoped to see him in this domestic setting and this soft side of him more often.

While he still recovered in dreamland you swiped together the mess of fearhers, leaning on the broom so much the bristles all spread out but you eventually got the job done.

You knew for a fact you were gonna get scolded for cleaning up by yourself with your bad leg but you couldn't just leave his home a mess.

Besides, if you were gonna put Daryl's gift in a nice spot for him to find when he woke up you couldn't be slipping on any loose feathers and rudely wake him.

So you cleaned, made some space on the small side table against the wall and placed your gift on it before retreating to the couch.

Ofcourse aftr sitting down for only half a minute the archer stirred awake and sat up and stared around the now clean floor.

"Didn' I tell ya ta wait?" He raises an eyebrow at you as you shied away from his gaze, apologizing under your breath.

"Wha' was tha'?" Daryl had gotten up and now stood towering over you in just his jeans, his torso adorned in tattoos and scars on full display for you to be distracted by.

"Asked y'a question, fluffbutt." He tapped a finger to your chin and have you look up at him with wide eyes.

"Ya like starin? S'rude ya know."

You blinked and looked away, this time apologizing a bit louder this time. With a smile he let you of your chin and stroked your soft furred ear. He let out a surprised hum. "Even softer than I thought." He fidgeted the end between his fingers, easily getting just as distracted by the softness as you had by his roughness.

Your hand reached up go place it on his and looked him in the eyes. Neither of you spoke a word, the way you looked at each other spoke volumes. A shaky breath left your lips right before he bent down and pressed his own lips against them.

It didn't last long but it said enough. Your eyes moved between Daryl's and the gift you had left on the table for him and he followed your gaze behind him.

There, on the small table that held some of his candles stood something new.

He took his time to study it up close. He held the wooden block in his hands, inspecting the bolt for a moment and recognising it as the one he had pulled from the head of the walker that almost bit you. Its feathers were torn and the base was cracked, no longer useful now that he looked it over.

There were off white feathers in different sizes tied just below the end. His feathers. There wasn't a single strand off on them, almost perfect in their form and he had to admit they looked really good combined with the rugged bolt. Thw whole piece came together between the oiled up red fabric of the cloth he carried around everywhere, its frayed edges standing out against the bright feathers.

But the thing that hit the hardest were the words carved into its stand.

"To my guardian angel"

His voice was soft as he set the piece back down and walked over to you, pulling you up into a tight hug.

"Thanks fer makin' me hate mahself a lil' less." His sentence ended with another kiss.

As he set you down he announced he needed more comfortable clothes as he set out to his basement room and change.

When he came back you had made your way into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as the food from yesterday warmed up.

"Hey, Daryl?"

He came walking over to you, his hair up in a messy bun and rocking dark, patched up sweats and a faded band tee that was missing its sleeves. "Yeah, lil' bunny rabbit?"

You looked up at him with nothing but admiration and love.

"Have I ever told you I love those wings of yours?"

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: Wow! A different AU from my usual writings. This was a nice challenge and I hope you enjoy!

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #twd #twd au #twd x reader

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junosmindpalace · 1 month

Text

DOWN IN THE MEADOW

🎧 deep in the brook, catfish are waiting for the hook!

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

synopsis: you, a former saloon girl, and your relationship with arthur through a song in accordance with the seasons.

content: family dynamics, domesticity, relationship timeline, a little bit of insecure arthur, horrible transitions between jack and arthur povs, messy intro and conclusion, soft gentle love thats the fic

wc: 2.9k

a/n: i haven't posted anything in nearly a month...SO sorry about that but here's this! i promise i've been working i've just been pickier with what i choose to post + theyre all lengthy as shit. this is different from what i usually write but we're trying some new stuff </3

Something that not many people were aware of was how very boring the outlaw life could be.

More often than not the lifestyle meant a whole lot of housekeeping, hunting and fishing; and that was only if you were old, strong, and experienced enough to handle such activities. To Jack Marston's misfortune, he was none of those things.

Life as an outlaw could be especially boring for a young boy such as himself, with no one of his size to cancel out each other’s boredom by becoming playmates. His momma and various aunts and uncles did their best to entertain him when they had the spare time, and he too found amusement in the beauty and wonder of the outdoors.

Fortunately, the worst of winter's wrath was over with, and beside the occasional snowfall, the weather was tame enough to settle down in a new camp and lounge about.

Because he cannot leave the camp very often, Jack settles for sitting by its outskirts. And it’s one of these even days that become odd when he spots his Uncle Arthur return from a trip into town accompanied by a stranger on the back of his horse.

Jack was closely acquainted with every member of his misfit family; he could recognize every worn face within it. Who wore which scar and where, which voices were more often fussy or brimming with glee, and even the ones that one day disappear and never return. This face that his Uncle Arthur brought back with him was a face he didn’t recognize, kind and curious as he observed it to be.

The small boy had been taught from a very early age not to trust strangers. There are few people in this cold and cruel world that wholeheartedly care for him; the vagabonds in this makeshift home of his were a couple.

But Uncle Arthur had brought her to them with reassurances that she would fit in just fine within their family, to them and seemingly the timid woman herself, who looked onward on at him for guidance. And Jack trusted what the older man deemed safe to accept this new member with hardly any worry in the back of his mind.

It didn’t take long for all of camp to learn that she had been a saloon girl from the town over where Arthur had been frequenting on business. It explained why she had arrived with nothing but a dagger in a holster sewed to her boot and a guitar on her back.

The strange woman, however, adored Jack from the moment she had introduced herself to him, sitting in the tallgrass and braiding its strands. Jack observed, outside of her initial nervous demeanour, that she had kind eyes and a wit about her that he observed in many members of the gang, including those he loves and cares for the most. A mouth that his mother found often laughing as a result of and along with, and one that spun tall tales in the form of song and dance with various camp members.

However, everyone was expected to contribute to bringing about funds and resources for the gang. It meant Arthur, the primary enforcer, spent most of his time out of camp running errands.

You often asked to tag along in the shotgun seat of his wagon, whether to satisfy your own intrigue of the terrain or on Miss Grimshaw’s orders, but the extension of his hand gently escorting you on board was confirmation that Arthur didn’t have very many qualms with his company.

Between light-hearted conversation, the two of you admire the thick blankets of shiny snow that had built up over various days of steady snowfall through squinted gazes as the light reflected back into your eyes. It glimmered and gleamed under arrays of sunlight, and crunched satisfyingly beneath each turn of the wheel. Your boots are thick and comfortable enough that you’re also able to enjoy the crunch beneath your feet when you arrive into the nearby town and hop off the wagon, with Arthur assisting in steadying you on your way down.

You scout the town for work while Arthur does his shopping, and it isn’t all that long until you find it in nearby saloons. A couple of standalone gigs for a fair sum of money is perfect for your circumstances. Arthur offers to drive you into town nearly every day, the exception being when he’s already out of camp prior. It’s your primary contributor to the gang’s stability, besides helping around camp when you could.

Uncle Arthur and the saloon girl often accompanied one another in their errands, by the shore of a river, or on a log beside the campfire. Jack could often find the two of you exchanging everything from anecdotes to laughs to something more shy and intimate. There are a set of unspoken social customs and courtesies when it came to confronting such curiosity, but Jack was too young to understand such customs; and far too curious.

So curious as to go so far as to one day innocently ask his Uncle Arthur if he was sweet on the girl—in front of her. His bluntness had the poor man choking on the rum from his flask as his cheeks flushed from either the suffocation or the embarrassment he felt over the situation--or perhaps both.

“Wha…N...No, you can’t just—“ he attempts to recollect himself, letting out a couple of coughs into the crook of his elbow before inhaling a strangled breath in. His eyes dart nervously between you and the boy. “You can’t just ask things like that, Jack. It ain’t polite. Where'd you even learn that...?"

But your warm eyes only crinkle in amusement as you laugh.

“I don’t mind. Besides, what does your lot know about polite?”

Jack liked her songs, and found his feet eagerly carrying themselves over when he hears her by the campfire with Javier, guitars out and voices in sweet harmony. Sometimes she’ll get up and dance, and Jack will join her on her feet. One evening, there's already someone else swaying with you to a melody, and your gleeful laughter is paired with Arthur's bashful chuckles.

Oh, curse his northern attitude for leaving him so stiff, burning under the intensity of your warm gaze. The ambers from the campfire leave a little twinkle in your eye that makes his stomach stir uncomfortably, his muscles seize up the slightest bit. But your appreciative smile and courtesy as he bows playfully tells him there was nothing to forgive in the first place.

Spring eventually sprouts up from the ground, and with it, more opportunities for leisure activity. Abigail kindly asks if you would take little Jack with you and Arthur to bask in the serene nature trails by the meadows, to which you happily oblige her request.

Arthur leaves camp with you on the back of his horse or on the shotgun seat of the wagon more often than not. Sometimes--Jack overhears--it's on Miss Grimshaw’s orders. Other times, one or the other is in need of some company to assist with a personal chore. And very occasionally, the reason lies solely in wanting to be around one another (though this is more speculation on the gang's part, who by now have also taken note of that lingering something, and coming to this conclusion from the longing gazes as if it were obvious).

In the back of the wagon, you observe the thawing of the snow with Jack through the harmony of your guitar, each firm, yet soft, strum ringing through the warm spring air. The smiles in your voices coupled with the gentle hum of your singing soothes something hard and tense in Arthur’s soul as he too basks in the sweetness of your melody while he drives at the front, melting it to the equivalent of the sludge of the snow.

When Mr South Wind sighs in the pines

Old Mr Winter whimpers and whines

Down in the meadow, under the snow

April is teaching green things to grow

From prairies to creeks to small forests, your journeys take you in all sorts of places. The grass only grows greener, the sun only shines brighter, and the day is perfect when the wind is cool, too. More and more often are you and Arthur out of camp, and every time you return, Jack observes, you’re both in quite high and satisfied spirits.

Arthur sits cross legged in a meadow just along one of the trails he takes to and from town filled with wildflowers. His journal sits in his lap, and he carefully sketches a scene not too far down from him. Just a few meters away do you sit with Jack by the wagon with your guitar on your leg as you sing affectionately, with grins plastered on both of your faces as you sway with the rhythm.

When Mr West Wind howls in a glade

Old Mr Summer nods in the shade

Down in the meadow, deep in the brook

Catfish are waiting for the hook!

You participate in crafting jewelry out of the yellow flowers alongside the boy, using the back of your guitar as a makeshift table as you carefully pluck the dandelions and daisies surrounding you, watching one another as you weave the stems and excitedly present the final products to one another. Later, you’d teach him how he can store all kinds of leaves and flowers and herbs between the heavy pages of his storybooks. That was just the sort of thing you did; bring about this an innocent wonder and awe into peoples lives like no strange character Arthur has ever met; and he’s had quite his share of encounters with strange folk.

He doesn’t remember the last time the world has brimmed with so much color, full of a kind of special magic. He finds it impossible to replicate the scene to perfection in his journal, but each additional detail--your tooth peeking out from your smile, the crescent shape of your eyes, the gentle dexterity in your hands-- reduces him to some sort of breathlessness.

And each time he picks up his book and flips back to his illustration, he returns to that beautiful day, the same feeling of sheer admiration returning with it, so maybe he didn’t do too terrible of a job.

Arthur's journal holds a dirty secret: that perhaps he was in love with you.

A fair portion of the pages were filled with sketches of you, whole portraits and mini doodles, of passages detailing your endeavours together, transcribed song lyrics of yours, and worst of all, the ever changing feelings of his toward you. They aren't very becoming from a man such as himself, but perhaps nothing good really was. A sort of guilt and hefty embarrassment weighed on his heart the more he reflected on it, too depressingly for a man who should be only elevated by the realisation. But what other than sorrow did love ever promise Arthur?

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow is waving at the moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump, bump

With the magic of June

It’s Jack’s favorite part of the song because of a little smack! you give the body of the guitar over halfway through the verse, and he either claps or slaps his own knees along to the rhythm with a giggle.

As dusk approaches the horizon, Jack finds the two of you sitting on the shore of the river just beside camp, and through the gaps between tall pine trees and tents with their equipment alike, Jack can see your legs thrown over Uncle Arthur’s lap. A gentle hand of his rests on your clothed thigh, smoothing down the fabric of your skirt as the other is placed behind him, keeping him upright. You play around with the placement of Arthur’s hat on his head. For whatever reason, it amuses you to no end, and the unimpressed look on Arthur’s face only fuels your laughter. Still, he’s only able to maintain the expression for a moment before it morphs into one of endearment.

The water from the river sparkles behind the two of you as the scene unfolds before the boy’s eyes, and he’s forced to look away when he feels a tug at his arm.

“Oh, Jack, aren't you nosey? Let’s not bother Uncle Arthur right now,” his mother quickly ushers him away toward the opposite side of the camp, glancing between her son and the pair of you. “He’s busy.”

Jack is able to spare one final glance over his shoulder in your direction, catch a glimpse of your foreheads resting against each other as your laughter subdues, before he turns away and allows his momma to lead him to help his pa with some of his chores.

When Mr East Wind shouts over head

Then all the leaves turn yellow and red

Down in the meadow corn stocks are high

Pumpkins are ripe and ready for pie

Autumn, specifically, is an interesting time to be out and about. Arthur chaperones you and Jack on your scavenger hunt of various fall plants and beauties. The two of you point out the various colors in the trees and on the ground, the mushrooms growing between blades of grass, and the various herbs and flowers and crops that grow in the fields. Arthur doubles as a delightful treasure trove of knowledge, with some of the items already having a portion of his page in his journal dedicated to its likeness, and some he adds in as you go along.

You entertain his insight as you walk arm in arm, and something about it is just so delightfully domestic, Arthur recognises, that it makes him feel like mush again.

For a moment, he nearly forgets what his life really is, what sort of gruesome deeds he’s responsible for, the consequences of this lifestyle, and he’s desperate to hold onto the moment. Innocent and peaceful, a life he's been unrightfully yearning after for a while now. The foraging all in all reaps well, yet Arthur can’t help but find the real reward in the way you lean your head against his arm as if he were a pillar of security, not an anchor that weighs you down.

Old Lady Blackbird flirts with the scarecrow

Scarecrow's waving at the Moon

Old Mr Moon makes hearts everywhere go bump-bump

With the magic of June

Unfortunately, the magic of the warm weather does not last forever. Yet not even the encroaching winter chill could freeze up the warmth in your chest. But it did nip at your fingertips--at your’s and Arthur’s and Jack’s.

The groups joint efforts are relied upon a hundredfold when the snow starts to fall and the chill breezes through the flaps of the tents in the camps. Like a clock tower bell, it indicates that it’s time to up and move and find more secure shelter, with stronger walls and better furnaces. Somehow the bitter cold doesn’t leave a quiver in your heart, and it's proven when you sit on the edge of Arthur’s wagon with Jack and Abigail and your guitar in your lap as you strum through a melody for Jack’s entertainment.

When Mr North Wind rolls on the breeze

Old father Christmas trims over trees

Down in the meadow snow shoftly gleams…

The lengthy trip wears everyone down eventually, and after an indefinite amount of time consolidating the various paths, the gang happens along an abandoned town in which to take refuge from Demeter’s grief.

By the time you arrive at the safe destination to set up camp, the stars have made themselves visible in the sky. Arrangements are quickly made to set up camp and settle everyone into a room with a place to sleep, wagons being unloaded and horses tied to posts. Thankfully, the snow has ceased attempting to bury the gang in a thick blanket, and the winds howl has lulled to a short whistle. Arthur’s sleeping arrangement differs for the first time in years; Miss Grimshaw tells him he now shares a room with you.

As it is your first time relocating, the move takes a harsh toll on both your physical and mental exhaustion. Along with young Jack at the back of Arthur’s wagon you both lie dead to the world with uncomfortable expressions. Abigail raises the boy into her arms when she comes around with a huff, cradling him close to her jacket.

“Alright little man,” she tells him with an affectionate, exasperated tone as she turns to trudge to her cabin, “let’s get you to bed now.”

Arthur turns to stare at you, hugging your body in an unconscious effort to keep even the slightest bit warm and relaxed, and for some reason cannot find the heart to wake you from your uneasy slumber. So he huffs, strides over, and situates an arm under your legs and another behind your back.

“C’mere, sleeping beauty…” he grunts as he lifts you in a similar fashion close to his chest, slowly making his way toward your shared cabin. “Didn’t realize you were so adverse to traveling.”

Then again, it wasn’t anybody’s particularly favorite part of the lifestyle.

Yet an endearing smile plays on his lips when you unconsciously snuggle closer to him, and he knows that the love in your touch and the song in your heart would keep him warm even after the thaw.

…earth goes to sleep and smiles in her dreams...♡

return to masterlist.

#arthur morgan x reader #i dont knkw how big the self insert fandom is for arthur on here but #self indulgent i’m never writing him again #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan x fem!reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #rdr2 oneshot #rdr x reader #rdr oneshot #rdr fluff

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writing0305 · 5 months

Text

Trouble. Pt.1

Pairing: Billy Butcher x F!Reader.

Summary: Six years ago you got pregnant with Billy's kid and you ran away without telling him. Now he was back, wanting you to return to the boys so you could get your revenge on Translucent, but you gave him a big fuck you and turned your back on him. But one visit from Homelander and a threat later, you went crawling back to Butcher, unsure how to explain how much you've fucked up.

Warnings: Heavy swearing. Child harming threats. Billy butcher. Homelander. A child???

Pt. 1 - Pt.2

You were already working with Grace Mallory when Butcher and the boys began working for her. Butcher has just lost his wife and was on a war path to kill every supe he could get his hands on. You were on the same warpath at that time, since Translucent killed your brother and then spun the story that your sixteen-year-old brother had attempted to attack him.

You formed a trauma bond with Butcher which made you grow closer with him. Two years in, and one drunken night spent together, you got pregnant. You told Grace but no one else. You didn’t want Butcher to know for so many reasons. He still wasn’t over his wife, he never wanted children to begin with, and his lifestyle wasn’t one to bring a baby into.

So one night, Grace helped you pack your bags and leave. Butcher tried to look for you but Grace had managed to convince him you wanted out of this life and finding you would put you in danger all over again. Because that was what the life meant. Danger.

And now it was six years later and you had a daughter named Willow. You still lived in New York and by God’s grace, you never ran into anyone from your past. But after the death of Grace’s grandchildren, the boys split up and all went their separate ways.

Your daughter was the constant reminder of Billy. Not because she was his daughter, but because she was the exact copy of her father. She had tanned skin, dark thick black hair with dark hazel eyes, and even his big dimples that always seemed to be present, even when she wasn’t smiling. If anyone who knew Billy, saw the little girl, there would be no doubt in their minds that she was his kid.

To keep a low profile, you lived on the shitty side of the city, in a small two-bedroom apartment, and worked a shity job at a diner. But your daughter got everything her little heart yearned for. She just had to ask and you’d give it to her. By no means she was a spoiled little girl, but she had a good life.

You woke up with a soft sigh on the day your life would change. Oblivious to how the day would go on, you got yourself ready for work, made breakfast, and fed your daughter before getting her ready for school.

Just as you pulled on your jacket, you wandered over to your daughter’s bedroom, poking your head inside. “Baby, come on, you ready for school?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at the little girl who franticly darted around her room, searching for something.

Willow turned to you with pouty lips and eyes filled with tears. “I can’t find my bunny.” She said softly as she wrapped her arms around herself.

You offered your daughter a small smile as you entered her room. “It’s probably in this messy bed.” You said as you walked towards her bed, lightly running a hand over her long dark hair when you passed her. You looked between the sheets of her unmade bed and found the pink plush bunny. “Oh look, here she is.”

Willow gasped as her eyes widened, a smile tugging at her lips. “You found her.” She squealed in excitement as you handed her the bunny and she rushed to her Barbie backpack, yanking the zip open.

“You can’t take her to school, Willow.” You stopped her as you crouched down next to her, placing a hand over hers before she could shove the bunny into her bag.

Her lips pouted again and her eyebrows furrowed as she stared up at you. “Why not?” She asked softly as she hugged the bunny to her chest, afraid you were going to take it away from her.

“What if you lose her?” You asked her as you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head to the side.

Willow thought bout it for a second as her hazel eyes darted around. “I won’t lose her.” She promised as she shook her head, giving you a toothy smile, her dimples popping out.

“She’s safer here at home, baby.” You told her gently as you reached out and cupped her cheek, brushing a thumb over her tanned skin.

She sighed softly as she slowly nodded her head. “Alright.” She whispered as she handed you her bunny and you placed it on her bed, resting it against her pillow.

You took Willow’s bag in one hand and held her hand with your other hand. You walked her to school, listening to her babble about everything that came to her mind. You loved listening to your daughter talk about the smallest things. She could see a worm on the ground and talk about it with no stop.

As you came to a stop in front of her school, you crouched down in front of her, taking her face in between your hands. “Have a nice day at school baby.” You said softly as you placed multiple kisses across her face, making her giggle as she pulled away.

She wrapped her arms around your shoulder, nuzzling her head against your chest. “Love you, mommy.” She spoke softly.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Love you, baby.” You replied before pulling away from her, standing up to your feet as she ran towards her teacher with a big smile, greeting the much older woman with a hug. The teacher sent you a wave before letting Willow into the classroom and you waved back before walking toward your job.

Four hours into your shift, you were working behind the counter, taking the to-go orders. Your manager, Jenna approached you with a tray, with two steaming hot cups of coffee on it. “Hey, can you take these two coffees to table two?” She asked as she placed the tray on the counter.

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded your head, handing her your small notebook and taking the tray from the counter. You waved through the tables and the few people standing around. Before you could greet the people at table two, you froze. Your eyes met familiar hazel eyes and your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

Butcher gave you his one-sided smirk. “Hello, luv.” He greeted you and the skinny and lean man sitting opposite him, shifted in his seat to look at you. The stranger’s eyebrows furrowed, clearly seeing how upset you were at Butcher’s presence.

“No…” You whispered. Your mind ran through a million reasons of why Billy could be back. Him showing up at your shity job that barely anyone in New York has fucking heard of, was no coincidence. Your mind felt fuzzy and your limbs heavy. The tray slipped from your sweaty hands and everyone in the diner jumped when the mugs shattered to the floor and the tray clanged.

You didn’t see Bily’s reaction to your clear disapproval of his sudden presence as you spun around and rushed off into the backroom. Your breathing was heavy and tears burned in your eyes. You leaned against a table, placing a hand over your beating heart.

How did he find you? How did he know where you worked? If he knew that, what else did he know? How much did he know? Why was he here now, after all these years? So many questions and not a single fucking answer.

“Y/n?”Jenna called out as she rushed into the room with a concerned look on her face. “Hey, are you alright?” She asked softly, eyebrows furrowing as she reached out, placing her hands on your arms. “Y/n?”

“I…” You whispered, your breathing speeding up even more as a tear slipped down your cheek.“I have to…” You whimpered, closing your eyes as you struggled to find the words. You didn’t know what to do.

“Y/n?” Jenna spoke again, squeezing your arm softly. “Hey, are you okay?” She asked softly and you frantically shook your head as you let out a whimpering breath.“Who are those guys?” She asked, having seen Butcher and his friend at the table you were sent to.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. Your eyes opened and you wiped the tear from your cheek as you looked at her. “The one with the beard…he’s Willow’s father.” You whispered.

Jenna’s eyes widened as her lips parted. Your work friend didn’t know about your previous life, but she knew Willow’s father didn’t know of her. “Oh…” She whispered as her hand dropped from your arm.

You were silent for a second before your mind went to your daughter. You let out a shaky breath. “I need to go get Willow.” You insisted as you ran a shaky hand through your hair. “Please…can I take the rest of the day off?” You pleaded softly.

“Yeah.”Jenna replied with a nod of her head. “Yeah, of course.”

You gave her a soft thank you before gathering your things. Before leaving the diner, you called Willow’s school and informed them there was a family emergency and you were going to pick her up early. The second you stepped out of the back room, your gaze darted towards table two, eyebrows furrowing when you saw it empty.

You rushed out of the diner and turned in the direction of your daughter’s school which was only a few streets down. “Oi, Y/n,” Butcher called out from behind you and you halted in your steps.

You slowly turned around to face him and his new friend. They were leaning up against a dodgy-looking grey van, their gazes settled on you. You stood completely still for a second before storming towards Butcher so fast, that you saw his friend flinch back. “What the fuck are you doing here?” You snapped at Butcher. “Why the fuck are you back?”

“Comin’ on a bit strong there luv,” Butcher muttered in a low voice as he stared at you, unfazed by your attitude, just like he was all those years ago. “You’re gonna make me mate Hughie here think you ain’t like me.” he mused as he nodded his head at the tall and lean man next to him.

“Was me running away in the middle of the fucking night, not enough to make you realize I don’t want any part of this bullshit anymore?” You questioned Butcher with a huff as your eyebrows deeply furrowed.

He sighed as he pursed his lips, his head tilting to the side. “Look, I know things back then were a bit fucked-” He started but you cut him off with a scoff as you rolled your eyes.

“A bit?” You questioned his understatement as you quirked your eyebrow before shaking your head, spinning around and starting to walk away again.

“We have Translucent, Y/n,” Billy called out in a low voice after making sure no one was around to hear him.

Your body went rigid for a second, your chest tightening as your blood ran cold. You slowly turned around to face Butcher, eyebrows furrowing again. “You…what?” You asked softly, a slight shake to your voice. You thought you misheard him for a second. But the smirk tugging at his lips told you that you did in fact hear him right.

“We managed to catch the fucker.”He informed you as he nodded his head, crossing his arms over his chest, making his shirt strain around the muscle. “Frenchy’s working on a way to kill him.” He added.

You silently stared at him for a second before you shook your head. “I don’t want any part of this.” You insisted as you waved a denying hand through the air.

“That fuck killed your brother.” Butcher snapped as his eyebrows furrowed and he took a step closer to you. To everyone else he looked intimidating, even threatening. But not to you. “You ain’t want revenge for him?” he questioned.

You took a shaky breath. For so long, it was all you wanted, revenge for your little brother. But now, you have more important things to worry about. Like your daughter’s safety. “I can’t.” You whispered with a shake of your head as your eyes filled with tears again.

“Why the fuck not?” he questioned as a frown tugged at his lips, his eyebrows furrowing even deeper as he stared down at you.

“Because I have too much to fucking lose!” You snapped, your voice loud enough to startle Hughie again.

Butcher scoffed in amusement as he rolled his eyes. “Like what?” he questioned as he raised his eyebrows. “Your shitty diner job?” he asked as he nodded towards the small building of the diner.

“Just go, and don’t drag me into this shit.” You muttered in a low voice as you shook your head. “Just fuck off.” You snapped before turning around and storming off. On your hasty walk to the school, you send continuous glances over your shoulder to make sure the dodgy grey van wasn’t following you.

When you arrived at the school, you signed your daughter out and she was brought to you in the front office. “Mommy.” She called out with her usual toothy smile, her once adoring dimples now taunting you, like every other feature she got from her father.

“Hi, baby.” You greeted with a small smile as you crouched down and wrapped your arms around her, hugging her tightly for a second before you stood back up and took her hand. You walked out of the school building with her but barely got a few steps in when you once again were frozen in your steps.

Willow squealed excitedly as Homelander dropped down in front of you “Look!” She called out as she pointed at the supe, oblivious to the fear and disgust from her mother at the sight of the man.

“Homelander…” You whispered as he approached you with a blank look on his face, his hands hidden behind his back. Your heart clenched with fear and a knot formed in the pit of your stomach.

“Y/n.” He greeted you curtly before crouching down in front of your daughter, and in response, your hand tightened around hers. “Little Willow.” he greeted as an eerie smile tugged at his lips and his hands slipped from behind his back. Your blood ran cold at the sight of the pink plush bunny in his hand. “I brought you something.” He said as he held the bunny out to your daughter.

“My bunny.” She squealed excitedly as she took the bunny from his hands, hugging it to her chest.

Homelander got back up to his feet. His smile dropped as his gaze met yours. His eyes were cold and dead and his face blank. “Translucent is missing.” He informed you.

Just like Mallory trained you, you kept your heartbeat steady and your face blank. “He is?” You asked softly as you raised your eyebrows. “He’s invincible, how can you tell?” You asked with a shrug of your shoulders.

He softly hummed as he nodded his head, reaching out to brush his finger across your cheek. “You know anything about it, Y/n?” he asked as he raised his eyebrows.

Your eyebrows furrowed as your head tilted to the side, tilting away from his touch. “Why would I?” You asked softly.

Homelander’s top lip twitched into a snarl and he grabbed your jaw, leaning in very close to your face. “Don’t fucking bullshit me.” he gritted out in a low voice. “He killed your brother.” He reminded you as his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. That one incident was enough for him to deem you guilty of whatever happened with Translucent.

You kept yourself composed, so as to not upset your daughter who watched your interaction with the supe. “I don’t have anything to do with this.” You insisted softly, and that was the truth, but still, the supe remained skeptical.

“I hope that is true.” He muttered softly as he leaned into your ear. “We don’t want anything to happen to little Willow, now do we?” He asked softly and your lips parted as your heart plummeted to your stomach.

He let go of your jaw before flying off and Willow stared up at him in awe while you stared ahead of yourself, your eyes filled with tears. It took you a second to snap yourself out of your fear and you picked up your daughter, rushing her back home. You locked your door and closed all your curtains, tossing your daughter's bunny in the back of your closet without her noticing as you placed her tablet in her hands.

While Willow watched videos on her tablet, you went onto your Facebook and searched for Butcher’s friend, Hughie. It was a while before you found the account with the familiar face and by luck, his job was listed on his Facebook information.

You had hoped to find Butcher through Hughie. You knew Butcher was a hard man to find when he didn’t want to be found. And a man holding supe hostage, would not want to be found. You felt a little selfish wanting to seek him out now, after telling him to fuck off not long ago. But he was indirectly responsible for the whole shit storm you were about to find yourself in. And you would truly go to any length to protect your daughter. Even going to Butcher and telling him about her.

Taking a big leap, you got in your shitty old beaten-up Volvo and went to the small technology shop he claimed to work at. Your hold on your daughter’s hand was tight, still shaken by Homelander’s threat. One you knew was not empty, as he showed that by giving your daughter the bunny you had made her leave at home.

A red-haired man sat behind the counter of the shop and you approached him with a tight-lipped smile. “Hi.” You greeted him softly.

He looked up from the comic he read and a big smile tugged at his lips when he met your gaze. “Hello, what can I help you with?” He asked as he raised his eyebrows.

You took a deep breath and your tongue darted out to wet your dry lips. “Umm…I’m here because of an employee of yours, Hugh Campbell.” You explained to him as your lips pulled into a tight smile again.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hughie quite a few days ago,” he informed you with a shake of his head as he set his comic aside.

“Oh.” You muttered softly, feeling your hope at finding Butcher, deflating. Your eyes darted around for a second as you thought of something else and when you did, your gaze returned to the man. “Is there any way I can get his phone number?” You pleaded softly.

“I can’t give that out.” The man informed you as he pursed his lips and shook his head.

You sighed softly as you prepared yourself to stoop lower than you had ever before. You turned to your daughter, offering her a small smile. “Baby, can you go over there for a second?” You asked as you pointed at a shelf just a few feet away. Far enough for her not to hear you but close enough for you to see her. When she nodded and walked away, you turned to the man and leaned in a little closer over the counter. “Look…that’s his daughter.”You muttered softly as you nodded your head, Willow. “I really need to talk to him…to tell him.”

You could not for the life in you, believe how low you were stooping in your time of desperation. Claiming another man the father of your child when you couldn’t even tell her real father about her. How you were going to explain any of this to Butcher if you did manage to find him, you still didn’t know.

The man’s eyes squinted as he glanced at the little girl who looked nothing like Hughie. And then his gaze returned to you. “He doesn’t have kids,” he replied as he shook his head.

“He doesn’t know.” You muttered softly as you shook your head before giving him a look of desperation. “I’ve been looking for him for years.” You muttered as you sighed softly, wiping at the non-existent tears in your eyes as you lowered your gaze. “Please…”

The man stared at you silently for a second before sighing softly. He didn’t get paid enough to care and he didn’t know Hughie that good to care either. “Fine,” he muttered as he typed at his computer for a second before writing down a number on a piece of paper, handing it over to you.

“Thank you.” You said, offering him a small smile as you took the paper from him. You turned to your daughter, holding out your hand. “Baby, let’s go.” You called out and she ran over to you, taking your hand.

You were extremely aware of your surroundings as you made your way to the nearest gas station you could find, taking your daughter into the bathroom before pulling out your phone. You couldn’t risk going home to have this conversation, not with the knowledge that Homelander had been in your home and was already suspicious of you.

You dialed the number with trembling fingers and Hughie answered on the second ring. “Hello?” He hesitantly called out in confusion, not recognizing the number.

“Hi, is this Hughie?” You questioned softly as you ran a shaky hand through your hair, your gaze on your daughter as she walked the lines of the tiled bathroom floor to entertain herself.

There was silence on the other end of the line and you feared he was going to end the call, but then he hesitantly spoke up again. “Whose this?” he questioned.

“Y/n.” You replied softly before taking a deep breath. “Is Butcher there?” You asked as you closed your eyes for a brief second.

There was shuffling and soft mutters on the other end of the line before a gruff voice called out to you. “Hello?” Butcher spoke and you could hear the confusion in his voice. Of course he was confused, not too long ago you yelled at him and told him to fuck off.

“Billy.” You breathed out softly as tears filled your eyes. “I think I’m in trouble.” You whispered as you sniffed.

Butcher couldn’t hide his anger or bitterness. “Tought ya told me to fuck off?” he questioned in a low voice.

You sighed deeply as you ran a hand through your hair again, eyes briefly darting towards your daughter who was in her own little world. “Billy…look, I’m in shit because of you.” You told him, you voice giving away how scared and frustrated you were.

There was silence for a second before he grunted. “I’ll send ya our location,” he said before ending the call and a few seconds later, a pin location was sent from the unsaved number. You closed your eyes, placing your hand over them as your tears began to slip and you bit back hard on the sob that wanted to slip from your lips. You were backed up so far into the corner you had made for yourself. You knew you were fucked, one way or another.

#the boys #the boys x reader #the boys x you #the boys x y/n #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x you #billy butcher imagine #homelander

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