#i could watch him haul on those ropes all day

[turtletaubwrites]

A Good Catch ~ Part 1

✨600 Followers Fic Celebration!✨

I am so grateful for all of you! This has been such a wonderful time, and having all of you around to nerd out with, and to share my writing with is the best! Shanks won the poll for the next x Reader fic, and I hope you enjoy it!

Pairings: Shanks x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4367

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (End)

Ao3 Link

Summary: You are an unlucky fisherwoman having a bad day, until a red haired pirate captain offers to help you out. You're pretty sure he only makes it worse.

Rating/Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Angst, Teasing, Flirting, I feel like there's some romance tropes I could tag, but I usually just write smut, so please let me know what silly tropes I have in here 😅

A/N: I am having so much fun with this one! I'm doing my best to keep it to 3 parts, so wish me luck 😅 Please enjoy this fluffy first chapter!

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

“Now I’m gonna get murdered by pirates,” you grumbled to yourself as the ship crept ever closer. “Just fucking perfect.”

The windless sea was no challenge for the massive pirate ship. All you could do was sit with your pile of fish, jealous of the huge oars guiding the threat to you. 

Dread loomed as that jolly roger closed the distance, like an animal baring its fangs before it strikes. Crossed blades, and a sinister skull with red stripes over its left eye socket. 

You didn’t pay enough attention to the gossip and wanted posters to remember who was headed your way. 

Not that it matters. They’re pirates. 

It was too much to hope that they’d pass you by. 

A few voices carried over from the deck, until a tall man leaned over the side. His bright, red hair hung still against this stupidly windless sky. 

“Hey, friend,” he called, the sun at your back giving you a glimpse of his wide smile, even from so high above you. 

“We’re not friends,” you countered, crossing your arms to keep him from noticing your shaky hands. 

“I suppose not. You seem like you’re in a spot of trouble though, and we’re happy to help.”

His deep voice sounded so friendly. Genuine. Charming. 

He’s just trying to lure me into his trap. Who knows what they’d do to me on that ship…

“The sun’s getting pretty low for a small boat to be all the way out here,” he judged, trying to block the glare as he looked down at you. “I don’t think we’ll be getting much more wind today.”

“Thank you, I’ll be fine.”

His pause made your skin itch, wishing he would stop looking at you. 

“We can bring your boat with us. I’m assuming you’re from that village a ways to the west?”

It must have been a trick of your eyes, it couldn’t happen so quickly. But you swore the day inched closer to night faster with every second. You watched the light grow golden as it lit up the red haired man, and his pirate ship.

Fuck.

“I refuse to be rescued,” you choked out, nails digging into your arms. 

“Okay,” he said in an annoyingly teasing tone, “if you insi–”

“I’ll pay you for the service! I had a great haul before…”

“Sounds good to me,” he laughed, deep and hearty. As if he were truly happy. 

You had thought pirates would seem scarier. Maybe this is worse.

You barely heard his shouts  as men started to lower ropes down, prepping to save you. 

“You should know I’m armed,” you yelled up at the back of his head, continuing when he faced you again. “Anyone touches me, and they’ll lose a hand.”

“I’ll be on my guard then. I’ve been running out of those.”

You didn’t understand, or appreciate his teasing while you waited. 

~

“Welcome aboard!”

Pirates echoed the red haired man’s welcome, and you assumed he was the captain as the rest busied themselves about. He sat on deck, calm as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Now that you were so close, you couldn’t help but notice the rippled muscles of his chest and stomach between his mostly open shirt. 

Besides the cloak over his shoulders, he didn’t seem to wear anything that could mark him as captain. Unless his red hair, and three scars over his left eye… 

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he asked, moving to stand beside you. 

“The jolly roger,” you pointed to the menacing skull. “You must be the captain.”

“Good eye,” he leaned in with a smile. 

His smile should have a completely different word. The sight from your boat was nothing compared to seeing the way this man's lips curled slowly, the left side starting first as it grew, as if he was enjoying the act of smiling itself. And his eyes…

His eyes were way too close to you. 

“Are you alright?”

Concern broke that smile, and he called for someone to bring water. 

Your face flushed, hot to the tips of your ears. You realized that you hadn’t heard what the pirate had said because you were too busy swooning over his pretty eyes. 

The water was welcome, and you gulped half of it down, suddenly embarrassed about how fucking fishy you must smell with your day’s catch beside you. 

“Is there anything else you need, miss…”

Trying to catch your eyes, the pirate leaned toward you. He reached for your shoulder, and you jumped back, spilling water down your chest.

“I’m so sorry, love. I forgot about your warning.”

His soothing voice felt real as he went to a knee in front of you. 

“I do hope you will spare me my fate, I swear that no one on this boat will forget it again.”

He’s really too charming. He’s either the sweetest person in the world, or some sort of demon with powers of seduction. 

You nodded. It wasn’t like you could truly defend yourself anyway. The fear of being at their mercy kept you hyper aware of all the moving bodies around you.

“How long until we’re at the village?”

The sun was almost gone from the sky now, and you just wanted to be home. To scrub this stupid day away, and pass out. 

“It should be about three days from now.”

“Three,” you choked out, dropping the now empty mug of water, which he caught without taking his eyes off of yours.

“We’ve got some business on the other side of the island. We'll be stopping by the village to restock supplies before we head out.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” you snapped, voice louder than you meant it.

He just smirked, tilting his head.

“Sorry, love. Would you like us to toss you overboard? I don’t think you had many rescuers lined up.”

For some reason, you couldn’t get your mouth to remember that these men could kill you as you growled back at him.

“You didn’t rescue me. I paid you for a trip back to the village.”

His lips quirked as if he was fighting not to smile again. He looked down at your haul, fish still flapping in the net. 

“That is a really nice haul, miss. Afraid it’s not enough for a direct trip, though.”

Pirates came to take your fish away, and it broke the spell his irritating eyes had on you.

“Please, save this one! You can have it, just… Make sure you cook it well.”

The two men with the net followed your gesture to that fish, assuring you they would obey before taking it away.

“Why’s that one special?”

The weight of this long ass day hit you, a heavy sigh leaving your lips before you looked back at that pretty captain. 

“It was a good catch.”

He huffed a laugh, the clear amusement he got from your words making you simultaneously annoyed, and pleased. You were mentally smacking yourself for that. 

Don’t be attracted to pirates, dumbass. 

“I’m Shanks. I don’t know if you heard me before, but…”

Your skin flushed again, and he seemed to notice, a warm, evil smile slowly forming on his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know it.”

He gave a real laugh then, loud, and infectious. You had to remind yourself that he was laughing at you.

“What would you like us to call you then, huh? “Fish Girl?” Maybe “Fail Boat?” Or how about “Damsel in Distress?” I think I like that–”

You ripped your hand back as soon as you’d realized what you’d done.

But it was too late.

Your idiotic, suicidal hand had shot out and smacked him, hard, right in the center of that gorgeous chest of his.

The deck roared with laughter while you shook with horror. Shanks had looked down at his chest, and when he lifted his face to yours he looked stunned. If you hadn’t just signed your own death warrant, you might have thought his face comical, brows raised high, with his mouth and eyes wide. 

“Go easy on the girl, captain,” teased a tall man with gray hair, shaking his head at Shanks.

“Yeah, come on, captain! What kinda hospitality are you giving, insulting our guest like that?”

A whole group of pirates crowded around him, reprimanding him, and giving him a few gentle punches and shoves. 

Your mouth hung open. The sight of these pirates being so playfully disrespectful toward their captain didn’t fit in your brain. None of this made sense with what pirates were supposed to be like. 

“Fine. Fine! I’m sorry, miss…”

He’d broken away from his men, leaning toward you with that question. 

“Y/N.”

He hit you with a new grin to outshine all the others, making your breath hitch.

“What a beautiful name for a damsel in distress.”

You didn’t need to hit him this time, as pirates did the job for you, even throwing things at him from across the deck. 

Maybe it was the overwhelm, the fatigue. Maybe you’d gone insane.

But laughter built in your stomach, growing through your body, until you were shaking with it. You had your hands on your knees as it took you over, and the pirates around you joined in. 

How can pirates be laughing and smiling like this with me? How can it be genuine? 

Amidst the continued roars of his men, Shanks shook his head, gesturing for you to follow him. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll show you.”

Frowning at the back of his head, you followed through the wooden halls until he opened a large door, gesturing for you to go inside.

He rolled his eyes when you hesitated, before going in first. 

The large room was tiled, with lockers and showers, and there he stood in the center, grinning like a creep.

“I’ll pass,” you deadpanned, backing out the door.

“Come on, fish girl,” he taunted, “you stink, and I think you’ll be easier to clean than the blankets you’ll sleep in tonight.”

Blood rushing to your face again, your mouth opened and closed as anger and embarrassment fought to take over.

Shanks laughed again, but tried to stifle it. 

“Sorry, you’re just,” he motioned to his lips, mimicking your movements. “You’re a fish girl.”

“Shut up,” you seethed, leaning toward him. “I’m not taking a shower on a pirate ship when anyone can–”

“I’ll guard the door for you, okay,” he assured, finally seeming to take something seriously. “I’ll make sure no one comes in.”

Now his stupid smile was soft, small, and sweet. You hated it.

“Oh right,” you scoffed, “like I'd trust a pirate captain. Who’s gonna stop you from coming in?”

“What makes you think this pirate captain would even want to come in here, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, turning to leave.

He was so fast. You jumped back as he blocked the door. He saw your wide eyes, and moved out of the doorway so he wouldn’t block your exit, but he still leaned close.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Really, okay? I promise I will sit right outside this door, and not let a single person come inside until you’re done. There’s fresh clothes for you over there too. Whatever you need.”

A very fine trembling worked its way around your body as you studied him. It seemed like such a bad idea to trust him. 

But you were exhausted. 

“You’ll sit in front of the door?”

He straightened up, a look of relief brightening that serious face.

“I will.”

“Will you wear a blindfold?”

“If that’s what it takes,” he agreed with a smirk.

“And let me tie your hands behind your back?”

Shanks sucked his teeth as he leaned back. You had a second of fear as he started taking his clothes off.

But all he removed was his heavy cloak, revealing that he was missing his left arm. 

Guilt hit you, apologies about to pour out, but he held his palm out. 

“Afraid I can’t do that, but I promise I’ll do the rest. Is that alright, Y/N?”

~

This is really nice soap.

Still on edge, your body started to relax a bit with the delicious smelling soap on your skin. 

But every time you felt a moment of relaxation, you’d remember the pirate on the other side of the door. 

“You’ve gotta make it tighter, sweetie. Otherwise it won’t work.”

That fucking sentence kept tearing through your brain. The way he’d run his fingers across yours while you adjusted the cloth to blindfold him. The way his hair and skin had felt and smelled as you moved it into place. The way he’d rasped those words while he grabbed your wrist to guide you, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting his fingers trail down your skin. 

The way you had let him touch you without arguing. His fingers had taken advantage of the moment, but it had felt almost electric to let him.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself.

“Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Thank you.”

How did he hear that over the shower?

~

“What the hell is this?”

“Sorry, love, I'm afraid I can't see what you– ow, hold on!”

You definitely had a few red hairs between your fingers after ripping his blindfold off. 

The pirate captain got to his feet to meet your eyes, and fucking snorted.

“What is wrong with you,” you fumed, tossing the blindfold at his face.

The fact that he caught it before it hit him only pissed you off more.

“There has to be something else I can wear,” you demanded, pulling at the frilly lavender dress he stuck you with. You looked like some creepy porcelain doll.

His face was going as red as his hair as he tried not to laugh.

“I’m sorry, no one’s– we don’t have anyone your size,” he choked out, clearing his throat before continuing. “We have a few more dresses like this, though. They were supposed to be a gift for a princess, so you should feel honored!”

“Fuck you.”

His lips were fucking quivering as he fought his laughter. His eyes flicked down to your clenched fists, and he relented.

“Right, sorry, okay! You can have some of my clothes, you’ll just have to roll them up, alright?”

Very judgmentally looking him up and down, you raised your brows at him.

“Do you have any shirts that actually button up all the way? Or do you expect me to let my tits hang out like yours.”

Shanks cackled then, catching himself on the wall, his eyes even tearing up a little. 

You kicked yourself for saying something so sexual in front of a fucking pirate.

“You’re a funny one, fish girl,” he teased between hiccupped laughs, “but you definitely look like a damsel in that dress.”

You kicked the pirate for being such a dick. 

“Fuck, sorry,” he huffed, wincing as he rubbed his shin where you’d kicked it. 

“Follow me. I definitely wanna get you outta that dress– I mean into different clothes,” he almost yelled, warding off a slap with his arm. “So you stop hurting me!”

Practically boiling with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and fear, you let yourself be guided along. The lantern lit halls were roomier than you would have expected, and you could hear the distant voices of the crew. 

“Here we go,” he said gently, opening another large door. He went in first again, and you entered what had to be his quarters.

Of course. We’re getting his clothes. 

It was full of rich, dark woods, red blankets, a desk that seemed to have more bottles of alcohol than anything work related on it, and a delightful, almost spicy scent filling the air. 

The room was a bit messy, and you felt out of place standing there in that frilly dress while he dug through his wardrobe, tossing clothes to the ground as he searched.

“Here, love, how about these?”

“Do you have a belt?”

~

Managing to roll, buckle, and tuck at his clothes, you were mostly satisfied as you checked the mirror.

Even with all the buttons done up, you still had to tie his shirt to keep your chest from popping out like his does. 

“You almost finished? The party’s star…”

Those pretty eyes brightened when you opened the door. His little smirk made you frown, and he held his hand up.

“You were right, Y/N. This definitely suits you better.”

He offered that hand to you, and even in the warm glow of the lanterns, you could see scars, callouses, and thick veins that made your breath hitch for a moment. 

Your hand had almost reached his when he pulled away.

“Almost forgot,” he teased, his voice somehow lower than normal as he stepped out of the doorway for you. “I’ll lose my only hand if I touch you, right?”

“I…”

“Well, I definitely won’t risk that.”

He stepped further back, letting you follow him into the hallway. 

Your brain seemed to stutter, unable to join the moment as it flew through conflicting emotions. 

Like why it upset you that he wouldn’t risk it. 

Shanks moved in close, his spicy scent filling your lungs as you looked up at him. 

“Just let me know if that ever changes.”

He turned away after a subtle wink that made your brain short circuit. 

“You comin’? I’m hungry.”

Still barefoot without your fishy shoes, you chased that red hair down the hallway.

He really is some sort of seduction demon.

~

“Hey, girly. Is this jackass treating you alright?”

“This is how you talk about your captain?”

The older man with long, gray hair ignored Shanks’ protests as he looked you over.

“You should be more worried about him,” you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at the captain.

“Ha, I’m sure you’re right.”

He grinned down at you, before motioning toward the fire. 

“Come on, the food’s almost done.”

The crew had found a remote beach, and set up camp. Their camp supplies seemed to be mostly alcohol. 

Shanks had said they had business here, and that they’d go to the village in about three days.

What kind of business are pirates getting up to on my island?

The thought was pushed aside as Shanks called for you. Most of the pirates were holding their plates, or using boulders or crates while they ate. Captain Shanks had a dingy little table by the fire, and was waving you over. 

“Come on, love. Let’s eat, and find out why that fish of yours is so special.”

The day's events hit you again, but you joined him in a mismatched chair, and grabbed a fork. 

It smelled good.

“Here,” Shanks demanded, shoving a mug of some kind of alcohol into your hand, before standing and lifting his own to address the crew. “Here’s to our luck! We found an unlucky fisherwoman, and now we’ve got good eats. To Y/N!”

The sheer volume of their enthusiasm made your eyes go wide as you faked a sip.

“So tell me, fish girl,” he leaned toward you, the small table not leaving much space between you. “Why is this fish so special?”

Ignoring him, you focused on your plate. The way it looked and smelled was perfect, but you had to know.

He watched your movements, following along as you pierced into the flesh, bringing the first bite to your lips. 

It was perfect. Whoever had cooked it had treated it right. The tender meat and the subtle flavor were given just the amount of spice to balance it out.

It would have sold well. After all it took to get it, you were grateful that it didn’t go to waste, and tasting it yourself was wonderful.

Even if you were sharing it with a pirate.

“This is incredible, Y/N. You really are a fish girl.”

Letting out a sigh, you dug in, trying to enjoy the meal that had put you in this situation. The night was filled with the sounds of music, laughter, and endless calls for cheers, the clanging of metal mugs like the shifting heartbeat of this joyful crew.

“So, I had someone take a look at your boat, in case we could help fix it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my boat,” you spat out, wishing you could have enjoyed your meal in peace. Without this too fucking handsome and annoying pirate captain.

Shanks tapped his fingers on the table, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“That was the report,” he said softly, the teasing tone building slowly in his voice. “They did say that one of the oars is missing.”

“Thanks for the report,” you grumbled, watching the fire now.

“Come on, just tell me what happened. How’d you get stranded out there?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Your face felt hot, the fire not close enough for the burning in your skin. 

“Consider it payment then. For my clothes, and for my company,” he taunted, his voice dipping low. 

“I could do without the latter.”

“You wound me, sweet damsel.”

He put his hand to his heart, chuckling at your frown before chugging whatever was in his mug.

“It was a really good catch,” you mumbled, giving in. He scooted even closer to you, excitement in those lovely eyes, mixing with the light of the fire.

Shanks kept that beautiful mouth shut, just tilting his head toward yours as he waited.

“My grandma used to talk about her best catch. That was it,” you said flatly, gesturing to your empty plate. “She made me promise that if I ever caught a fish like that, I had to eat it myself, eat it with friends.”

“Don’t waste a fish like that on berry, sugar. It’s a gift.”

He raised his mug as you mimicked your grandma’s voice, and you brought yours up with a sigh, still just pretending to drink.

“I’m honored, then. Your grandma was right, that fish was amazing.”

Memories of her seemed to join you at the table, bittersweet, and heavier than you’d like. 

“Sorry, Y/N. You, uh… You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” you coughed, a hint of anger back in your voice as you fought against the prickling in your eyes.

“Well,” he drawled out, extending the word for way too long, “you still didn’t tell me how you got stranded out there with nothing but the perfect fish.”

Groaning, you put your forehead on the dingy table and blurted it out, as if you could make it not true if you said it fast enough. 

“I caught the fish. I saw what it was. It started to slip through my hands. I knew it’d sell well, so I didn’t want to lose it. I ended up tripping over one of the oars. I should have let it go, I could have grabbed the oar if I’d seen it slipping. But I was greedy. I wanted to sell that stupid fish instead of eating it, and now grandma’s probably cussing at me from the afterlife.”

Shanks at least had the decency to shove his knuckles between his teeth before he started laughing. 

“Oh, fuck you,” you huffed, standing to leave the captain’s dingy table.

“Wait, please,” he called, catching your fingers in his, and pulling you back toward him. Only to drop your hand as if he’d been burned when you met his eyes.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean–”

Whatever you might have said was lost in a wave of too many things at once. Humiliation over the whole thing, fear that these pirates could still hurt you, especially if you fell asleep, and the burning in your stupid cheeks because this gorgeous asshole held your hand. 

What the fuck is wrong with me today?

The moon was mostly full, so there was plenty of light on the sand as you walked away from the camp. They were so fucking noisy, but the ocean beckoned for you to sit, gentle waves like your grandmother’s sweet voice. 

When she wasn’t giving me shit, you thought with a laugh, digging your toes in the sand. 

“The ocean makes me feel better too.”

His deep voice annoyed you more than it startled you. 

Shanks sat beside you, but not too close.

Ignoring him did not make him go away. 

“What do you want?”

“I wanna make your shitty day better. How can I do that?”

“Take me home.”

“Three days on that one, love. Anything more immediate?”

Your plan to stay up all night was already failing, exhaustion dragging you down.

His eyes were so soft under the moon, the hint of a smile brightening his face.

“I don’t want to sleep out in the open with everyone. Is there somewhere… safe where I can sleep?”

Shanks nodded, looking down as he cleared his throat. 

“Of course, let me take you now.”

The ship itself seemed to be sleeping, so quiet with only a handful of crew watching it as the rest camped on the island. 

Red hair under lantern light guided you through those wood paneled halls again, until he led you to the guest quarters. 

“Here’s the key, and you’re welcome to shove this chair under the door knob as well. Breakfast will be at the beach in the morning,” he laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “It’ll probably be the afternoon depending on the hangovers, but you– Are you alright?”

He knelt at your feet, looking you over as you slumped onto the bed.

“How long were you out there today? Have you been drinking water? Are you…”

This charming pirate stopped himself from touching your forehead, and some insane, fatigued part of you reached out, grabbing his hand with both of yours. 

“I lied,” you confessed, voice quiet and close, his pretty eyes on your lips. “I can’t cut your hand off. I’m not armed.”

The slow smile he gave you now was your favorite, somehow making the light in his eyes shine brighter. Your hands reluctantly let go of him as he shifted, but instead of moving away, Shanks touched his calloused fingers to your cheek. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, sweetheart.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I am obsessed with these two now. What the heck. I need Shanks to make fun of me like that 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02

Part 2

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks #x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #one piece x reader #one piece fics #turtletaub fics #follower celebration #fic requests #mine #fluff #one piece fluff #shanks fluff #shanks fics

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss

"This is such bullshit."

"I know," Michael answered, his pleasant smile never budging. Gerry shifted restlessly at his side, glad that he had Michael's arm tucked in his. Otherwise he would have hauled ass hours ago.

It was fine that the person he loved the most in the world was tied to the Archives and the Eye, and he himself was deep in debt to an evil old bitch and thus also roped into the whole mess. He had accepted all of that. The day to day was decent, especially once he and Michael left at the end of the day to spend the night together, which he could easily call the greatest moments of his life. He could handle the field work involving dangerous books or people- he could handle himself, and had a reason to make it back safely. Even the occasional Institute drama that made its way into the Archives, he could deal with it.

But he could not stand being forced into a suit to stand around and please the Institute investors at some stupid fundraiser dinner.

There were so many people in fancy suits and dresses, crowded into the ritzy hotel ballroom Elias had rented for the evening. It was hot, and crowded, and Gerry could feel judging eyes on him, like he was holding a flashing sign saying "I Don't Belong Here". His shoes hurt his feet and his jacket was too tight in the shoulders and the food still hadn't been served. The night was dragging in the worst way, and he hated all of it.

The only relief he had was Michael, somehow looking perfectly at ease in the uncomfortable situation. And gorgeous. Simply gorgeous. Unlike Gerry, he fit so well into his dark blue suit, eyes bright and sparkling, hair pulled back so his curls spilled down his back. Gerry wanted to plaster himself to him, press him up against a wall and ravish him, take that sweet bland smile off his face and replace it with wide-eyed pleasure. And the knowledge that he couldn't, not for several hours, was unbearable.

"Ah, here he is." Gerry tensed when Elias pushed through the crowd, approaching them with a horribly delighted smile. A small stuffy-looking man followed him. "Gerard, it's my pleasure to introduce you to a former associate of your mother."

'Fuck you,' Gerry thought as hard and viciously as he could, and caught a slight wince from the Head of the Institute. It seemed that Gertrude's suspicions about her boss were correct, but he didn't have time to think about that. The other man, who's name he didn't bother to catch, was stepping forward with his hand outstretched, and he reluctantly took it, woodenly smiling at his enthusiasm.

"I'm so glad to make your acquaintance," he gushed, hand clammy as he vigorously shook Gerry's. "Your mother's passing left such a hole in the rare book collecting community. Elias tells me you've inherited her stock. Will you be continuing her work?"

"Not...really?" Gerry mumbled, feeling horribly awkward and deeply uncomfortable by the mention of his mum. He knew just from the way Elias was smiling that he'd done this on purpose, setting up this situation just to watch him squirm. Fucking bastard. "Not really interested in collecting them, exactly."

"We've actually discussed liquidating Mary's collection," Michael spoke up smoothly, tugging Gerry closer to his side and out of the grasp of Mary's enthusiastic former client. "If that's something you're interested in, we can certainly discuss the sale at another time."

God fucking bless Michael, Gerry thought in relief, slumping against his side. He was taking control of the conversation, saving Gerry's ass with his confidence, and that was so unspeakably reassuring.

"Oh." The stranger's face fell dramatically. "That's such a shame, Mary worked so hard to compile all those books."

"I'm sure they will be far better off in the hands of someone else," Michael said placatingly with a surreptitious squeeze to Gerry's arm. "Someone who is more suited to care for them than we are."

"Well, in that case..." A nearly lustful look slid onto their conversation partner's face, sending a chill down Gerry's spine. "I'd be more than happy to-"

"Um, Elias?" Rosie appeared at Elias' elbow, distracting him from their conversation he'd been watching like an engrossing tv show. "Gertrude has Peter Lukas cornered again, I think you should intervene."

"Oh, damn," Elias sighed as he turned away to focus on the problem. Gerry felt a hard yank on his arm, and let himself be pulled back by Michael, who dragged him away from the conversation before anyone could notice. Michael towed him to a corner next to the window, where the long curtains shielded them from the rest of the room.

"Come here," Michael whispered urgently, pulling Gerry close and cupping his face. Gerry eagerly shifted up onto his toes to accept his kiss, full of warmth and comfort. "Are you okay?"

"I am," Gerry assured him, sighing against his lips. "I am. Because of you. Thank you for dealing with that asshole, I never know what to say to guys like that."

Michael sighed as well, his breath gusting across Gerry's face as he touched their foreheads together. "I wasn't sure...I know we talked about it, about what to do with your mom's stuff, but-"

"You were perfect," Gerry assured him, stepping closer to wrap his arms around his middle. "I don't want it to go to him-"

"Absolutely not," Michael agreed with a smile, tucking Gerry close in their private little corner. "We're a good team, aren't we?"

"The greatest." Gerry buried his face in Michael's chest, rubbing his cheek against his smooth tie. All of his nerves had melted away, leaving him happy and warm in Michael's embrace. "I think I'll keep you right here for the rest of the night."

Michael laughed. "But we'd miss Gertrude tormenting Elias and Peter Lukas," he protested, even as he leaned down to kiss Gerry again. "She might need us as backup."

"She's fine," Gerry dismissed immediately, sinking his fingers into Michael's hair and pulling him into a deep and very-wanted kiss. He could keep Michael there for the rest of the night, just the two of them, their own private oasis all to themselves, to kiss and bask in each other's presence. That was all that he wanted, and he would take it for as long as he could.

#gerrymichael #the magnus archives #tma fic #gerry keay #michael shelley #doorkeay #rebelwriting

[bowieandqueen11]

Being Scotty’s Best Friend Would Include...

Request: I'm so excited you brought up Star Trek! I was wondering if you could do some hcs for having Scotty as a best friend. I'm such a big fan of your writing. I hope you're having a great day!

Oh my gosh I’m always here for a little Scotty love and it’s been far too long since I wrote for Star Trek! Thank you darling :)

Warning: mentions of drinking alcohol, and mentions of injury/needles! 

(I do not own Star Trek or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @whoophoney.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

I love my Scottish icon so much but since he takes on literally 100% of the stress for keeping this beautiful old ship afloat, he is on the brink of an exhaustion induced mental breakdown 24/7. Sometimes you have to go down to Sickbay and rope Bones into helping you; the look of panic on Scotty’s face when the two of you step out of the turbo lift and come literally sprinting towards him is something behold. With only minimal squirming, the two of you manage to rope yourselves around his arms and drag him down to his room just to get a few hours of bloody sleep. You stay, flopping down on his sofa because you know Scotty too well, and in two jiffs he’d be making a beeline straight for those sliding doors again. Bones even decides he can finish off his last bits of paperwork in the corridor, helping you keep watch. 

You and Scotty manage to finally come to a halfway point: he’ll stay in his room, but only if he can curl up onto the settee next to you, and fall asleep with his chin smushed against the side of your face. He has a massive crick in his neck when he wakes up the next morning, stretching his arms out past your head while you shake a glob of his slobber off your shoulder, but it’s worth it to see how bouncy he is back down in engineering. 

Sometimes when things are a bit slower on the Enterprise the two of you will have drinking competitions down in his office. Chekov happens to wander past one afternoon, and comes in laughing when he spots you desperately trying to hold back your laughter as Scotty wiggles his eyebrows on you. He nearly jumps out of his seat in a fit of giggles when you accidentally spray half of the whiskey in your mouth out over his uniform, but poor Chekov decides to wander over to your desk right then and gets most of it on the side of his face. 

To be completely honest, the joy the two of you bring to each other is so infectious, that most of the Enterprise’s crew seem to gravitate towards the two of you at one time or another. One night, you and Scotty were sitting in a couple of desk chairs in the recreation room, nothing but the pearls of picked starlight whirling in the open expanse behind your head to keep you company in the dim room. The two of you are trying to speak over each other, gossip and idle chatter passing easily between the two of you as you unwind after a very long week down main engineering. It’s a very chill, warm, and comforting vibe that Jim walks in to: your legs are slung over Scotty’s lap as you nod at whatever topic his mind has jumped onto now, and he stops every so often to over you his whiskey bottle and steal it back once you’ve taken a sip. Jim likes to just sit in the same room as the two of you, because the constant stream of familiar chatter immediately drowns out and calms the storm of anxiety that brews up slowly in his head.

This man has an absolutely abysmal sense of humour, and you adore it. The ship could be in the middle of an intense attack, sweat dripping down both your faces as you make a run to the engine, trying to stop a couple of the blades from spinning off in a fiery blaze that would destroy half the cabins. Despite you literally hauling his ass through a small shaft, your grip on his legs tenuous at best as you try to dangle some equipment out from the loops of your belt, Scotty decides it’s the best time to try and crack terrible jokes to alleviate the tension. Well, he says ‘tension’, but to be completely honest he knows how afraid you are, and it breaks his heart to think that he could die without even trying to help you. 

Well, he tries to crack jokes until the ship lurches sideways, and then you’re dangling from the railings around the engine while Scotty holds onto your shoulders ‘scooby doo’ style.

This man is seriously, genuinely, incredibly protective over you. He sees you as his sibling: the closest thing he has to family (before he gets close to the rest of the crew as well), and so if he finds Spock to be a little too... demeaning towards you, even though he doesn’t mean to be, he will 100% shove you behind his back. The incorrectly filled out paperwork Spock was trying to hand back to you flutters down to the floor, and Spock raises an eyebrow in measured surprise as Scotty’s fingers encircle your wrist. Then the pointer finger comes out wagging, his mouth goes off running, and you’re pretty sure you can hear him yell ‘go ahead, fire me! You bet your arse you won’t be able to find two better engineers in all the universe, laddie!’

Spock, frozen in place and confused with the interaction, just turns his head to you and offers an apology once Scotty finally cools down a little. Once he heads back to the bridge to recount what happened to an incredibly amused Jim, Scotty’s tight grip onto your wrist turns into a bone crushing hug. He mutters his own sincere apologies for letting that happen into the top of your head, hefting your feet off the floor and spinning you around, his face burning red as his chin bumps against your forehead.

He has this little check in he likes to do with you (well, mainly to check in, but also to tease you a little in the proper brotherly fashion.) You know you should probably run away when he starts slinking over to where you’re tinkering with your wrenches, with a sly smile on his face. He’ll come leaning against the wall beside you, running the back of his knuckles down the side of your face fondly, before gently slapping the side of your cheek a couple of times. You always do your best to try and poke him on the shoulder back, but that little bugger is fast as lightening as he ducks away from you and runs down towards the corridor. Sometimes Bones has wandered tiredly into one of the medical supply closets, nearly being knocked down onto his ass as you run past him with a little goblin grin and a big wave. He should have known rightly, as he opens the door, that Scotty would be hiding in here. Scotty, however, is incredibly surprised, and falls down from the pipe he’s hanging onto from the ceiling down onto a stack of shelves. 

Bones just sighs and heaves him up, his tricorder already out and scanning his head as he leads him down to Sickbay. He knows to get on his comms immediately and notify you because: 1) the two of you have this kind of sixth sense where you know when the other is in trouble, so you’re already perched on the edge of Len’s desk, immediately yelling at Scotty before the two of them have hobbled through the door. And 2) Scotty, like Jim, absolutely does his best to escape Sickbay at all costs and it drives Len insane, so he needs your help to keep him in his biobed. Bones does his best to stitch up the gash in Scotty’s leg as you loop your arm around his left and haul him back down. Between muffled swears, Scotty trying to jerk you off, and you patting the beads of sweat away from his forehead gently to comfort him, Scotty begins to ease into it. 

I feel like the two of you would be the type to try and tease Jim any chance you got. Say, if there’s some huge ballroom event held down at base that the crew all go to? You and Scotty are definitely on the dance floor, having a competition to see who can stand on the other’s feet the most, and waltzing terribly back and forth in front of poor Jim and whoever he’s currently trying to hold a conversation with. Eventually he just gives up, and the two of you are beat in your terrible dancing only by Jim and Spock, who he’s managed to coax to the edge of the floor and is currently just doing a slow box step in place around Jim’s arms lmao.

Sometimes you’ll head back to your quarters after a long shift to find Scotty’s bent over behind greeting you. Turns out, once he turns around in surprise with a sheepish grin, that he has spent his break fixing bits and bobs around your room. Eh, there’s a few concerning bolts scattered around your floor, and your shower now has an extra knob that you’re far too terrified to turn, but he’s so sweet bless his heart. He gets this massive, sunshine filled, proud grin on his face when you thank him for helping out, and comes clambering over towards you to engulf you in a bear hug. He has a hard time telling the people that he cares about that he loves him, so acts of devotion are definitely this man’s love language. He’s just trying to show you how much he cares in the only way he knows how, so please squeeze your arms around his waist and grip onto the broad expanse of his back, because it’s the best way for him to understand that you return the sentiment.

The two of you usually spend your shore leave together: either the two of you find a random, deserted planet and do your best to spend the time curled up asleep on the shore of a serene beach, or he takes you back to Glasgow to visit Fran since she loves you so much.

He pretends, fervently, that he’s not incredibly dependent on you being around, but bruh. If the plans ever need to change, or you receive a message on your communication device about an emergency situation back at Starfleet you’re being sent for, Scotty will act really mopey and upset for the rest of the trip because he truly misses your company so much.

#star trek #star trek imagine #scotty #montgomery scott #scotty imagine #montgomery scott imagine #scotty x reader #montgomery scott x reader #scotty headcanons #montgomery scott headcanons #star trek headcanons #star trek tos #star trek aos

[bimrsadler]

In Hot Water

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader/bounty hunter reader

Summary: You let Arthur go once but second guess your generosity when you find him in the saloon after a jail break. As he heads to the bath, you find that it might be the perfect opportunity to bring him in — or see where the night leads

Word count: 2,500

Warnings/tags: smut, mild fluff, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), d/s undertones, sub arthur, praise kink, dirty talk, language, enemies to lovers if you squint, arthur is a little shit but not for long wink wink

Notes: okay second time trying to post this, sorry it took so long but the format kept breaking when I added the read more, hopefully that’s fixed now. Anyway, my mind has a hard time not going to smut with this prompt lol so that's what I went for, tiny bit of fluff too. Thank you though! Fandom content has died down a bit but there's still some amazing creators around ❤️

The laughter and tall tales of boisterous men filled your ears, surrounded by a perpetual haze of smoke as you sipped your drink. You would recognize him anywhere, and all of the saloon became background noise as you did.

The outlaw stood tall at the end of the bar, stoic and minding his business, you watched as he kindly turned down the working girls to nurse the whiskey in front of him.

He left you with a “yes ma’am,” and a boyish grin on your last meeting after informing you’d let him go, but didn’t want to hear about any more chaos from the Van der Linde gang.

It was uncharacteristic of you to find sympathy for a bounty. The world was filled with bad people and those who hurt others — and Arthur Morgan had most certainly hurt others. But as you approached from the cover of trees and observed him putting bait on the line for the small boy beside him, your judgment clouded.

The world wasn’t black and white; you also knew this. There was tell of the gang operating with standards and you found enough reason to consider that perhaps some of them were only trying to get by. The scene witnessed at the lake certainly seemed to indicate that. Maybe it was better to give people a chance to change.

Jack (as you discovered was his name) was clearly enjoying his fishing trip with “Uncle Arthur,” and the only thing that could ruin that was you. Arthur ruffled his hair and complimented the necklace the boy had made for his mother before turning to see you. His approach was cautious — but polite.

He knew you were a bounty hunter and told Jack to keep playing while he spoke with you. You weren’t about to haul him in in front of the boy and maybe Arthur guessed this, but something told you it wasn’t right. Heavy emphasis was put on not being as kind if you heard of any more robberies however; Arthur indicating he understood.

Yet there he was, mere days after his cohorts sprung him from jail for “disturbing the peace.”

The bartender approached Arthur with the beer you ordered him and gestured your way. You winked and reveled in the faint “ah shit,” expression that came over his face with the realization of who you were.

“This you, Mr. Morgan?” The thud of your hand slapping his wanted poster on the wood of the bar caught a side-eye from customers nearby.

Arthur quickly grabbed and folded it in his satchel without saying a word.

“Thought we talked about this?” You placed a hand on your hip and raised your eyebrows while waiting for a reply.

“If I recall Miss, you said no robbin’,” a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t tell me no fightin’.”

Cocky sonuvabitch.

“I don’t like being made a fool, cowboy.” You ran your hand along the rope at your side.

“Never said ya were.” Arthur savored a drink before facing you with his hands on his gunbelt. “But that weren’t me,” he leaned in close enough that you could smell the beer on his breath, “it was Arthur Callahan.”

“Now,” he tipped his hat and grinned smugly, “if you’ll excuse me ma’am.”

Watching in disbelief, Arthur sauntered upstairs toward the bath, not once looking back at you.

A fool. You certainly felt it. In your two short meetings Arthur had made you feel a million things, all of them confusing. Enamored, curious, angry, and worst of all — flustered.

He was strikingly attractive and surprisingly gentle when he thought no one was watching. Even as he whispered sarcastic remarks in your ear, your heart raced with the thrill of a man like him being that close to you.

Whether or not he intended to, he charmed you. It was infuriating.

Marching up the stairs, you ignored the whistles of drunk men you’d normally put in their place. No plan had occurred to you but all you could think was Arthur had the upper hand and that just wouldn’t do.

A slight steam crept past the cracks of the wooden door as you knocked. “Need some assistance in there?”

Arthur took a moment to reply — from being caught off guard you hoped, “sure, sounds good.”

Hesitating, your hand hovering over the doorknob, mind racing with nerves. What happens next? He’s playing along, still not taking things seriously…

You clasped the doorknob and opened with as much confidence as you could muster, hoping he wouldn’t notice the hitch in your breath when you saw him. His broad shoulders rested against the back of the tub, well-toned arms gently grabbing the sides. You felt a warmth spread in your belly as you admired the water dripping down the curves of his chest.

You never expected to be alone with him unless it was while putting him in a jail cell.

Pushing down the unexpected desire, you crossed your arms and leaned against the door.

“Thought you was a bounty hunter Miss?” He cocked his head while running his bright eyes up and down your body, the drawl in his voice equally maddening and arousing.

The more he pushed, the more you wanted to bring him in. This back and forth was something you’d never experienced though, and much to your shame and surprise, it was fun.

You walked slowly towards him with authority. “Oh I am a hunter and you Mr. Morgan, Callahan, whatever you’re calling yourself — are the bounty. Seems you’re forgetting that.”

“Right now I’m just a man tryna enjoy a wash,” he asserted, but the nervous adjustment he made to the bubbles as you came closer did not go unnoticed.

Taking a knee beside him you leaned in and locked onto his icy eyes, “I could bring you in right now.”

“You could,” Arthur lowered his husky voice and taunted, “but I don’t think you want to.”

“Oh? That so?”

“Mmhmm. I’m as vulnerable as I ever been right now. You coulda drawn that gun on me the second you close the door,” Arthur adjusted to a sitting position, the heat of his face reaching yours. “But ya didn’t.”

Working quickly, your nimble fingers showcased one of your talents as you wrapped the rope at your side around his wrists in an intricate knot before cutting the excess.

“You’re right, you are vulnerable right now and let’s be honest; you coulda stopped me from putting this rope around your wrists…but you didn’t.”

Arthur was still now, save for his chest rising with heavier breaths. “Pretty good with that rope, Miss.”

“Oh I’m good at a lotta things.”

Before you could comprehend it, your lips were together and the massage of his tongue on yours sent your hips forward with carnal urgency. Patience was necessary though — your urge to frustrate and tease Arthur was just as strong.

Standing up you stripped slowly, showing each inch of you with drawn-out intent. He watched patiently, a dreamy and almost innocent look on his face.

His gaze turned hungry as you stepped into the tub, straddling his thighs so that you were just out of reach of where he wanted you most. Placing lights kisses accentuated with flicks of your tongue against the hot skin of his neck, you ran your hand down his chest, playing with the hair as you did.

His throat fluttered as he let out a soft groan, “you like that huh?” He nodded with his eyes closed in concentration as you continued. Your fingers danced tantalizingly between his bellybutton and manhood, teasing circles in the curls there.

“Bet you’ve thought about me a lot since the day we met,” you paused before wrapping your fingers around his base, stroking once to the tip. “Bet you thought about this.”

Your movement drew an unrestrained moan out of Arthur, making you wonder how pent up he was. “And what if I did?”

“Well I’d say that was pretty bad Arthur.”

“I…goddamn.” Arthur thrust into your hand with your quickening pace. “I am bad man sweetheart, you knew this,” he said with a breathy chuckle.

In your firm grasp Arthur was already twitching and fighting back expletives with each stroke, somehow forgetting that you were still in control.

“Well in my line of work bad men get punished,” you remarked before pulling your hand away and leaning back with a devilish grin.

Arthur’s chest heaved as he gasped at the sudden removal of pleasure, “guess that’s only fair…”

Leaning over him you ran your fingers through the darkened locks of his wet hair, breasts above his flushed face. “I think deep down you wanna be a good boy though, don’t you?”

He licked as lips as he stared up at you, “yes ma’am.” There was no hint of snark or sarcasm in his voice now, if anything the hushed tone of his voice came across as dutiful.

He leaned closer slowly, waiting for any protest as he hesitated. Receiving none, he took the mound of your breast in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue. The ache in your core was unbearable and composure crumbling away.

“Wanna use that smart mouth of yours somewhere else?”

“Oh I’d like that,” the water splashed lightly as Arthur lazily pumped his cock.

Standing above him, you placed your thumb and forefinger on his strong chin and tilted it upward. “No touching yourself. Understand?”

He nodded in agreement before inquiring, “can I touch you?”

You pulled him by the rope between his wrists to a sitting position as you placed your leg open on the side of the bath. “We’ll see…”

Arthur smiled up at you as he placed a tender kiss on your clit. His movements started slowly, testing the waters of what felt good and finding his confidence when you let him know.

He worked his warm and wet tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves, moaning into your folds as you tugged his hair roughly. “Is that good darlin’?”

“Yes you’re doing so good — don’t stop.” He pushed his tongue in further as you writhed against his face, rolling bliss moving through your core as you fluttered around nothing.

Arthur pulled away enough to plead breathily, “let me touch you sweetheart.”

You stepped into the circle of his bound hands and moved them up to the swell of your backside before pushing his head back to your pussy. Arthur massaged your ass with needy squeezes as he lapped at you, his hips rutting in the water.

Letting out quiet gasps, you attempted to keep your sounds between to the two of you with trembling legs. “You’re gonna make me come…”

Arthur gazed up as your climax ripped through you, riding against his tongue until the last pulse of pleasure subsided.

Laying back lust drunk and spent, Arthur let out a satisfied exhale. “Have I… been forgiven yet Miss?” He licked his lips slowly with a sly grin.

Stepping outside of Arthur’s restraints, you once again straddled him; this time with the lips of your heat on the underside of his aching length. Dragging yourself unhurriedly along him you teased, “I think you’re closer…”

Arthur stiffened beneath you and let out an amused huff, “I’ll say I’m close…”

The joking and almost sense of comfort that Arthur had in your presence otherwise should have bothered you, but instead it brought your guard down. Here he wasn’t intimidating or angry and you couldn’t help but give him an unhurried kiss, smiling and stroking his short beard.

Arthur let out small moans as he instinctively rutted against your already swollen and over sensitive folds, gliding with your slick.

Kissing below his ear you whispered, “want me to take you inside me?”

“God yes…”

You rose to observe the disheveled and desperate man underneath you, face flushed red despite the heat of the bath being long gone. “Can you beg for me Mr. Morgan?”

Arthur stuttered as his deep voice cracked, “ca…call me Arthur, please?”

“Can you beg for me…Arthur?”

“Please take me darlin’, need ya so bad,” Arthur whined.

Hovering above him you teased the head of his cock with your opening, “yeah? You want this pussy Arthur?”

“Jesus…yes, please?”

You took Arthur deep inside of you in one swift movement before stilling yourself to enjoy the fullness. You both expelled gasps of needed relief, Arthur’s cock flexing inside of you with each word of praise you purred.

One hand grasping the side of the tub and the other planted on Arthur’s sturdy chest, you rode hard, Arthur sloppily trying to keep pace while bucking upwards.

With each slam of your ass against his thighs the sound of splashing water and skin on skin filled the small room, Arthur’s grunts growing louder and louder.

You noticed his wrists writhing and straining against the ropes, forearms flexing forcefully. “Shit…slow…slow down girl, I’m gonna…”

Halting your movements altogether, you kept Arthur from his release. He held his breath and shivered, control barely in his grasp.

“You did say to slow down,” you stated with feigned innocence.

“Said to slow down, not stop.”

“If I recall…what was it you said earlier? ‘you said no robbin’. Didn’t tell me no fightin’.’”

“Isn’t that right…,” you paused and squeezed around the hard length inside you, “…Arthur?”

“’m sorry sweetheart, promise I’ll be good for ya.”

Unable to keep yourself away, your lips crashed into his, gently nipping while you rushed to untie his binds. When they were loose enough, Arthur finished the job for you; pulling himself free with a growl as he wrapped his strong arms around you.

He didn’t feel like your bounty nor you like a hunter any longer. Whether you would ever see each other again or engage in your game of cat and mouse wasn’t of concern. In that moment all that mattered was the fingernails digging into your skin, the hot breaths panting against your neck, the pleasure and the closeness. In that moment you were just partners, lovers.

Arthur bucked into you with an iron embrace as you gasped into each others mouths, his breaths uneven and sharp. “Fuck…’m close…” He was a whimpering mess, volume increasing with each urgent thrust.

Cooing in his ear you clasped your hand over the gunslingers mouth, “come for me Arthur.”

Pulling his throbbing cock out, you brought his release in the same way you previewed it before, rubbing your slick heat along the sensitive skin until hot ropes spilled onto his stomach and dispersed into the water.

The teasing and taunting culminated into the wanted man shuddering beneath you; his neck exposed to you as his head tilted backwards, lips quivering into your palm with primal groans. His intimate noises were muffled but powerful — all yours.

The moments passed with a gentler embrace than you expected and the feeling of tender fingertips scratching your back. Anxiety washed over you in the realization that you wanted to see him again, to know him better and enjoy his company. You found yourself wishing he would just be cold to make it easier, but instead he joked that he might get himself in trouble more often if it meant seeing you.

Eventually the two of you quietly got dressed, occasionally exchanging flustered glances.

“Just so y’know, I am grateful bout what ya did,” Arthur spoke with sincerity. “Jack’s a good kid…and we do ride with good people,” he paused before adding, “…well some more’n others.”

“I’m just trying to make a living Arthur, same as anyone. But I try to be fair.” An ache was growing in your chest at the thought of what would come next.

Arthur moved closer to you, shirt unbuttoned and hat in one hand as he brought the other to stroke your cheek with his thumb. “Y‘know, the way ya carry yerself? You might make a good outlaw.”

"And you might be good as an honest man, Arthur Morgan."

#nsft #pls let me know if the format is weird or anything is cut off #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x bounty hunter #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic

[aegoniiwifey]

hi bby I have a modern thot of our favourite big Daddy hehehe <3

Aegon was sitting in the large, oak desk in the study at the Targaryen family estate, reading through countless work emails that seemed unending.

"Daddy?" His sweet girl's head of silver peaked through the door. She wore a tiny pink baby tee that said 'Princess' in glitter, right across her bouncy tits, and a pair of stretchy white shorts. Aegon closed his laptop, a smug smile on his face. "Baby," His voice rumbled, "Come in, Princess, can't stand there teasing Daddy looking so fucking pretty." She blushed, and the sound of her knee-high socks against the ornate rug was barely heard as Aegon pulled her to straddle one of his thick, meaty thighs. "How much longer you have to work, Daddy?" She pouted.

He chuckled, his pudgy hands cupping her perky little ass, squeezing. "I'm done for tonight, babygirl. Daddy's all yours." She beamed, and rocked against his thigh, and Aegon could feel the wet warmth of her pussy covered by those tiny shorts. "Needy slut," He chided her affectionately, watching her tits bounce. He felt his cock harden, and he pushed up her baby tee to watch her tits bounce. "Look at that," He grunted. "Want Daddy to fuck you baby? Been working all day dying to see that pretty pink pussy stretched open on Daddy's cock." She whined softly, nodding, "Please Daddy-" He hauled her up onto the table, and soon enough her shorts were tossed onto the floor, and pushed her legs open, baring her slick cunt to him. "Daddy's hungry, baby," He rasped. "Hungry for baby's pussy," He parted the folds of her pussy, like delicate petals of a flower, to lick a long stripe up her pussy, groaning at that all-too familiar intoxicating taste, before wrapping his lips around her clit, making her buck and grip his should length locks. He couldn't wait, and he pushed his slacks down to his knees and freed his cock, the waistband just barely under his balls as he fisted himself once, then twice, before holding her legs apart and sinking into her tight, waiting hole, making her gasp. "Oh- Daddy-" She gripped his shoulders, and he growled as he began to thrust, her tits bouncing and her legs spread as wide as he could, so he could enjoy the lewd, filthy view of her hole clinging to his cock, and the bulge of his cock in her belly. "S'good- more- Oh- yesyesyes -Daddy-" She moaned, babbling, utterly drunk with pleasure as he moved. "My little girl- my baby-fuck-that's it princess-" He grunted, rubbing her clit with fervour as he chased his release. Her body trembled as she arched her back off the desk and moaned, as her cunt clenched around his cock impossibly tight, triggering off his own release, spurting ropes of thick, warm, cum deep inside her. "That's it, baby," Aegon grunted, pulling her with him as he slumped back onto his chair, his cock still nestled inside her. "Daddy," She mumbled. "D-Daddy-" "That's right, baby. You're all Daddy's."

this is not a want, it’s a NEED !!!!

pleasing Daddy after a long day at work, he’d want nothing more 🥵

#chubby!aegon ii #fat!aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen thots

[focsle]

Practical Jokes Aboard

On this April Fool's, I'm unpaywalling an old whaling history essay from my patreon about the various pranks fellows played upon each other. Here you are! Silliman B. Ives, a two-time veteran whaler aboard the Sunbeam in 1868, talked about the phenomenon of every ship having their ‘fool’ for entertainment.

“On board all ships carrying a large crew there is generally one among the company who by his awkwardness or want of sense becomes the butt for the whole crowd, the object of innumerable practical jokes, and a great source of amusement for the whole crew.”

The rest is under a readmore, since as usual there are many a' primary source.

On William B Whitecar’s 1850s voyage on an unnamed whaleship, that ship’s fool  was a man whom he nicknamed Kedge Anchor. Kedge had drawn the attention of all hands for his boasting of seamanship and long experience on the waves, only for it to be revealed in short time through his own ignorance that he had no such experience at all.

“His sickness, and ludicrous exclamations of “I wish I was on the steam-wagon again” (he had formerly been a brakeman on the New York and Erie Railroad), and pathetic entreaties to be allowed to die in peace, when desired to do anything, excited the mirth of all, no sympathy being tendered to him except in one instance, when one of the seamen offered him a pint of salt water, assuring him it was a cordial; a mouthful was sufficient to undeceive him, he spat out the nauseating draught, and the queer expression he wore on his phiz, and no less queer entreaty to take the darned thing away, were so humorous as to shock his auditors into merriment, and secured him against farther molestation.”

Seasick greenhands were often the easiest targets on the first days out. In one humorous exchange recorded by Charles B. Nordhoff on an unnamed 1850s voyage, a sick greenhand lamented the ship's food not agreeing with him. He went on to say that if he could only have a nice piece of pie like his mother used to make he’d be well again soon enough.

“Pie!” exclaimed the boatsteerer, “as I live, I am glad you mentioned the word. There’s a whole cask of pies down below, which was sent aboard by the owner, on the purpose for the sick ones.” “Suppose I were to ask the captain to hoist it up, and give me some?” suggested the sick man, eagerly. “You could not do a better thing.” “I’ll go to him immediately—he seems to be a kind man, and I will tell him how badly I feel.” Accordingly he dragged himself slowly aft, and there meeting the captain, stated the case to him, and ended with a request that some of the pie might be given to him, as he felt convinced that he would soon recover on such a diet. The captain, smiling grimly, explained to him that some unfeeling wretch had been trifling with him, and that pie was an impossibility at sea.”

A lack of knowledge about how the ship worked led to many a greenhand being advised by another crewmate to make such absurd requests like climbing up to the man at the mast head to ask what time it was, or to go to the mate and tell him to ‘secure the barometer’ and ‘ask him if the masts were working’. It wasn't just seasick greenhands, however. Any man could find himself fair game, especially those who fell asleep during their watch. One of the most popular pranks involved tying a line around a man’s legs while he was sleeping, and then working together to haul him up into the air. William Abbe once found himself at the rope end of this. He was a Harvard law student who had signed on the whaler Atkins Adams in 1858 ‘for his health’, and at times due to his education tutored other men on board in writing and reading. He showed a great allegiance to the after cabin, including a particular noted favoritism from the Captain’s wife, and could get quite self righteous about the behavior of his shipmates. This didn’t always endear him to his fellow foremast hands. 

“That night I laid down for a little while on my chest during my watch on deck + Shanghai making the fore lift fast about my legs, the rest of the watch bowled away till I brot up against the steps, taking in my passage hither an alarmingly sharp cut + twirling around in a way that would have immortalized a circus tumbler. Shang—the rogue—pretending ignorance + when I went on deck all hands were cooly singing — “Bully in the Alley” — + as innocent as so many sucking pigs—I couldn’t help laughing, though at first I was slightually mad. I am now waiting a chance to make S fast. Such tricks are common + all make common sport of each other.”

J.E. Haviland, greenhand aboard the Baltic in 1855, enjoyed partaking in this prank every chance he got, after having it done once to himself:

"After a great deal of trouble [I] finally succeeded in getting it made fast around one of his feet. I then went carefully up on deck where the other end of the rope was + 6 of us got hold of it and gave poor Matt what I call an after haul. To use his own words however he did not wake up until he felt himself strike the Deck right plump on his setdown. In trying to haul him up through the scuttle by his leg he got fast in the steps + then for the first time commenced to sing out bloody murder. After he got on his togging + came on Deck I commenced consoling him + he laid it to everybody else but me. This makes five times I have bent on him + I am the last person he suspects of doing such a deed."

Sometimes the pranks were a little more visually lasting, as Whitecar highlighted another joke set upon Mr. Kedge Anchor.

“One fine Sunday morning Kedge Anchor expressed a desire to have his hair cut. Here was an opening—and a conspiracy was immediately formed against his cranial adornment. One went to work and cut his hair. When finished, a dozen voices exclaimed against the barbarian who had put so outre a cut on his poor head; others recommended a little more off behind. The victim acquiesced, and submitted to the operation. A second, third, fourth, and fifth lent their aid in denuding his skull, and by the time the last had finished he was a picture for a painter.”

The captain often didn’t bother to step in to put a stop to such tricks, having other things to concern himself with than the antics of the fo'c'sle. Albert Peck, on board the Covington in the 1850s, described what happened when a whaler, nicknamed Duff, made his complaint to the captain about being the object of a prank.

“Speaking of duff reminds me of another little incident which transpired a little while before. One evening as Duff (not the cook’s duff but our Duff) was lying on the fore hatch enjoying an evening nap, some mischievous chap smeared his hair and face with tar. A short time afterwards, waking up and finding it out, he at first tried to find the author of it and failing in this he posted aft to where the captain and mate was sitting and began to make his complaint to the captain that some one had been tarring him. "What did you let them for?” “I didn’t know it, sir.” “You were asleep, then. They wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t been. Keep awake and you won’t get tarred. Clear out and don’t you come to me with any more of your complaints.” He could get no satisfaction either forward or after, and was forced to swallow it down, vowing that if he ever found out who it was he would serve them the same.”

Often times payback was handled internally in the fo'c'sle, usually with a deliverance of the same prank upon the culprit. From Whitecar,

“I remember one poor fellow, who prided himself much on his agility, giving us a specimen of the movements of the kangaroo, sweating and exerting himself for a whole afternoon, delighting us, as he supposed, with his farcical antics, until he discovered on his back a large paper figure in imitation of himself. He said not a word at the time, and sat down totally abashed; but ere long a paper Punch figured on the back of the supposed instigator.”

"We are constantly abusing each other in fun," William Abbe cheerfully recorded. Among such abuses:

"I have known Shanghai when on deck in his wilfull, mean spirit of mischief + coarse trickery - go to the forecastle hatch and pointing his breech down the gangway discharge such a tearing report that the sleepers have actually startled in their bunks."

“After sunset often all hands play “Whang O Doodle” round the windlass, or chasing each other and spanking—fast + terrible are some of the blows — and we are kept in a roar of laughter at the contorted faces and the rubbing with hands of the wounded parts.”

Regardless of how the decades stretch away from the height of American whaling to our present, the phenomenon of...a bunch of late-teens-to-early-twenties lads spending the dull periods of their voyage farting on each other and running around slapping each other's ass is Truly Enduring.

#awhalin

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Wayward Waters Chapter 2

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Hello everyone! Chapter 2!

time to have them explore more of the world!

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

have fun reading!

and as always reblogs are appreciated! (Also ASK’s are open so feel free to bother me!)

AO3 Link for those that prefer the layout there;

AO3 Wayward waters

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My first assumption upon getting properly on the boat was that I would indeed fit on the deck as an Ardua, three times even.

The second was that the ground wasn't as steady anymore.

The waves that gently swapped against the boat made it rock back and forth slightly, Arthur would probably have thrown up by now already.

I walked over the deck with Robin in tow, taking a closer look at the middle mast and the deck itself.

There were crates strewn about and some crewmates were tying them down to the ship with rope or lowering them into the ship itself through a hole.

Robin leaned so far over one that he almost fell in but I managed to snatch the back of his shirt before he did.

Having him on the deck properly again we went to search for Rikaad, if he was on board already he could tell us what to do.

I could shift into a giant, maybe I could help with the cargo somehow?

Thought that might scare people so maybe not, 

not to mention i was still hauling Robin's bag around with me while he had mine slung over his shoulder.

“Do you see Rikaad? Or even the captain? I want to now where to put our stuff”

The ginger shook his head.

“No, I don't even know who the Captain is! Ohh do you think he has an eyepatch? Like a pirate? Or a wooden leg?”

“No idea, I guess look for someone with the fanciest gear? Or like someone with medals on their uniform?”

I kinda doubted the captain would look like one of the pirates from stories, but then again I had no idea what to look for.

Continuing to look around we walked up a set of stairs, where we did find Rikaad talking to a man who wore a big dark red coat that had yellow accents and golden buttons.

Considering he was talking to Rikaad, that was probably the captain.

Rikkad suddenly turned around to face us,  as weird as it was that he knew we were there.

“There you are! Come here for a moment i'm going to introduce you to the captain of this vessel”

We walked over as instructed and he introduced the captain, who apparently was named Nemas.

Judging by his appearance, while still human, he wasn't native to Kamerasca and he had a face tattoo in the shape of a thorny rose stalk.

No wonder the ship was called Victory Rose.

“Welcome onboard! I hope none of you are prone to get seasick as we will spend a few days on the sea!”

Without missing a beat Robin replied.

“No, we left the one that gets sick back at home!”

the captain roared with guttural laughter.

“AHAHAHA good one! One less thing to worry about then,  last time I had a seasick guy onboard he fell in the water! Now then I'll have one of my crewmates show you your cabins later! We only need to tow the last crate and get all of the crew!”

He jumped over a railing to the lower part of the big deck and I could see from up here he was filling his lungs with air.

“GUYS! GET YOUR SHIP WIVES AND GET READY!  WERE ABOUT TO LEAVE HARBOR!”

That guy could yell loud, I should have held a hand over my ears, and what the hell were ship wives?

Whatever, I followed Rikaad and Robin down again to the deck where a sailor with a scarred throat mentioned for us to follow.

We did as instructed and the man led us to a bunch of cabins in the back of the ship, Rikaad got the biggest seeing as he was king.

Robin and I got one somewhat close and tossed our bags inside before going back on deck to watch the city get smaller and smaller behind us.

How weird, my entire life I had spent scared of being murdered in the city, and now I was on a ship to the trader islands with the king himself.

To Make sure I REALLY wasn't dreaming I pinched myself, yeah no, wide awake.

But still crazy to think about, so I just sat there for a while and watched Kamerasca get smaller and smaller. 

But I still made sure to keep an eye on Robin who clambered all over the place, ready to sprint after him should he even get close to falling in the water.

After a few minutes of that he joined me and we watched as Kamerasca slowly disappeared, talking about what details we could still make out.

At some point nothing of Kamerasca was visible anymore, not even the Castle and I had to admit this was a very fast boat despite its size.

Not that I knew anything about sailing though.

Since it was midday when we left it was only a few hours till dinnertime, I wondered what that would be like on the ship, did they also have a big table? Did that even fit in here?

Though maybe they would just hand out rations to the people and leave them to eat them on their own.

I did see a table in the captains quarter, though that one had been full of maps and other stuff I couldn't even name, Oakley would have had a blast with that I'm sure.

I decided to look around the deck a bit while Robin went and talked the ears of some sailor off about the boat and whatnot.

What I did find weird was that none of the sailors even batted an eye at me, considering my bastard status and pointy ears that was a tad strange.

I decided to talk to a few of the sailors out of curiosity.

As it turned out they just didn't care,  and had seen way weirder things on their journeys, they even pointed out the various injuries they had gotten from unusual creatures.

For example a missing finger from a horned wolf who had looked pettable for way too short and a chunk bitten out of someone's leg by a seadrake, as well as the sailor from before with the scarred throat.

The other ones told me he was mute which made sense given he hadn't made a single sound and the reason for that and the scars was that he got into a bar brawl with a tall and bumpy skinned guy that had possessed tusks.

Apparently the being aimed to rip out his throat with said tusks and I winced in sympathy, that must have hurt as hell! 

But he obviously survived, and when I asked how they told me their Captain had fought the attacker and cut his head off with the tusks still embedded in the mute man's throat. 

They brought him to a doc like that to prevent him from bleeding out.

What a wild story! And it was nice to know that according to them it was one of the least freaky things they came across.

They also told me they kept the tusks and they were somewhere in the captain's quarters.

These guys had quite the wild stories! And scars to match!

Suddenly a three legged gray cat with a blue bandana tied to its neck jumped up next to me and startled me.

The sailors laughed and told me the cat was named Smokey and supposed to catch rats and mice on the boat.

They had fished him out of the ocean in a bag and suspected someone tried to get rid of him like that.

The cat suddenly meowed with the most scratchy voice I could imagine, not even some of the hardcore smokers in the taverns of Kamerasca sounded like that!

No wonder he was called Smokey, not only did he have gray fur he also had a voice like he had gargled gravel.

“Mrechechech!”

The furball looked at me for a moment with weirdly yellow eyes before sprinting away to some crates.

“He's got good ears! Probably sensed a rat or something!”

For something with three legs he was pretty fast I had to admit.

Before anyone could say anything else a loud gong sounded from who knew where and the sailors all stood up and walked towards some carts that had been brought out by what I assumed were the cooks.

Suddenly I got tackled by Robin, who squealed in joy.

“They have a cat on board! And he has a job! Have you seen it? I wanna see it!”

I took a few seconds to recover from that, so he was aware of Smokey but hadn't seen him huh?

“Uh yeah i have, Smokey if i recall correctly? I think he went to hunt some mice? Maybe if you wait you'll see him?”

He pouted for a second before noticing the carts as well.

“Is that food on the carts? Do you think we are allowed to have some?”

Good question.

“Uhh lets ask someone first, they may have made extra somewhere for us so we don't intrude over there”

He nodded and we went to look for anyone who looked like they knew about such stuff.

Not finding one we decided to just knock on the captain's door to ask him.

He opened it with a sandwich in his hand that smelled strongly of fish.

“Ah hello there, can I help you with anything?”

He seemed confused,  probably thinking someone had already told us what to do.

Robin answered him faster than I could.

“Hi! Do you know where we are supposed to eat?  We can't find our group!”

His brain was all over the place once again it seemed,  but at least Nemas didn't seem bothered by the blunt question.

“Ah, I knew I forgot something! Sorry about that, I was busy with the maps! I think you can just go to the kitchen and ask, no wait you don't know where that is, eh, let me show you”

With hat he stepped out of his room and winked us to follow him,  fishy smelling sandwich still in hand.

I just shrugged and went after him with Robin right behind me.

He led us down some stairs not far from his door and showed us how to get to the kitchen.

It looked pretty much like a normal kitchen, aside from the fact things were bolted extra secure to the ground, like the tables and other working spaces.

Made sense, if bigger waves hit they would just slide around.

He organized us some bread and marmalade and then led us back to the deck. 

I silently thought next time we should just look for Rikaad.

We still thanked him and he went back into his own room, half eaten fish sandwich in hand.

How he could stand to eat something that smelled like that was beyond me though.

Deciding not to put crumbs all over the place we ate near the railing, only to have to flee to our cabins as seagulls appeared. 

So we ended up eating in our shared cabin instead, picking a feather out of my shirt.

The thing was still completely intact so I put it in the wooden box I took with me.

No idea what for but maybe someone would want it as a souvenir?

After eating we decided to unpack what we needed and I saw that the room had a bed and a hammock so we would have to choose who got what.

“Which one do you want? Bed or hammock? I'm fine with either as long as i don't fall on my face”

Robin shrugged.

“Uhh can I have the bed? Last time i went in a hammock i managed to get trapped in the fabric somehow”

Why did that not surprise me?

“Sure, take the bed,  but make sure that when we leave to check under it for your stuff”

He nodded and started searching for something in his bag while I hung my own on a hook on the wall and climbed into the hammock to test it out.

It was alright, it swayed with the motion of the sea which had a strangely soothing effect.

Grabbing my bag I fished out the medication Oakley gave me against the nightmares and took what he prescribed from it.

It was late and running all over the boat today had been exhausting, especially as I had to balance myself a lot on the unusually swaying ground.

Yawning and wishing Robin a goodnight I fell asleep pretty quickly.

I got woken up by Robin this time, which was worlds better than Nea as the only thing he did was poke my shoulder.

“Mhm?”

I blinked blearily at him.

“It's breakfast time! And this time I know where to go!”

Oh right, that was good, how long had he been awake for?

At least half an hour if he found that out already.

“Really? Good, gimme a minute i'll be right out”

“Okay! I'll try to find the cat! I really wanna see it!”

He nodded excitedly and weaseled out of the room, probably to go onto the deck.

Yawning, I stretched and then awkwardly climbed out of the hammock.

I really wasn't used to that huh.

Whatever, this arrangement wasn't for terribly long anyway.

I grabbed my shoes and slipped them on before following Robin up to the deck.

He was there staring up the middle mast with curiosity.

I went next to him and looked up as well to try and see what had captured his attention.

“There's a guy up there! What do you think he's doing?”

Looking up I could indeed see a leg stick out from a platform at the top.

Ohh what was that called again? Something Nest or so?

“i think that's the lookout, like the guy that informs people if there's land nearby or other ships”

He tilted his head like an inquisitive dog.

“Really? You think we could go up there?”

What? Up there? Quite frankly as interesting as that was, it seemed dangerous, especially for people that had never done this.

“I'm not sure if we are allowed to, besides that doesn't look very safe so id rather not, what if i fall? Or fall on top of someone?”

Falling itself was bad enough, falling on top of someone else was even worse as then I wouldn't even be the only one injured.

“Oh, you're right, and that does look pretty high up, so maybe not”

I nodded and he dragged me to where he last saw Rikaad, which turned out to be the same spot where he introduced the captain to us.

He was still there even, as well as the captain who apparently told some tale that happened to him sometime.

Man these sailors loved telling stories huh?

He was just about done with the story when we walked up the stairs though.

“Ah hello there boys! Hope sleeping with the waves moving the boat wasn't too bad for you!”

In my opinion it had been fine actually.

“Yeah it was pretty okay”

He saluted and then jumped over the railing onto the main deck again.

Rikaad looked after him.

“I do not think that man likes stairs”

Then he turned to us and before he could say anything Robin had tackled him in a hug.

To Rikaads credit he didn't even flinch, or even move a millimeter.

Instead of doing the normal thing and telling him to let go Robin was hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Right, Rikaad was strong, so it was no wonder that he just carried Robin like that while he led us to an empty but pretty big cabin that had tables haphazardly bolted to its floor.

On the tables itself which had strange indents so the plates wouldn't slide off was some food, half of which I did not recognize.

And most of what i did not recognize was some sort of fish anyway, well it probably was the cheapest and most efficient thing to do.

Remembering the not so good smelling sandwich of the captain I'd probably leave that alone though.

While I tried to choose what to eat, Robin had already run around the tables and grabbed random things, Rikaad was nowhere to be found once again.

I went to a table that was in the corner away from the other tables which had some strange brown blocks stacked onto it.

One of the sailors was sawing a piece with a serrated bread knife.

Deciding to be bold i asked the man what that was.

“What is that? Some type of bread?”

He turned to me while stacking some of the crumbly stuff on his plate. 

“Hardtack! It's basically made from flour and water and some salt”

The entire thing only had three ingredients? No wonder it looked so strange, but then what was the white stuff? Wait did it move?

“Uhh why is it moving? What is that?”

“Oh that's maggots!”

Replied the sailor in a cheerful voice and scooped some of them onto his plate with the Hardtack before walking away.

I tried my best not to gag and instead went outside, As an Ardua I didn't need to eat as long as I had sunlight and I've never been more glad for that than now.

I really regretted asking now but there was nothing to be done about that.

No wonder that table was away from the other ones, but why the FUCK would a maggot infested salty flour block even be a meal option?

No, I didn't want to know, but considering it was made from only three easy to get ingredients it was probably meant for longer journeys where they couldn't stock up on fresh things.

Still, eew.

I didn't really want to go back inside so I walked over the large deck again, looking into the grid covered holes into the holding room of the ship.

Through the sparse light I could make out lots of crates tied to the ship and I wondered what was inside of it.

Maybe I could ask someone? Or would that be rude?

As far as i knew the cargo might as well be classified or whatever.

That and most of the people were still eating, at least the ones that weren't needed to keep the ship going where it was supposed to.

Looking up at the sunlight I kinda wished I could just turn into my Ardua form and take a nap on the deck.

But I didn't know if the ship would hold me or not, but maybe I could ask the captain? He did call the shots here after all.

Where was he anyway? Back in his cabin?

Since that was where he was last time I decided to check there, politely knocking on the door.

I heard footsteps on the wood and after a moment he opened the door, this time holding an entire smoked fish, who at least didn't smell bad.

“Ah hello! Do you need help with anything?”

He seemed quite confused, which honestly was fair.

“Uh, I just wanted to ask some things about the ship? If I'm allowed to?”

He winked me inside,  waving his smoked fish around and I followed him inside.

“Of course! I always love talking about my ship! 

It used to belong to my grandfather but I inherited it because my father would rather work a sawmill for whatever reason,  but hey if something here gets broken he's the best man to fix it!”

I felt like I was in for a not that factual rambling.

“Oh that's nice, I just wanted to ask some basic things really, like how much cargo can this vessel hold?”

He motioned for me to sit on a chair that was covered in maps, 

which I politely set on the ground.

As I sat down I spotted a weird set of coat hangers screwed into the wall and it took me a second to recognize them as tusks,  probably the same ones from that one sailors story.

So they weren't kidding huh?

“How much can it hold? Well if you're smart about weight distribution that can be multiple tons! Of course that does depend on the crate sizes and how heavy the things we transport actually are!

For example if we transport cotton that's a whole lot lighter and easier to distribute than like Marble blocks!”

He stopped gesticulating with the fish for a second, biting a chunk out of it.

“Oh wait, I think I get why you ask that!”

He did? What?

“You do? What?” He slapped the fish loudly onto a random plate.

“Your king has already informed you of the thing with the enemy ships and since my dear Victory Rose here has a very large and flat deck that can hold multiple tons he asked me to bring you guys there! 

He also informed me that one of his men could shapeshift, which is why they needed my boat and didn't take the Royal fleet!

So by that I'm assuming you're the shapeshifter? Do you really turn into a giant green lion?“

I was taken aback by that information, Rikaad had just told him that? Then again he did say he'd like me for the intimidation factor and doing that one a normal boat would just make it sink.

And informing the captain that I would eventually do that was probably the only option to not randomly get harpooned, so it did make sense.

I just wish he told me that.

“Uh, yeah, yeah I do turn into a giant ‘green lion’ though it's called an Ardua sooo…

Uh the thing i was here for was to actually ask if i could shift on the deck? 

Like if i do that i can just use sunlight instead of food and also showing what it looks like in a calm environment might be a good idea instead of suddenly having a giant being appear while in conflict with other ships?”

He clapped his hands loudly and I flinched back.

“Brilliant! What a good idea to demonstrate so my sailors don't get a heart attack! Having them distracted during a fight would be a bad thing! Especially since a ship requires a lot of things at once to sail properly!”

Huh, I was just rambling out of nervousness but he thought it was a good idea? Well I wasn't complaining.

He stood up abruptly and walked to the door, I followed behind him still a bit taken back by the waterfall of words he'd used.

He turned to me as he opened the door and strolled out backwards.

“Got any more questions? Oh since you don't really need to eat as long as you can shift have you even tried the food on the ship? If so, how'd you like it? The cooks I have onboard are from all over the known trade routes!”

That guy could talk a lot,  even more so than Robin who at least tried to stay on topic.

“Uhh, i did look at the tables? But I did go outside again after I was offered what one of your men called ‘Hardtack’.

I'm not a fan of eating live bugs and the stuff was teeming with maggots sooo…”

Alone the memory made me suppress a shudder, i didn't want to be rude but maggot infested flour block was not something i wanted on my plate.

“Ah the good ol’ Hardtack, it's for the longer journeys! And since it's only flour and a little bit of salt with water there aren't many nutrients in it!

Maggots on the other hand are full of em’! So like half the sailors started eating them with the hardtack when there wasn't much else!

I guess some of them came to like it and now they are eating them even when we got other stuff!

Also one of the cooks figured out how to fry them so they taste even better!

Though i guess to a landrat like you that seem rather unappealing”

Ah, that made some sense? Probably? 

If they got used to it they were not as squicked by it as others i guess.

And the captain really did talk a LOT, which i didn't find always necessary but whatever, as long as i understood what he was saying it was fine.

I started to regret asking as he led me to the front side of the large deck but there was nothing to be done about that now.

Ughhh and only because a bunch of maggots squicked me out!

To be fair the sight had briefly reminded me of what I had seen in the forest so long ago.

I had basically kidnapped Robin back then and walked aimlessly through the forest where some weird multi eyed fox deer with tusks rammed a maggot infested tree only to have magpies swarm down and eat them.

Not a fond memory, and I still had no idea what that even was about.

I didn't want to anyway. 

Captain Nemas led me to the front of the deck where there was enough space and told me to just hang out here while he informed the crewmantes.

Oh, that would mean they would stare at me, Now I really regretted asking.

But my rambly assessment that it was better to show them beforehand what the Ardua looked like was still valid.

I wasn't keen on having someone aim the ships cannons at me because they got scared or confused me for an enemy.

Also it was a little funny seeing him run around in his captain's coat and hat and tell his sailors not to freak out when a Giant ‘Green lion’ appeared today.

He was talking as unrelenting as the waves crashing against the boat and chatted to everyone about whatever they were doing.

That took quite a lot of time, during which Rikaad actually appeared, which made me wonder where the fuck he was staying on the ship.

“I have to say, informing them beforehand what an Ardua looks like is a good idea, less chance of anyone freaking out and losing focus should we clash with the Maringand Boats”

I numbly nodded at him, while it was the smart thing to do I still wasn't really comfortable having people stare at me.

I didn't even want to talk about that as I was sure I'd lose my nerves beforehand.

So I talked about the first thing that came to mind, which was still the Hardtack thing.

“I guess so, did you see that they have some sort of maggot flour block called hardtack? After i saw that i just went outside again”

His usually rather emotionless face cracked for a moment, and it was safe to assume by the face he made for a split second that he did indeed see it.

“I have, regrettably so, seen it and then left the room just like you did”

Glad to know I wasn't the only one who had a negative reaction to it.

“Well someone did explain why that was there,  but a warning would have been nice still”

He nodded in agreement and I had a feeling neither of us would go back there today.

Looking past Rikaad I could see captain Nemas still running around, which on the ever swaying boat was impressive as he'd not once fallen over.

By now he had informed the majority of the sailors,  some of which just continued working, 

apparently not thinking anything much of it.

Hoo fuck, but at least there were barely any people gawking as i was sure my nerves wouldn’t have been able to handle that.

As i thought Nemas was done taking his mouth off at the sailors and came back over, waving at us as he did so.

“Well! Now nobody should freak out! If you're sure there's enough space you can show what your other form looks like! 

I do wonder though why it's green? An animal isn't a plant after all, 

then again I rarely see either of those out on the ship anyway!”

Tuning out the captain talking on and on I stood a few paces away and turned the gem on the bracelet that let me shift.

In barely a moment I changed into the familiar giant form of the Ardua.

For a second i expected someone to scream or otherwise be terrified but as it was no one gave really a fuck.

These guys were weird, well so was i.

The only one gawking at me with curiosity was the captain, but he was mainly staring at my back, saying in the most confused voice I had ever heard.

“Are those plants? On your back I mean, and are those dandelions? aren't you a mammal? Not a plant?”

I loafed like a cat on the deck to get more stability on the swaying wood before answering him.

“Well, yes that's plants, but I'm still a mammal, they just grow there like hair, I think they are meant to help me absorb sunlight? Not sure though”

He came a little closer to examine it in more detail,  an almost childlike wonder in his eyes.

Well, he did imply to have lived on the ship for most of his life,  so who knew when he'd gotten to see field flowers closeup last time? 

Just then Robin walked out of the ship, a gray colored cat in his arms.

When he noticed me in my Ardua form his face visibly brightened and he walked over as fast as he could without tripping or dropping the cat.

Strangely enough the cat didn't seem to mind as Robin put him on the ground in front of me,  instead opting to brush up against my elbow and upper arm.

It was weird that cats weren't scared of me, they had every reason to.

Maybe it was because I somewhat looked like a big version of them?

“I think there's catnip growing on your shoulder and elbow”

Catnip? Why that? And how did Robin even know what that looked like?

Oh wait nevermind that last question, but still, catnip? No wonder the tiny Felines still came up to a giant plant lion thing like the Ardua.

It wasn't that they weren't scared, they just wanted catnip.

I felt kinda disappointed by that, I had hoped that I wasn't so scary even in that form but as it turned out they just wanted one of the plants that grew on me.

But that was still better than them being scared so there was at least that.

I stayed as an Ardua for the rest of the day, with Robin sitting next to me or using me as a pillow while cuddling with the three legged cat.

The cat himself purred at the attention, Which considering his voice sounded terribly scratchy and stopped at random intervals to pick back up stutteringly a moment later.

The sailors for the most part were only mildly distracted, not really caring somehow about the, who even knew how tall, Ardua next to them on the deck.

The only one that complained was someone that needed to move a heavier crate where I was in the way.

That was solved by standing up for a bit and letting me shove it through under myself.

While sunning myself I heard some of the sailors tell more stories, some of them even about sea monsters.

Huh, i wondered if there were any sea monsters in these waters, I hoped not.

Though it was really strange that no one batted an eye at me unless I was in the way, so I decided to ask Nemas the next time he came within earshot.

“Nemas! I have a question, could you come over here for a second?” He walked over to me at a brisk pace and tugged at his coat when it got snagged by the corner of a crate.

“What is it? Don't tell me you got seasick! That would be bad! Or is-”

I interrupted him before he talked even more again.

“No, I'm fine! Really! I just wanted to ask how you and your men are so indifferent? I guess? About a literary Giant with claws on your boat, i mean anyone else would be pretty afraid”

He tilted his head for a moment and I could see his tattoo in great detail.

“Well, we aren't afraid of you because you really can't do anything to us without also dooming yourself.

You don't know much about ships, and a big one like this needs many people to keep going, on top of that if you even where to destroy it then you'd be stuck in the middle of the ocean and drown.

So we don't really have any reason to be afraid, if you fuck us over then you're also absolutely screwed!”

Oh, well, he was right about that, if anything happened to the boat I'd just go down with it, and that would suck.

So really, they didn't have reason to believe I would do that, I didn't know shit about boats anyway.

Then Nemas pointed at the cat who was laying on top of a sleepy Robin.

“Also Smokey doesn't seem to have anything against you! And thus far he's always hissed at shady people!”

Huh, id better not mention the catnip then?

Probably better if I didn't. 

Though if their bar was, cant fuck us over without dooming themselves and the judgement of a three legged cat they might run into big trouble someday.

Though they also agreed to let us on board to fight other ships.

These guys were weird, though I had not much room to talk in that regard.

It wasn't too long after that the sun went down so I shifted back to the human sized one much to the dismay of Robin and the cat who now had no more catnip.

To be fair he had chewed a good chunk off my elbow so there was bound to be some on the ground.

I gave him a friendly pat on the head and then left for my quarters with a tired Robin behind me.

How he was tired after doing basically nothing was a mystery to me, though maybe he'd run around the inside of the ship while I had shifted.

Whatever, I went to my hammock and used the rest of the daylight to try and read something Rikaad had lent me to help me get better at reading.

It was a book about how to write neatly and legibly, of course he'd pick something like that for me.

The book itself was incredibly boring, so much so that I fell asleep before it got properly dark.

The next time I woke up was because I got flung out of the hammock and face first onto the floor.

What the fuck?-

“Ouch!”

The book that was previously on my lap landed on my head.

I tossed the thing to the side before standing up with a pounding head.

Only to fall over immediately again.

Getting my senses back in order I noticed that the entire floor was tilting left and right like mad, making balancing a nightmare.

Then I heard it, loud waves crashing against wood and the heavy pitter of rain.

A storm!

The ship tilted heavily to the left and I slid on the wooden floor into the table.

Ugh, good thing it was bolted down to the floor.

I looked over to where Robin's bed was only to find it empty.

What? Where was he?

I fell over again to the other side into the wall,  the book I had tossed earlier colliding with my leg.

Grabbing at the wall i stood back up again, trying to see if Robin was anywhere else in the small room.

He wasn't there.

Why? It had been late, He should be here sleeping?

Wait, his bed was anchored to the floor,  and thus would have noticed the crazy waves sooner than me!

He must have gone out to ask what was going on!

Oh no, oh no OH NO

I stumbled out the door and went along the little walkspace that led to the cabins, trying to get to the outside door without falling over too much.

At one point shortly before I reached the door the entire ship went sideways, making me slam into what was previously the wall.

That would leave bruises for sure.

Then the gravity went back again,  and this time I slammed into the actual floor.

I was now VERY glad they kept everything bolted down.

I managed to get to the stairs only to slam into them as the ship dipped forward, but I managed to catch myself with my shoulder instead of face.

Not bothering to stand up here as I would just fall again I crawled up on all fours, only stumbling twice.

When I reached the top I grabbed the doorknob, holding on for dear life as another wave hit the ship, making the door slam open and me into the adjacent wall while holding on like mad.

Swinging around I could actually look outside, well look was a bit much.

There was a LOT of rain, so much so that I could only make out what was there up to the middle mast of the ship.

Fuck, i hoped Robin was only on the other side somewhere and not in the ocean.

Maybe he was lucky and managed to shelter in the dining room.

I heard a strange strangled and scratchy yowl then, something that definitely wasn't human.

Looking around I saw nothing at first, and over the tosing water it was hard to make out where the noise came from.

Then I heard it again and managed to somewhat pinpoint where it Originated from.

It was the gray cat! He was tangled in a spare rope that had tied itself around the first mast!

Oh fuck! The poor thing!

Against better judgment and survival instincts I went out to the deck to try and get him.

I grabbed another rope that was used to tether a crate that was long since gone now and used it to not fall overboard when the ship tilted.

I slid around horribly and sometimes the waves crashed over the railing, dousing me and making it extremely hard to get to the cat.

I reached him eventually after a big wave drenched us both even more.

I untied him as best as I could in the ever shifting environment while I tried not to slide around too much while also holding onto the rope I had picked up.

I managed to untie him after fumbling around and he still clung to a part of the rope. 

I grabbed him with one arm and held him against my chest where he immediately dug the claws of his remaining front leg in.

That was fine, as long as I got him to safety.

I was thrown over on my ass as another wave hit the ship,  making it jerk suddenly.

While falling over I could see a bit more of the latter half of the ship as I was now closer than before.

My heart stopped for a second as I saw a familiar redhead hold onto another familiar form that was tethered by a rope to who knew what.

Why were Rikaad and Robin out here???  

I couldn't go over though, I still held the cat, so I got as close to the open door as I could and tried to stay steady, which was an incredibly hard task.

I grabbed the cat that was clinging onto me for dear life and then, as mean as it was, tossed him down the stairs into the ship so he wouldn't fall off the boat into the ocean in this storm.

I looked back again to where I last saw the other two, noticing there were some sailors as well struggling to close the main sail.

Oh, that's why there were people out, they needed to close the sail!

Another wave hit the ship, making me stumble.

I watched in horror as the rope Rikaad was tied to while holding Robin suddenly snapped, making them slide over the deck.

To my great relief Rikaad managed to hold onto the railing and Robin at the same time, now they just had to get away from there!

They tried to make their way inside, using the rail as an anchor to try and stay upright while they walked as water sloshed heavily over the boat, threatening to make them slip with each step if they weren’t careful. 

The floor lurched beneath them for a moment as another wave hit the side of the ship, but thankfully they were able to keep their grip on the rail while the sailors continued to try and pull the sail.

Then another wave hit and I was flushed over the railing in a rush of water, banging against the side of the ship as I dangled from the rope.

Only to be hit by another wave that transported me back onto the ship barely a second later.

that was terrifying as fuck, never again please.

There was a loud boom and lightning hit the middle mast, breaking it and making it tip over.

Right to where Rikaad and Robin were!

Oh no!

Without thinking I let go of the rope and sprinted over the deck towards them, not caring about the slickness of the wood.

While I ran as fast as I could I twisted the gem on the bracelet to turn into the Ardua form and dashed forward to stop the heavy wooden pole from falling on top of them.

Instead the thing crashed on top of me.

I slid from the sudden weight and when another big wave hit the boat I was swept over the side into the cold water.

I resurfaced only to have the broken mast hit me square on the head, dragging me under from the force.

At that point my body decided it had taken enough damage to warrant blacking out, which I promptly did as I sank under the waves.

NEXT / PREVIOUS / OVERSIGHT

#sstc #lizards writing #vore story #g/t vore #g/t story #giant/tiny #extreme cuddling #original characters #original character #original story #Ardua #Kamerasca #Maringand #Barmea #Ship #still subject to change

[doctorhelena]

You know what I'm going to ask 😅 Battle of the Blades !

(For this WIP game)

Okay, this might not be quite what you're thinking (or maybe it is! 😂)

This story is a gift for @teaandatale, and is an AU where Peggy, the captain of the Canadian national women's ice hockey team (a dual Canadian-British citizen) and Steve, an Olympic gold-medal winning pairs skater (with partner Natasha), are paired up as a figure skating duo on the Canadian competitive reality show Battle of the Blades (which is kind of like Dancing with the Stars on ice, but with the pairs consisting of one world-class figure skater and one professional and/or national team hockey player.)

I posted a preview of the beginning here, and here’s an excerpt from later in the story:

An hour later, what Peggy had was both a fervent wish that her first day in figure skates was not being filmed for posterity, and a deep annoyance with Steve that she knew deep down was entirely due to her hatred of feeling incompetent. She lost focus for a second, somehow forgot she wasn’t in hockey skates, and hit the ice again, wincing as she landed on the already-forming bruise on her left knee. Steve reached down and hauled her up by the elbow. “Toepick,” he reminded her, helpfully. She glared at him. “You’re doing great, Peg! Just remember not to lean forward,” said Rose encouragingly. Peggy had the sudden, entirely uncharitable, urge to punch her. Instead, she took a deep breath, set her shoulders, and set off again. This time she managed to get all the way across the rink and most of the way back before she caught a toepick at full speed. As she flew through the air, calmly preparing to duck and roll when she hit the boards, she collided very unexpectedly with Steve, who’d sped forward and executed a rather hockey-like tight turn in an attempt to intercept her.  He did, it had to be said, break her fall. “I was fine, Rogers,” she said, irritated, as she rolled off him. “You must realize I’ve crashed into the boards plenty of times.” She expected him to point out that she was normally wearing a full set of hockey gear, including, crucially, a helmet - but instead, he simply made a quietly pained noise and curled in on himself. Peggy frowned, leaning down, as he made no move to get up. Rose hurried over looking alarmed, then winced, coming to the realization of what had happened at the same moment Peggy did. “Oh.”  Peggy turned to Rose. “Do - male figure skaters not wear athletic cups? I would have thought - ” Rose shook her head. “Nope.” She shrugged. “If they’re wearing a tight costume, they’ll wear a dance belt to, you know,” she gestured, “keep everything in place. But those don’t offer any protection from impact. That’s not usually - necessary in figure skating.” Her lips twitched slightly. “Ah,” said Peggy, hoping the redness on her cheeks was at a level that could be explained by exertion in the chilly air of the arena. They were still, after all, on camera - although thankfully, Battle of the Blades was a classier sort of reality show, giving her some hope that they might not choose to air this particular moment. Or, at the very least, might not linger on it. Steve carefully sat up, still rather hunched over but, encouragingly, not in the fetal position anymore. “I’m right here, you know.” He cleared his throat, his own face a little red. “Didn’t think you’d go straight for the five hole on the first day, Carter.” “Yes, I suppose it was a little forward of me,” she told him. They shared a grin, and despite herself Peggy found herself entirely unable to tear her gaze away from his for a long moment.   She was rescued, again, by Phillips, who’d skated over to join them. “Walk it off, Rogers. It won’t kill you,” he ordered briskly, then watched with an elaborately pained expression as Peggy held out a hand to help Steve to his feet. “How the hell did I get roped into this? I almost miss Romanoff.”   “Lost a bet?” suggested Rose helpfully. Phillips gave her a baleful look. “All right, Carter.” He narrowed his eyes at Peggy. “You know how to skate, and you know the toepick is there by now, so for crying out loud, stop tripping over it. And Rogers, for God’s sake, she’s a hockey player, not a crystal vase.” He glowered at them both. “I need to see you both, arm in arm, gliding beautifully around the ice now. We only have four weeks until the first episode, and I’m telling you right now, neither of you wants to make me cry.”

#wip game #my fic #steggy #beautifulwhensarcastic #thanks for the ask! #oh and the five hole is the space between the goalie's legs and the ice through which you can sometimes score a goal

[officialleehadan]

Hell's Comin' With Me

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Glenn! Darling, thank you so much for your support all these years. I hope you love it!

Prompt: THIS SONG +++

“I told you that Hell would come with me when I came back to this town.”

Wrath looked out over the burning town and sipped at the cold-beaded beer in his hand. The glass was icy against his lips in contrast to the inferno that screamed for the sky below him. He had returned to the place that he died once before.

He had a different name once. A real name, spoken by his family. Spoken by his friends. Known by the people he loved. His sister was the closest of them. Sweet and just barely ten, and an angel to the whole town. She was the last one to speak his name before he died, held back between their parents, both bloodied and weeping for trying to reach him in time.

They were gone already. Some had scattered after his murder, unable to save him and unwilling to stay. Others had died since his unceremonious departure. It had been years, after all. He was barely a teenager when he died, although he didn’t look the part anymore.

Mind, he wasn’t human anymore either, but that was a different matter.

The priest beside him had a rope around his neck, slung over the same heavy branch Wrath himself had hung from. The rope was just tight enough to keep the evil man dancing on his toes, fighting for air. He had hurt dozens, maybe hundreds of good people. Used his position as the leader of the local church to force money out of the pockets of those who didn’t have enough as it was. Took what he wanted form the community, and threatened the wrath of his patron god if any refused.

How funny to think that wrath had been his weapon, and now Wrath would be his death.

“Who-” the priest gasped between stolen breaths. “Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me?” Wrath asked without looking at him. The grand church was burning, lit from within by hellfire so hot that the great bronze bell was melting away under the heat. Wrath could just barely see it from his place on the hill. “I suppose I’m not surprised. It was a long time ago. Took me a while to get topside again.”

“W-what?”

Wrath chuckled, a sound too deep and too echoing for the voice he carried as a human. Hellfire showed there too, in the low, warning crackle of a fire before ignition.

“You sent me to hell, Priest,” he said, and gave the rope in his hand a little tug. Townsfolk were starting to gather at the base of the hill as they had when he was murdered. “You had your thugs beat me until I was broken. You whipped me after, when I couldn’t fight. You hauled me up on this very tree with a rope around my neck, just like this one. And then, when I was too weak to stand, you watched me die by inches.”

He didn’t remember much of that day, if he was being honest. Between the beating and the whipping and the hanging, he had been in a haze of pain that stole his mind away.

But the priest’s face, ah, that he remembered true and clear.

The fire raged on down in town. Rocks exploded into shards that scattered themselves on the road nearby. The bell slowly dripped off the steel chain that held it aloft, and the spire turned into a blazing volcano as the steep, mortared rocks channeled the fire up from below.

But strangely, not a single spark touched the buildings around the church. The dry thatch didn’t so much as smoke even close enough to almost touch the licking flames. The old wood held strong against the impossible fire.

Wrath’s vengeance was not for the frightened people who tried to save him, nor for the ones who hadn’t even been in town when he was murdered. He spent a week wandering the streets of the town where he was born, seeking for anyone he once knew, to warn them that Wrath had come for his vengeance at last.

All he found were blank faces of people he never knew, who thought him nothing more than a quiet-spoken drifter who went a little too heavy-armed for a town like theirs. The local toughs watched him warily. The local constable caught his eye and raised a brow, but didn’t say a word.

So they were innocent of his murder, and likely of the murders that surely followed his own. The dirt below him was dark, but Wrath could feel layer upon layer of blood spilled there. He could see the shackle-marks that cut into the bark where poor souls, his own included, were chained to be whipped.

“I went to Paradise first,” he continued as the priest choked and swayed behind him, up on his toes, but not quite clear of the ground. “I got to the gates and they opened for me. It’s beautiful. Nothing but green pastures and gentle forests and little rivers just deep enough to splash in. Hell’s not so nice, but if you’ve got business that needs attending-to, it’s the place to go.”

That part, he did remember. Fighting his way through Hell’s ranks with the gun and sword that appeared in his hands when he reached for them. Cutting through the demons until he found someone in charge. Killing them too, until he caught the attention of those who truly had some power.

By then he had some power of his own too, so when he laid a challenge at the feet of a greater demon, well, he got an answer.

It was a hard fight, but when you got nothing to live for and everything to die for, you win that fight no matter what it costs.

So on he went, challenging and winning, until he finally reached the feet of the Dukes who ruled Hell.

The deal he cut with them, well, his mother had even a seamstress and she made sure he knew to haggle every copper he spent.

Now he walked the world again, with hellfire where his soul used to be, and a command of powers that even a great cleric of the High Gods would balk to fight.

Not that he would bother them, as long as they were the good sort.

Of course, if they were the bad sort, well, there was a reason he gave his long-lost name and took Wrath in its place. He could wander as long as he liked, as long as he paid tribute to the demons he dealt with. They liked evil souls, particularly the ones protected by a god they couldn’t fight alone. Wrath wasn’t quite a demon, and wasn’t quite a man, and he sold his soul and plenty more to kill the priest who tormented too many good people.

He didn’t mind spending a small eternity hunting out more priests just like the one dying at his back. He had a knack for violence and a taste for wrath.

“Turns out the greatest demons of Hell, they like when someone like me comes to them. They like it when a soul is willing to fight, and they like it better when that soul long since gave up on being one of the good ones on this world,” Wrath said with just a little smile, just a little satisfied, just a little mean. The folk at the bottom of the town were looking afraid now. It was probably because of the little demons who flickered in and out of the church, and the shadow of wings that rose behind Wrath, cast by the burning church, lit with hellfire. They were kneeling. Some were praying. Others pleading. None of it mattered. He didn’t plan to speak to them again. “You beat me, priest. You whipped me. You hanged me. I gave my soul and a lot more to make sure that you get all the attention you gave to the little girls and boys of this town before I caught you trying to get my sister alone.”

Wrath gave another pull on the rope, harder this time. Enough to hoist the priest up onto the very tips of his toes. He choked and scrabbled at the heavy rope around his neck, but he didn’t have the leverage to get away form the weight of his own body. The skin under his neck purpled with bruises and his legs kicked.

“When you get to Hell, you’ll hear the burning bell of your church ring,” Wrath said, and hauled one last time before he tied the rope off around a long root. He had already burned his mark into the priest’s soul. “I paid double so the Dukes would keep your soul in their darkest Pit. It ain’t half of what you deserve, but they’ll enjoy chewing on you for a good long time.”

+++

Demons:

Bloody Mirror 

Brimstone Portal

Burn My Body and Bury Me Deep

Holy Protestation

On Repeat 

The Gunsmith

The Wrong Victim

Over the Edge

Purple Menace (Subscriber Only!)

Damned By Heaven

Hell's Comin' With Me (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

#Write #writer #written #writing prompt #prompt #prompts #story #novel #fantastic #romance #romantic #love #spilled ink #spilled writing #spilled romance #spilled feelings #supernatural #writeblr #lee hadan #pretty #art #artistic #music #inspiration #long post

[ennaih]

Fave moments in Steamboat Bill Jr (1928)

#buster keaton #steamboat bill jr #my gifs #that ankle cross is so fucken sarcastic #i can't even #like i don't even know whether it's actually his feet or not #but the attitude is absolutely him #lookit the great stoneface in that fourth gif #yeah totally stoneface #i could watch him haul on those ropes all day

[infinitesuckuyome]

Puppyboy Tobi

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact:

ᴥ Tobi is such a cute and loyal puppy, always so hyper & affectionate

ᴥ He’s constantly on you and hates to be apart for too long- it’s really hard on him when you have separate mission assignments since he can hardly think of anything other than getting back to you as quickly as possible 

ᴥ Needs to hear your pretty soothing words, craves your delicious scent- the memory alone has him drooling & whining into his pillow 

ᴥ Loves to wrap himself around you to lave heavy stripes up your neck, nose pressed to your pulse point 

ᴥ Can’t hold back happy moans when you run your fingers through his hair while he lays in your lap or nuzzles against your chest, it makes him feel so safe & cared for

ᴥ Praise isn’t something that Tobi will specifically ask for but it’s something he deeply craves, he’s never had much positive reinforcement so it just blows his mind when you tell him how well he’s doing or when you call him your good boy

ᴥ  He’ll blush so pretty & doesn’t know what to do with himself because on one hand your words are bringing him so much comfort that he wasn’t aware he desperately desired- and on the other hand all your praise/encouragement is getting him so worked up that he’s starting to feel a little feral 

ᴥ Body Worship King [both giving & receiving, he needs both] It’s important for him to feel that you like his appearance and genuinely find him attractive- becomes putty in your hands when you tell him how cute / adorable / sexy he is 

ᴥTobi is insecure about a lot, so your words of affirmation mean the world to him, especially if/when he decides to take his mask off infront of you for the first time

ᴥHe needs reassurance that you’ll accept his scars / past and won’t change your mind about wanting to be with him- he’ll be beyond happy since all he’s ever wanted is to be loved & accepted 

ᴥ When you first started to be intimate, Tobi was so nervous and embarrassed to tell you that he was virtually inexperienced- he was very grateful with how sweet & patient you were with him while he fumbled and figured out how to make you feel good too 

ᴥ He’s so lovestruck especially when he draws out those beautiful noises you make when he’s buried between your thighs or when he’s rutting into you

ᴥ Total Service Top, he gets off on getting you off- has cum from eating you out on more than one occasion 

Warnings: Language, NSFW, Petplay, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Unprotected Sex

It had been a little more than three weeks since you had been sent out on a solo mission and Tobi was losing his mind. He kept telling himself to be patient & that you’d be home before he knew it, but at this point, he wasn’t thinking rationally anymore. With each passing day, the hours seemed to go by slower than the one before, while his need for you grew by the second. This was the longest you’d been apart since the two of you had gotten together- the separation anxiety was suffocating, he misses you so much and fuck did he need your touch.

He flopped down onto the bed, groaning into a pillow when memories of your lovely face and beautiful body came flooding into his mind. Tobi tried to think about anything else but found that despite his best efforts, every train of thought just brought him back to you. He felt painfully hard & with a pitiful whine, he glanced down at the large damp spot that had formed over the straining erection in his pants. 

“Y/N-Chan will be home soon” he muttered to himself, gnawing at his lower lip. Though he knew those words were true, they did nothing to curb his need, especially since every passing thought of you had his ball clenching.

Giving into his base needs, he walked over to your dresser to fish out a pretty pair of your lace panties. He gripped the fabric tightly, letting out a shaky breath as he recalled the numerous times he’d taken them off of you and how delicious it looked when they were sticky & soaked with your arousal.

With a deeply flushed face, he went back to sit himself on the bed- hastily pulling down the waistband of his pants as he wrapped the fabric over his leaking head. Tobi hissed when he felt the delicate fabric rub against his skin but it just wasn’t the same- not nearly as soft as he’d hoped and nowhere near as warm. He winced, every sensation suddenly feeling too rough & it made him miss you that much more. In a desperate attempt to relieve the ache between his legs, Tobi closed his eyes and grit his teeth as he pumped himself furiously. 

                                                    * * * * * *

After an absurdly long walk, you’d finally made it back to the Akatsuki hideout, breathing a sigh of relief when you were inside the main entrance. It seemed unusually quiet, you figured that most of the other members were off on missions of their own, but you were surprised Tobi hadn’t greeted you at the door like he normally did. You pouted, but shrugged it off, thinking he may have taken on an extra mission or was simply busy antagonizing one of the other members- either way you were just glad to finally be able to relax and unwind. After hanging up your cloak, you made your way to your room, eager to spend some time in your own bed.

A quiet gasp left your lips when you opened the door to your bedroom, eyebrows shooting up at the sight before you. Tobi’s eyes were squeezed shut while he roughly fucked his fist against your favorite pair of panties- grunts and whines of your name tumbling out of his mouth. You bit your lip at how adorable yet how lewd he looked, vigorously rutting into the now tattered fabric, With a slight shake of your head, you called out to him “Tobi, I’m home!”

“Y-Y/N-Chan!” Tobi yelped, covering himself with a nearby pillow. His eyes were wide, eyebrows furrowed - he was torn between wanting to run to you and trying to hide the evidence of what he’d just been doing. He had the decency to be embarrassed by how needy he was, hanging his head as a deep blush crept its way up his neck. 

Your expression softened, knowing you shouldn’t be too hard on him- you knew how he got when you were away for too long. “Why are you hiding, puppy? Did you do something bad?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow as you made your way over to him. 

Tobi whined, not wanting to look you in the eye. He clutched the pillow to himself tightly as a wave of embarrassment and shame washed over him. 

“Give me the pillow, puppy” You sighed, feeling his grip loosen. You gently took the pillow from him, pursing your lips as you removed the shredded lace from his reddened cockhead. “I really liked those...” you tutted, flinging the material towards the waste bin. 

Tobi glanced at you hesitantly, searching your features for any sign of disappointment or anger- when he found none, he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze. “Sorry” he mumbled, shifting slightly to adjust his insistent erection.

“Awe, it’s okay, you’re still my good boy” you cooed, affectionately carding your fingers through his hair. “Such a big boy too!” you giggled, eyeing the heavy way his dick twitched between his legs. 

Tobi perked up at your words, relieved you weren’t upset with him. “Tobi missed Y/N-Chan so much!” he said nearly bouncing in his seat. 

Any fatigue you’d felt from your trip melted away when you saw the twinkle in his dark, eager eyes. “I missed you too” you husked, sinking down to your knees. “What a pretty cock, can I play with it?” 

He nodded frantically, digging his nails into the bedsheets. “Yes, yes! Tobi wants to play!” His heart thumped loudly in his chest, excitement and lust nearly making him tremble when he felt your warm breath just inches away. 

“Mhm” you mused, taking his shaft in hand, licking a long slow stripe from the base to his head. You looked up at Tobi as you swirled your tongue around his reddened tip. 

He let out a choked out groan, nearly falling backwards at the inviting warmth of your mouth, barely catching himself on his elbows- propping up just in time to see your head begin to bob. His eyes rolled back at the way you worked his dick, moaning loudly when you hallowed your cheeks. 

Your fingers grabbed at his thighs, eyes fluttering closed as you set a rhythmic pace- taking in as much of his length as you could. 

Tobi panted as he watched you, feeling delirious with pleasure that was steadily bubbling up within him. “S-soo good!” he keened, instinctively bucking his hips.

You hummed in response, happy to see your puppy getting the attention he needed. You sank down on him until your nose grazed the soft hair at the base of his cock, feeling the stretch of your lips accompanied by the slapping of his fat balls against your chin. 

Taking one hand off his thigh, you moved it to cradle and massage his neglected balls, noting how heavy they felt in your palm. “Ngh- Y/N-Chan!” he howled, tossing his head back. “Cu-cumming now!”

Tobi came almost violently- weeks of being pent up all channeled into the thick, hot ropes currently swelling your mouth. You’re mildly shocked by just how much there was, swallowing around him as best you could, yet still unable to stop the steady stream that was seeping past your lips. You coughed a few times after finally pulling off his softening cock, strings of saliva still connecting you to him.

“Tobi’s Turn!” he panted, grabbing at your forearms to haul you onto the bed. 

“Ah!” you squealed, suddenly laying on your back with Tobi hovering over you.

“Y/N-Chan is home, never letting you go!” he whined, kissing and lapping at anything he could get his mouth on. “Gone for too long..” he pouted, pushing your shirt up to bury his face between your warm breasts. 

“I’m sorry puppy, I'll talk to Pain so it doesn’t happen again.” you assured him.

He tensed up, growling at the mention of another male’s name, “No Pain, only Tobi!” 

You smiled, almost forgetting how territorial your puppy was. “Only Tobi.” you cooed, cupping his cheek.

He nodded in approval, nuzzling your palm as he tugged down your bottoms. He settled between your thighs, drooling at the sight of your drenched panties. Pressing his nose up against the growing wet spot, he flicked his tongue over it as he breathed in your scent. “Off!” he grunted, not wanting to destroy another pair of your underwear. 

You lifted your hips, allowing him to drag them down your legs- casting them aside, along with your discarded shorts. He ran his tongue through your folds, moaning at your taste, feeling the blood rush straight to his crotch. He pulled back for a second, wanting to spread you open with his fingers. “Pretty!” he cried, eagerly diving in to lave over your clit.

He dug his tongue into your bundle of nerves, kneading at the plush skin of your thighs as he dragged your hips up and off the bed- nudging his chin forward to drive his tongue in as deep as it would go. Tobi savored every minute of it, shutting his eyes to immerse himself in your heat, nuzzling his nose against your swollen clit. He continued his relentless lapping, holding you flush against him- brain so focused yet hazy at the same time. 

You tugged at his hair, feeling so dazed, you weren’t sure you could form words, settling instead for writhing & sloppily rocking your hips. 

Tobi’s eyes snapped open, cock jolting at the way you were responding. Pride bloomed in his chest when he felt your legs begin to shake, high-pitched moans of his name freely falling past your lips. “Cum for Tobi!” he groaned, doubling down- watching every twist and writhe, taking in every sweet cry you gave him. 

“Puppy!” you wailed, thrashing against him as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. 

Tobi humped the mattress, slurping lewdly while you shook and cried in his grasp. You tried to push him off but he wouldn’t budge- opting to suckle at your pussy lips before sealing his mouth over your poor swollen clit. Your taste was driving him insane, he didn’t stop even when you sobbed and whimpered out a “too much!”. He just kept sucking and rolling his heavy tongue over you, reveling in the way your body twitched and spasmed. 

“Not enough, need more!” Tobi grunted, taking one of your ankles in each hand to spread your legs apart. He thrust his leaky cock against your little bud, rocking back and forth to feel the pulse of it against his slit. He growled, the slickness of you making him feel near feral with need- he quickly lined himself up with your entrance, slamming into you until you cried out.

Tobi’s head spun as he sank into your tight heat, keening at the way your were sucking him in. His cock throbbed with arousal, loving the loud squelching of your pussy, knowing he was the one who’d made such a mess of you. 

You whined, lower lip trembling as you teetered on the edge of consciousness. Tobi’s crazed thrusting sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. “P-please” you stuttered, struggling to keep your eyes open as your puppy continued to plunge into your gummy walls. 

Everything felt so messy and hot, Tobi’s head tipped back when he felt you cream around his length. His sanity slipping a little more with every tremor and gush of your sweet pussy, making something snap inside of him. He frantically pumped into you, the harsh snap of his hips making you gasp and seize. “Hold on- hng- so close!” he said through clenched teeth. He dropped your legs, pushing your knees up to your chest, curving his form over yours- driven by pure hunger and the instinct to fill you up with his cum & breed your pretty cunt. 

Your vision was blurring in and out, hips aimlessly rutting against him- feeling like a ragdoll in his grasp. Animalistic thrusts causing your body to jolt against the bed springs. “Good boy- ah- such a good boy!” you babbled. 

“Tobi is a good boy- Y/N-Chan’s good boy!” he pants, reaching between you to rub circles on your clit- determined to tip you over the edge one more time before reaching his own breaking point. With every thrust, a yell is dragged from you- body shaking uncontrollably as your vision goes white. 

“Fuck! Fuuuuck!” Tobi growls, feeling your pussy flutter and convulse around him- his lower half completely drenched with the fluids you had just sprayed all over him. He drives in and out of you with reckless abandon, swearing he’s beginning to see stars. He bites down on your shoulder, grumbling fucked out moans against your skin as thick spurts of his seed paint your insides white. 

You shiver when he finally pulls out, clutching at him weakly when he uses his fingers to push his cum back into your cunt. “’S full”. you whimpered, completely limp and exhausted. 

“Shh” Tobi cooed, kissing your sweaty forehead. “Sleep now, Y/N-Chan.” 

#naruto #akatsuki #tobi #tobi uchiha #obito #obito uchiha #tobi x y/n #tobi x reader #obito x y/n #obito x reader #tobi smut #obito smut

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨5

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) threats, implied and mild violence

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: So between Friday and Saturday I’ll be doing eight hours a day for @buckyownsmylife​‘s writeathon (like 12-8pm EST) but you can send an ask at any time. I will share a list of what I intend to work on and possible ideas later today if you wanna ask some questions or gab about whatever. After the last few days on tumblr and that nonsense, I think we need a little carelessness.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You walked and walked until you could no more. You stopped in front of another humongous set of gates and ordered an Uber. You waited in the dark in the shadow of the wall and a car slowed as it approached. You waved as the model and plate matched the app and got in. The driver remarked on the odd pick-up but you just shrugged and dialed.

You’d called your mom several times and she hadn’t picked up. It was almost eleven then so you gave up as her voicemail beeped once again. You dropped your head back against the seat and held your head. Everything was fucked.

You couldn’t believe it. Clark making the offer, Marcus trying to barter with him. It was all so fucked up. Five years. Five years! You never thought Marcus to be that type, shallow and greedy. Sure, he griped about money but you always made due and you thought if you had each other, it would be enough for him. But it wasn’t and he was ready to trade you to a stranger for a check.

You felt nauseous and crossed your arms over your stomach as you hunched over. You felt like crying but you knew you couldn’t. You had to get what you needed and get out. You weren’t going to stick around to argue with either of those assholes. This was the last time you were going to let your hope be crushed.

How much time had you wasted? On both of them.

You got out in front of your building and finalised the tip for the driver. You felt worse that you were going to leave your work in that cretin’s house. That he thought he could just buy you like he did the canvas. It was all just a ploy to get in your pants. And the way he said it, “I’ll fuck her either way.” Like you would fall into his arms agog and smitten.

You rushed up the stairs as your eyes began to well and you sniffled as you unlocked your apartment door. You wanted badly to trash the large monitor sitting above Marcus’ glowing tower. You wanted to shred all his clothes and take a hammer to everything he owned.

You didn’t. You grabbed your laptop from your desk and swept into the bedroom. You pulled your floral duffel from under the bed and loaded it with your laptop, tablet, and a pile of clothes. You tossed the zip-up pouch with your passport and other important documents on top and hauled it over your shoulder. He could keep the rest of it. You didn’t care if it ended up in the dumpster.

You checked the time as you closed the apartment door and headed down the hallway. It was after midnight. You wondered if they noticed you were gone. You didn’t care. You were sending every penny back to Clark, even if you had to dip into your savings; those years of squirreling away in hopes of buying a home with the love of your life.

That was what you thought he was. You just couldn’t understand how he could be so easily won over by overpriced cars and the ridiculously overdone mansion. You came out onto the street and stopped.

Where could you go? There wasn’t a bus out of town until the morning. You could get a hotel room for the night and head to your mom’s then. God, you felt rotten at the thought of showing up at her doorstep, another failure on your shoulders. You swore to her the last time you talked that you were finally getting your feet under you.

Why were you so stupid?

You dried your cheeks with the back of your hand and adjusted the strap of the heavy bag and turned down the sidewalk. There was a Days Inn not far from your place. They might have a vacancy.

You didn’t make it two steps before you heard the car door. You tried to ignore the man as you were eager to be anywhere but out in the city streets after dark. It was too late to react as the passenger door opened and the dark figure blocked your path. The driver came up behind you and you cried out as you were seized from both sides.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you shrieked, “let go of me.”

“Shut up,” the driver said as he covered your mouth and the other man took your bag.

You murmured into his palm and kicked out with your heel, barely missing the passenger with the sharp tip. He opened the back door and threw your bag inside. He turned back and grabbed your legs as you thrashed and both men struggled to angle you in after the duffle.

You pushed your chin above the man’s hand and gasped, “please, what--”

“Shh,” you were finally forced past the door and it slammed behind you, nearly catching your skirt.

You sat up and pulled on the door handle but it didn’t budge. You couldn’t pull up the locks and your fingers just slid down the switches. Even the windows wouldn’t roll down.

“Who are you? What are you doing?” you kicked the door desperately, “please--”

“Hurry up,” the passenger growled, “don’t wanna keep the boss waiting.”

“Hey! I’m talking to you--”

“And you better stop,” the driver pulled out a gun and turned to point it at you, “close those sweet little lips and be a good girl. We got a far way to go, doll.”

You swallowed and pushed yourself back against the vinyl seat. The driver turned forward and shoved the keys in the slot as the other bent around the console and reached to snatch your clutch from you. He wrestled with you for a moment then ripped it away. He took out your phone and waved it triumphantly as the car began to move.

“Please, what--”

“Don’t make me tell you to shut up again,” the driver warned as he focused on the road, “god damn maniac got me out in the middle of the night with this shit.”

“It’ll be a good cut,” the other man said, “can’t complain about a late night if I’m getting paid.”

“The boss? Who--”

“Fuck, you ever know when to shut up?” The passenger turned to glare at you, “you’re really not doing yourself any favours so please.”

He looked forward again and flipped on the radio. He turned the dial so you were deafened by the raucous tones of hair metal. You cradled your ears and huffed as you fell back against the seat. The street lights flashed down on the seat beside you as you passed and you shook your head.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. But the question still remained; who exactly was Clark Kent?

🎨

You screamed as the man dragged you out of the car. The other came around to grab your other arm as you swiped out with your nails. Your ankles bent under you as you tried to stop yourself on the mosaic stonework. The large mansion loomed over you in the dark, still night. The party was over and all the cars were gone.

You writhed as they forced you through the front door and you tried futilely to shake off the larger men. Your chest hammered with panic and you leaned back as you were dragged up the stairs. You grunted as you wriggled and hissed at how they twisted your arms back and held them firmly.

“Please, please, just let me go--”

“Well, doll, we’ve come this far,” the driver snickered, “you really think you can get out now?”

“I don’t-- who are you? Why are you doing this?”

You were dragged towards the pair of pale doors that stood open as they offered a peek of the studio within. The amber glow of a lamp washed over shadows and limned the lines of the overturned easel as you were taken inside. You whined as the men stopped just past the doors.

Clark sat in the same chair he sat in for your sessions. He smirked as his eyes fell upon you but your own skittered over to Marcus as he sat on the stool by the table of paints. You blinked and batted away tears of disbelief with your lashes. His eye was swollen and his lip split; thick rope held his wrists behind his back and coiled around his torso and legs.

“What--

“Let her go, close the door,” Clark demanded, “I can handle her.”

The moment the hands left your arms, you spun but an arm caught you swiftly around the waist. You were flung back so you sprawled across the floor. You cried out as you met the polished wood and your body rang with pain.

“Hey,” Clark warned and his footsteps neared you as you pushed yourself up on shaky arms, “that doesn’t happen again, got it?”

“Sorry, boss, I was just--”

“Go,” Clark barked as he knelt and took your arm.

The doors slid closed with a harsh snap and you hit Clark’s chest as he tried to pull you up to your feet. You dug your heels into the floor and pushed yourself away from him. You turned and got up on your knees. You climbed to your feet but he was quick to block your path to the doors.

“You left so suddenly,” he crossed his arms, “not even a goodbye?”

“Fuck you. Fuck both of you,” you sneered, “I heard your offer,” you paused and looked around at Marcus, “and I heard you too. I’m not a whore.”

“Sweetheart, I know you’re not,” Clark said patronizingly, “but apparently he doesn’t.”

“Whatever, let me go, I don’t want either of you,” you snarled.

You tried to brush past him and he grabbed your arms and backed you up. “Sweetheart, I don’t have to pay for it. Understand that. And we did settle on a deal but I’m not paying for your services.”

“What-- Why--”

“I’m paying him to watch,” Clark winked, “I want him to see how he fucked up. I want him to see what a real man can do for you.”

“I’m not interested,” you tried to shrug him off but he held firm, “get off of me, Clark. We’re done. I’m sending you your money back and I don’t want to see you again.”

“Where are you gonna go, huh? No job, no prospects, no money?”

“I did alright before you, I can take care of myself--”

“Sweetheart,” he framed your chin with his hand and leaned in, “this is where we make a deal of our own…” his blue eyes clung to yours as he lowered his voice, “you can go along with it and the boy gets to walk off with just a couple bruises or… he doesn’t leave this room on his feet.”

Your eyes rounded and your lip quivered. You sucked in air and steeled yourself.

“I told you, I’m done with both of you,” you hissed.

“Uh huh, but I know you’re not gonna let him die just like that,” he turned his hand and rubbed your cheek, “besides, neither of us are stupid. I saw how you look at me and you know what lies behind those eyes.”

“No, I don’t…” you uttered and looked back at Marcus. He squirmed on the stool helplessly as he stared at you intently, begging you silently as he bit down on the gag. “Why are you doing this?”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he trailed his finger over your lower lip, “it’s okay. Haven’t I been good to you?”

“I can’t… please, don’t make me do this.”

“Come on, let’s sit down,” he dropped his hand as his other clung to your arm, “we have some things to sort out first.”

He pulled on you and you locked your legs. After a moment, your knees buckled and you let him lead you over to the chair. He sat and drew you onto his lap. You sat stiffly as his hand tickled your lower back and crawled up to pick at the straps of your dress.

“You see everything I have, everything I can do,” he said staunchly, “I can snap his neck as easily as I snap my fingers,” his other hand settled on your knee and squeezed. He nuzzled your shoulder and grazed your skin with his lips, “and even if it came to that, I’d still have you, sweetheart. This isn’t about what I get, I know my prize, this is about you and how you want things to go.”

You shuddered and shakily touched your neck. You hated the way his fingertips sent shivers through you and his lips made your stomach churn. You stopped his hand as it crawled up your leg.

“I… I only wanted to paint,” you said numbly.

“And did you really think that was all I wanted? A painter?” he scoffed and slipped his hand from beneath yours. He felt along the slit of the dress and shoved his hand beneath the fabric.

“I don’t… know…” you squeezed your thighs together as his fingers curled into your flesh.

“You really want to make this difficult? Sweetheart, you can’t even begin to know who I am and what I can do. This is just a taste.”

“Wh-why me?” you stuttered as he forced his hand between your legs and kneaded your flesh.

“Why not?” he replied.

He slapped your thick lightly and urged you off of him. You stood and he reached beneath his jacket as you wobbled on your weak legs and looked at Marcus desperately. He shook his head and let it slump down on his chest.

“Now, Marcus,” Clark revealed a dark pistol, “we talked about this. If you want your money, you don’t get to look away.”

You stared at the barrel as he pointed it at Marcus and lifted a brow. You flinched as your emotions swirled in your stomach and every one of your nerves was set alight.

“Sweetheart, you have one minute to make up your mind,” he pulled back the hammer, “as much as that looks gorgeous on you, I want you in only this.”

He pushed his fingers into his pants pocket and pulled out the diamond necklace. He held it out and the gems twinkled in lowlight. You swallowed and reached to take them from him.

“Who are you?” you asked as you hooked your fingers through the chain.

He chuckled and ran his fingers along his beard, “I’m exactly who you need me to be.”

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #portrait of a dangerous man #mob au #au #mob!au #dc #dcu

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 8714 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the Greene farm Warnings: Language, violence, gore, blood, severe injuries, fear, anxiety, death of a character A/N: This is the FINAL part of a miniseries! You can find the other chapters on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Shane go missing.

Your name: submit What is this?

Two weeks later

“I can actually do it myself,” you insisted, feeling a blush in your cheeks as Daryl pulled your hand over onto his lap and bent over it, luckily oblivious to the pink glow now filling your cheeks.

He huffed at you. “I’m sure ya can,” he drawled, “but it’s definitely easier for someone with two hands, don’t ya think?”

You watched as he methodically and carefully snipped the stitches in your hand and pulled the sutures away, apologizing if they tugged at all. A lot had happened in the last two weeks. Pretty much everyone had come around to the fact that Shane had hurt himself in an attempt to get the group to abandon you. There had been a massive fight between him and Rick and since then Shane had been confined to his tent while he healed. When Hershel found out what had happened, he told Rick that Shane couldn’t stay, but Rick had already decided that he had go. His best friend seemed to be growing more bitter and more unstable by the day.

But Shane was still around temporarily, and because of that Daryl had refused to leave you to sleep unguarded at night. You’d argued that it would be fine and that you didn’t really think Shane would try to pull anything else, but the archer was insistent. Eventually, you caved. Daryl had hauled your cot and bedding to his tent and set them up along the opposite wall from his, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck at the strange nervousness and yet gratitude he felt knowing you’d be so close.

You both fell into an easy routine together. Your physical closeness may have been borne out of necessity but the other growing closeness developed organically. Spending time with Daryl was easy. He didn’t mind when you were quiet for hours on end, lost in your own head as you aimlessly tossed twigs into the fire. He didn’t mind when you wanted to talk about something specific or nothing at all, and you felt the same way about him. The silences didn’t bother you with Daryl and every time he did open his mouth it was either to make you laugh or to say something you were genuinely interested in hearing. He was constantly checking on you over the smallest things. If you shivered in the evening as you spent time around the fire, he’d insist that you moved closer to the flames or he’d go get a blanket from his tent and toss it down on your lap without a word before he took his place again. He’d make sure you were eating and would refill your canteen whenever he thought about it. You did what you could to return the favors but he usually seemed to beat you to it.

“I guess with these out I can finally start hunting again,” you said. “And going out and gathering stuff.”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, his eyes narrowed as he focused on removing the very last stitch. “There.” He straightened up and looked at the slightly raised pink scar down the center of your palm. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he ran a finger lightly down the length of it.

You startled at the unfamiliar sensation, a little strange due to the altered sensation along the length of the scar, but even more so because of the way your heart jumped at the touch of Daryl’s fingers so light on your palm. You involuntarily pulled you hand back and your eyes shot up to meet his.

He gave you a sheepish look. “Sorry. Did that hurt?” He regretted it the moment he’d done it, worried about your reaction.

You shook your head. “No, it just—”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” you finished quietly, chewing on your bottom lip a little anxiously. He quirked an eyebrow at you but simply stood up.

“Alright. Well, couple more days and that asshole will be outta here,” he growled, glancing over in the direction of Shane’s tent. He wasn’t yet allowing himself to acknowledge that he was worried things would go back to the way they were before once Shane was gone. That is, you’d retreat back to your space and back to yourself. He was really liking his time with you and he didn’t want it to end. The archer shook his head and glanced back at you. Your eyes were now on Shane’s tent, too but your expression was fretful. “S’matter?” he prompted you.

You sighed. “I just feel like it’s my fault he has to leave…”

“Nah. Nah, it ain’t. Y/N, if it weren’t you it’d be somethin’ else. He’s been spiralin’ down since Rick showed up alive and took his family back. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with ya, not really.”

You still looked unsure but the worry lines in your forehead eased a little. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

“Listen, I told Carol I’d go help her with that new tent. Ya gonna be alright over here?” he asked.

You nodded. “Mhm. I’ll be right here. Andrea gave me a new book.” You did glance a little longingly over your shoulder at the far tree line and Daryl was always amazed that even after the traumatic incident in those very same woods that you still wanted to be out there almost every minute of the day.

“Hey,” he said, calling your attention back to him. “We’ll go out and hunt tomorrow, alright?”

You nodded. “Tomorrow.” You watched his broad shoulders fade toward the main camp.

Carol was waiting when Daryl arrived. Her old tent had started to leak and Daryl had promised to help her get the new one they’d found set up. She stood up as he strode over, already flustered by the number of pins and ropes and metal poles. “If I’d known I’d be living out of a tent I definitely would have stuck with the Girl Scouts when I was a kid,” she said, giving Daryl a helpless look.

He let out a gruff laugh. “Ya got that the wrong way around,” he said, pointing to the pole she’d already slipped through the tent. She stared at it and sighed. “S’alright. That’s why I’m here right?” he said. “Gimme that,” he said, grabbing the bundle of poles in her hands and setting to work. In no time they had the tent upright and were going about staking it down. Carol handed Daryl another stake and he pounded it into the ground securing down the corner.

“So… what’s going on with you and Y/N exactly?” she asked him.

The archer froze and shot a look at her before returning his eyes to what he was doing, grateful for a task to focus on even as he felt his ears growing red. “What’d ya mean?”

“Well,” Carol continued, “you’re sharing a tent,” she said with a smile.

Daryl scoffed. “So? I shared a tent with T-dog once. Ya gonna ask me if we held hands?”

Carol laughed and smirked at him. “Well, did you?” Daryl rolled his eyes at her and she laughed harder.

“We’re sharin’ a tent cuz there’s a psycho that probably is blamin’ all his problems on her. And I don’t want shit to go sideways.”

“So, that’s it? You’re just sharing a tent for purely practical reasons,” Carol said. Daryl could hear the skepticism in her voice and he straightened up after tying off the knot to the stake.

“The hell are ya on about?” Daryl growled. But even as he tried to act gruff and brush her off, he felt that heat growing in his chest that was becoming familiar when he thought of you.

“You two just seem to get along,” Carol said. “That’s all.”

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed, moving to the next corner of the tent. Something about that response made Carol laugh again.

“You’re so sensitive,” she murmured, eliciting an eyeroll from him. “Daryl, I just like to see you happy. And lately, since you’ve been spending so much time with Y/N, you’ve been happy,” she pointed out.

He couldn’t deny that. She was right. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, his hands still on the last length of cord before he tied it off and pounded in the stake. He stood up and stepped back, taking in the structure. “Alright. All done.”

“Thanks,” she said gratefully, surveying it. She gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze and smiled. “Do me a favor?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, chewing on the side of his thumbnail, glancing up at her.

“If you really like her,” she paused and shrugged, “tell her. Life is short these days.” She knew that as well as anyone. A husband, abusive asshole or not, and a precious little girl were gone to this world.

Daryl only ducked his head and lazily twirled a piece of grass between his fingers. “I’ll see ya,” he murmured, turning and heading back toward his tent. He was expecting you to be sitting beside the fire where you’d been when he left, but that spot was empty. He approached the tent and stopped outside the door. “Y/N? Ya in there?” When there was no answer, he unzipped it and peeked inside. No sign of you. The book that had been in your hand was on the tent floor and he bent and picked it up, setting it on the upturned box that was serving as a nightstand next to your cot. That’s when he realized your knife was there. He’d been thinking maybe you had to go use the bathroom, but you never left camp without your knife at your hip, whether it was for two minutes or two hours. And it wasn’t like you to leave a book on the ground. You treated the damn things like they were some sacred tomes. He felt panic start to grow in his chest and left the tent in a hurry, his blue eyes scanning the area where everyone else was set up and the tree line. He didn’t see you anywhere.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow and took off running toward the main camp. He found Lori and Carol preparing some food for dinner and stopped beside them. “Hey—have ya’ll seen Y/N anywhere? She come through here at all?” He directed the question at Lori since Carol had been busy with him getting the tent set up.

She stood up and dusted her hands off on her jeans, shaking her head. Her eyes went a little wide with worry as she registered the deep concern on Daryl’s face. “No, I—I haven’t seen her. You can’t find her?”

Daryl didn’t even stay to answer. He just tore off in the direction of the farmhouse and bounded up onto the front porch. Glenn and Maggie both stood up at the expression on his face. “Ya’ll see Y/N? Did she come up here?”

Maggie shook her head. “No,” Glenn answered, immediately worried. “What’s going on?”

Daryl swore under his breath and paced a restless circle, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I—I was gone for maybe an hour helpin’ Carol and now I can’t find her anywhere. She wouldn’ta gone off without her knife or nothin’,” he said. His jaw clenched and Glenn watched the muscle twitch. Daryl’s eyes quickly landed on the tent Shane was confined to and he took off at a full sprint toward it. Glenn was on his heels now.

“Daryl! Daryl, take it easy!” Glenn yelled after him. It drew the attention of the rest of the group and soon Rick and Andrea were standing beside Glenn as Daryl ripped back the entrance to Shane’s tent.

Daryl’s stomach twisted. Shane’s tent was empty. He kicked out at a milk crate that had some of Shane’s things on it and it toppled over. “Shane’s gone and Y/N is missin’!” he roared at Rick.

Rick gulped. A hard pit formed in his stomach. “Daryl—Daryl, just calm down,” Rick said.

That had the opposite effect. “Calm down? Calm down?!” he roared. “This ain’t no coincidence! I told ya he didn’t deserve to stay here to heal up, and now look what’s happened!”

“We’ll find them! We’ll find them. We will. Just—”

“Nah. I’m gonna track that fuckin’ prick and if he’s laid so much as a finger on her, he’s a dead man.” Daryl took off without another word, racing back to the last place he’d seen you, his eyes scanning the ground the whole way, hoping for a track, a trail, something.

“Dale, get the guns,” Rick said. “Lori, you and Carol take Carl up to the house and see if you can wait inside with Hershel and the girls.” Lori nodded and gave Carol’s arm a gentle squeeze. Rick rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face.

Andrea was stunned. “What do we do?”

Rick shut his eyes for a moment and pulled in a breath. “We get our guns and we look. We hope Daryl can pick up a trail and we hope we aren’t too late.”

You had been sitting contentedly by the fire reading when you decided you wanted some tea. You knew there were still some dried spicebush leaves in your pack from your last foraging trip and you went in to get them. You were crouched beside your pack, digging in the pocket when you heard a metallic sound that was easily identifiable. It was the slide of a pistol being drawn back and released, a bullet moving into the chamber. You froze with your hands in your pack and slowly turned. You could see Shane outside the window netting and his gun was aimed right at you.

“Get up. Slowly. Leave all your shit.”

You gulped and did so, replacing your pack against the wall and abandoning your book on the floor.

“Come over here. Zip the tent up and don’t even think about trying anything because I will kill you right here,” Shane growled, and you believed him. “Let’s go. Now.”

Again, you complied. You glanced desperately toward the main camp, hoping with every part of you that Daryl would be headed back or somehow happen to look over and see what was happening, but you knew you didn’t have any options except to comply. Comply and hope for an opening to save yourself.

Shane’s gun was still trained on you as you stepped around the outside of the tent. He was gritting his teeth in anger as you stared back at him. You were determined to remain calm and in control.

He nudged the barrel of his gun in the direction of the tree line. “Move. Let’s go.”

You felt sick, knowing that once you went into those trees the chance that you would ever come back out was low. But what choice did you have? He had a fucking gun on you and you had nothing.

You made your way toward the woods. Shane pressed the muzzle into your back. “Faster. And don’t even think about making a fucking sound. I will shoot you right here. I don’t even care. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about you going all psycho-killer. Wouldn’t have to worry about Lori anymore. Or Carl.”

You bit your tongue to stop a retort.

Soon, you were under the dark canopy of trees, cloaked in shade and moving further in with Shane’s gun at your back. He was nervous, on edge, and understandably so, because you knew if Daryl caught him… he’d be dead in an instant. You decided your best course of action was to try to reason with him. You really did believe that he was just fucked up from being in love with a woman he couldn’t have. This was all misplaced blame and aggression. He really wanted to fuck Rick up, but that loyal part of him, that police partner, wouldn’t let him. Some part of him couldn’t bear to do that to Carl and Lori, even while another part of him was desperate to. You were an easy target, the next best thing to blame for his failed attempts to get back into the place he wanted to be, to regain some control, to prove he knew best and was still The Protector. If he had been able to show everyone that you were really a threat and that he and not Rick had taken care of it, he really thought maybe that would win Lori over. But that had all backfired. Now you were just easy to blame for all his problems.

“Shane, I know this isn’t really what you want,” you said quietly.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” he growled back, nudging you sharply with the muzzle of his gun again.

“I don’t want you to have to leave either. I know it isn’t fair,” you continued. “You took care of everyone for a while before Rick showed up.”

“I said shut up!” he spat again through clenched teeth. “Ya know what? Sit the fuck down. Right there, against that tree.” He shoved you hard and you stumbled, barely catching yourself with your hands on the large oak before your face would have collided with it.

You obeyed and sat with your back against the tree, gulping at the dryness in your throat, and turning to stare directly at the gun pointed in your face.

Something about how calm you were being, how steady, was completely freaking Shane the fuck out. He wanted you to snap. He wanted to be able to say that he was right about you and you were a danger to everyone in camp, like you were some unpredictable monster. But you just sat there looking up at him, now completely silent, your eyes flickering between the muzzle of his gun and his face. Shane swore under his breath and paced back in forth in front of you. Your eyes followed his movements. You bided your time, trying to come up with something that would defuse this whole situation.

“How is this going to fix anything?” you asked him. “This is only going to make everything worse.”

He didn’t stop pacing and occasionally shooting a look at you that made your blood run cold. You were starting to think that maybe there was no reasoning with him…

“You can just let me go. I’ll just tell everyone I needed to get out of camp for a bit. You can wander back in like nothing happened,” you said.

He pointed the gun at you again and his lip curled. “There’s no going back from this. No going back from everything that’s already happened. And I know there is something wrong with you. I know it. If I’m not going to be here to keep an eye on you, I need to end this now so you can’t hurt anyone. Because I know you will snap eventually. I saw what you did to those men.” Shane got right into your face, poking you in the shoulder with the muzzle of his gun.

“I was defending myself,” you said quietly, feeling guilty and horrified at yourself even as you tried to justify it to Shane.

“So you say,” he growled, his pistol now aimed at your forehead.

“If I was going to snap like you’re saying, wouldn’t now be a good time?” you said quietly. “Obviously you’re a threat to me. But I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

He scoffed and straightened up again, resuming his pacing. “What—what the hell happened to you, huh? What fucked up thing twisted you to the point where you could do what you did to those men? Do you even remember it? Do you even know how many times you stabbed them?” he pressed. He was trying to agitate you, but it didn’t work.

Your stomach was churning with the foggy memory of being covered in their blood, of seeing their corpses on the ground, but you only stared back at Shane. No way in hell you were divulging what you’d been through to Shane, gunpoint or not.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and you watched as the muscle in his jaw clenched. He charged toward you again. “You know what? I’m done with this,” he growled. He pressed the gun to your forehead, aiming at a downward angle. The metal bit into your skin. You stared up at him briefly, eyes wide but surprisingly calm, and Shane watched in some disbelief as you finally just shut them and seemed to resign yourself to the fact that you were about to die.

That hesitation was all you needed.

You shoved Shane’s arm away and the gun with it and snatched the knife at his hip, ripping it free from its sheath and slashing at him, leaving a good gash on his arm. But a knife wouldn’t be any match for Shane with a gun. He was a firearm instructor and you knew his aim was deadly accurate, so before he could entirely recover from his surprise you ran at him full force and the two of fell to the ground hard. The pistol flew from his hands and landed in the leaf little a few feet away. You began to crawl desperately toward it, trying to put distance between you and Shane as quickly as possible, but you let out a yell as you felt him grab hold of you and pull you back.

The next thing you knew he was over you, trying his hardest to get the knife from your hand. You were slashing at him desperately, catching him on the forearms as you struggled beneath him. You caught him with a particularly strong slash but the next moment he had your hands pinned in his and he wrenched the knife from you. The rush of blood was loud in your ears and now you were on the defensive. You shielded yourself with your arms as best you could and continued to struggle beneath him, but his weight was too much.

Shane suddenly managed to push your arms out of the way and you saw the knife coming toward you as if in slow motion. It was heading straight for the center of your chest. You thrust your left arm out and felt the blade pierce it deeply before ripping clean and lodging in your left shoulder. You let out a scream of pain, but as Shane was now leaning over you, you managed to get your knee up underneath him and thrust it as hard as you could into his groin.

He let out an agonized yell and rolled off you, abandoning the knife that was still lodged deeply in your shoulder. You gritted your teeth and were vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face and the fact that you were trembling. But there was no time to stop. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to live. You clutched at the knife in your shoulder, staring briefly with shock at how deeply it was embedded, but didn’t dare to pull it out. Rolling over and holding yourself up on your lacerated forearms, you fixed your eyes on the gun and made a desperate lunge for it. You felt hands on your legs again, dragging you back.

Back toward the edge of the tree line, Daryl had picked up the trail easily and was frantically tracking. Rick and the others were on his heels, glancing around nervously, straining their eyes in the veiled darkness beneath the canopy and their ears in the closeness of the trees. But it wasn’t long that they had to trail behind the archer because soon a strained yell made it to their ears. Daryl felt his blood run cold.

He paused hardly for a moment before he tore off through the trees in the direction he’d heard your voice echo from. “Y/N!” He wanted you to know he was on his way. He needed you to just hang on. He pushed himself to run through the nausea that had risen when that sound, your pained voice, had met his ears. He tore through the foliage, the sound of pounding boots on the soil loud behind him as the others followed.

“Daryl! Daryl, slow down! We can’t just—” Rick paused as he had to bust through some shrubs. “We can’t just barrel in there!” But it was as if the archer hadn’t heard anything. He just continued running, trying to listen over his own gasping breath and pounding pulse but simultaneously afraid of what he would hear.

Crack.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

Daryl skidded to a stop, frozen. His face blanched, almost ashen as Rick caught up and glanced over at him. Sweat was pouring down from their foreheads and running down their necks, soaking the thin cotton of their shirts. A small strangled noise escaped Daryl’s lips as he searched the ground frantically again for the trail, needing to know he was running in the right direction. He spotted it. Direction confirmed, he took off at an even madder pace than before. “Y/N!” There was no answer.

But he couldn’t allow himself to think the worst. He couldn’t. That couldn’t happen to you. After everything you’d already been through… how could he have let this happen? Why had he turned his back on you for even a minute with that prick still around? He felt shaky and weak even as he ran.

The group had just pushed through another thick swath of understory when Daryl saw a bundle ahead, lying motionless on the ground. His breath caught in his throat and his boots rooted into the soil for a moment. But he pushed himself to move forward again.

Behind him he was vaguely aware of a gasp from Andrea and some murmur from Glenn.

As he moved closer, he realized there was a second shape ahead and as his eyes refocused, he saw that it was you. You were leaned up against a big oak tree, propped up against the rough bark, your head lolled toward your chest. Some pained gasp or muted scream, catching mostly in his throat, left his lips before he tore off toward you again. As he fell to his knees beside you, he took in the soaked crimson of your shirt. Your arms were cut up and absolutely covered in blood. Then Daryl’s eyes landed on the hilt of the knife still embedded in your left shoulder. His hands shook as he hesitated before lifting your chin, terrified that your skin would be cold and lifeless. You were bruised and battered, bleeding from a swollen and split lip and a gash near your hairline, but there was some semblance of warmth still in your skin, though you were pale. More miraculously yet, when he gently lifted your chin, you started to stir and Daryl watched in desperation as you struggled to open your eyes, eventually succeeding.

“Hey, hey. S’alright. I’ve got ya. I’ve got ya…” He could hear his own voice shake as he spoke.

You gulped, wanting to clear the taste of iron from your mouth. “I had to,” you managed to croak out. “I had to.”

Daryl knew you were referring to Shane’s lifeless body behind him on the ground. “S’ok. It don’t matter. Don’t talk now, alright? Just rest. I’ve got ya.”

Daryl felt someone behind him and turned to see Glenn just behind him. His face was pale as he took in your condition. “Her shoulder... Oh my God,” Glenn gasped.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Daryl said forcefully. He carefully slid his arm behind your back and another underneath your knees. You were fighting to stay awake. “Daryl…” you murmured. You felt so small in his arms as he lifted you. Daryl was vaguely aware of your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it hard before you fell unconscious again, going limp in his arms. He turned and started heading back to the farm, moving as quickly as he dared with you in his arms, conscious of the knife still wedged cruelly into you. The sight of it protruding from you made him sick with rage. Rick was kneeling beside Shane, his face downturned, as Daryl breezed past. Andrea stood just behind him with a hand pressed over her mouth, watching as Daryl carried your bloodied body past her.

As Daryl’s broad shoulders disappeared, Glenn bent and retrieved the pistol lying on the leaf litter among streaks of your blood. It felt like a lead weight in his palm.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl sat slumped in a chair beside your prone form laid out on the bed, covered over in the blankets. He was leaned over forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles shone white.

After days of agonizing waiting, there was a soft noise from you and his eyes shot up urgently to see you stirring a little on the pillow. He rocketed to his feet so fast that the chair he’d been in clattered backward loudly to the floor. “Doc!” he yelled out. Hershel rushed in a moment later.

You dragged your eyelids open with a great amount of effort and the first thing you saw were Daryl’s piercing blue eyes looking down at you with immense concern. You moistened your lips with your tongue and cleared your throat, which felt dry and scratchy, preparing to speak. He watched as your expression melted into a veil of confusion. “I’m not… not dead?”

Daryl felt a painful pang in his chest as he watched you spinning with disbelief.

Hershel leaned over you with a kindly and somewhat sad expression on his face. “You most definitely are not. Though you surprised all of us after what you went through,” he said putting a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder.

Your eyes turned back to Daryl’s. “Shane—” His name seemed to strangle and catch in your throat. “I—”

“I know. Ya had to. S’alright,” Daryl drawled, his brow furrowing low over his eyes.

You mouthed wordlessly for a moment, your eyes brimming with tears. “Is he—did he—?”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod, his expression full of concern. “He’s gone.”

You felt that you already knew the answer but it still made your stomach churn. You laid more heavily into the pillow and shut your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. When your eyes finally fluttered open again they were still a little glassy. Daryl wondered at this display of remorse, of regret you had for a man who had clearly taken you into the woods to kill you.

But what Daryl saw next was you clearly struggling against some flashback. You squeezed your eyes shut and your breathing quickened. Beads of sweat broke out on your hairline and your face tensed.

Daryl’s hand shot out to gently grab yours before he even knew what he was doing. “Hey.” He gave it a gentle squeeze. “Y/N. S’alright. You’re safe,” he drawled.

Your eyes opened and you glanced down at your hand in his. Daryl withdrew, suddenly self-conscious. You nodded and seemed to come back to the present.

You reached across yourself to grip your left shoulder, a wave of pain running through you and a grimace tightening your features. You felt thick gauze beneath your fingers. As you moved you became aware that you had many little rows of stitches on your arms and a few gashes wrapped up in bandages as well. Even your hands were cut up from your attempts to defend yourself. You extended your arm in front of yourself and took in the damage done by Shane’s knife.

“I don’t understand,” you said softly. “I thought for sure I was going to die out there.” The way you said it was so matter-of-fact and Daryl felt a rush of anger overwhelm him for a moment. Shane was lucky he was dead when Daryl had gotten there… He’d gotten off easy with a single round to the chest.

Hershel nodded. “You have a lot of strength in you. Rest. Everything is going to be just fine. You’re going to heal up and be back to normal before you know it, though that shoulder may need a little extra TLC.” The doctor took his leave and your eyes found Daryl’s again. He read worry on your face.

“What is it?” he drawled.

You gulped. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m healed up,” you said, now avoiding his eyes.

Daryl’s brow furrowed more deeply. “Why the hell would ya do that?”

His tone was forceful again and drew your eyes back to his. “The others—after what happened, I can’t imagine they want me around anymore.”

Daryl sighed heavily and righted his chair again, sinking down in it close at your bedside. “For once yer wrong about somethin’,” he said. “Nobody wants ya to leave. Ya didn’t do anything more than defend yourself, just like ya did with those men before. Anyone can glance at ya for one second and see that.”

You shifted in bed, trying to make your injured shoulder more comfortable, laying your other hand over it absently, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You still looked unsure.

“Y/N, when we found ya you had a damn knife sticking out of your shoulder.” He paused and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck a little anxiously. “I—” his voice seemed to catch in his throat. “I thought we lost ya.”

You peered at him curiously.

He leaned forward. “Listen to me, if anybody even so much as looks at ya like ya shouldn’t be here, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Daryl watched, a little anxiously, as your lips parted softly. “I’m not sure I deserve that from you,” you finally managed quietly. “You’ve already done enough. Daryl, I suspect you saved my life.” You gulped and stared down toward the edge of the blankets. “In more ways than one…”

The archer averted his eyes down toward his boots and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, nervous and wavering between his insecurity and need to reassure you, not allowing himself to really think on what you’d just said. “Hey. Yer a part of this group, even if ya ain’t always felt like it.”

You studied him for a long moment before you spoke again. “So are you,” you said perceptively. His blue eyes shot up to meet yours and you gave him a weak smile. “Can you do me a favor?”

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “’Course.”

“Can—can you help me take a walk outside? I need some air,” you said quietly.

“Are ya sure yer up for that? Ya had surgery on that shoulder. Ya lost a lot of blood. Ya just woke up after bein’ out of it for three days. I don’t think it’s—” Concern creased his forehead.

You nodded. “I’m sure. You won’t let anything bad happen to me. I’ve at least learned that by now.” You felt a bloom of warmth in your chest as you spoke those words, coupled with the realization of their truth almost at the same time as they left your lips. That burst of heat you felt was reflected in a pink hue in the archer’s face and the tips of his ears.

He looked a little bashful but nodded and acquiesced to your request. “Alright. C’mon,” he said, gently taking your hand, avoiding the injuries carefully, and doing his best to ignore how nervous he felt when his fingers closed around it. He helped you out of bed and steadied you as you got to your feet. You glanced up at him, and your expression was so open and earnest he was frankly shocked by it. Could it really be that you were looking that way at him? His fingers were light under your elbow and his other hand was ghosting behind your back, centimeters away from making contact if needed as you started toward the door. “Ya alright?”

You nodded and gulped at the rush of feelings his hand around yours had brought, trying your hardest to ignore it. All you could do was nod. The two of you emerged onto the porch and Glenn and Maggie stood up immediately from their place nearby in the seating area. Both of them were all smiles to see you on your feet.

“You’re up,” Glenn said, looking at you with a bewildered smile. “This is amazing. It’s so good to see you awake!” His expression was nothing but kindness.

“How are you feelin’?” Maggie asked.

You nodded, glancing back over at Daryl and relaxing some as you saw one corner of his mouth was twitched up. His blue eyes were fixed on your face and he couldn’t look away. Seeing you actually awake and already on your feet was a huge relief after many days of sickening worry. “I feel alright. A little tired,” you admitted. Almost as if one cue you wavered a little on your feet, your knees feeling suddenly weak.

Daryl’s hand landed flush against the small of your back, immediately steadying you. “Easy,” he rumbled. “Ya alright?” You nodded, quite sure your cheeks were pink, and when you glanced back at him and mumbled a small “thanks” you thought maybe his cheeks were pink too. You turned back to Glenn and Maggie and your eyes drifted to all the numerous stitches on your arms. “I’m definitely a little worse for wear. But could have been worse…” you trailed off.

“Definitely,” Glenn said, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re all just so glad you’re okay.”

Just at that moment you heard boots on the stairs and you looked up to see Rick, thumbs slung into his pockets as usual. Your heart rate increased with anxiety and you gulped at the sudden tightness in your throat. You’d killed his best friend. You’d pulled the trigger and killed Shane. “I’m sorry,” you said to the Sheriff.

But Rick was smiling at you with tears in his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “This is my fault,” he said suddenly, a rasp in his voice from emotion and your eyes widened in surprise. “This is my fault and I am so sorry. Daryl told me—and I should have listened. Shane was way more of a threat than I was willing to admit. This should have never happened to you,” he drawled. “And I hope you can forgive me at some point.”

You stared at him for a long moment, blinking in the sun and breathing in the freshness of the outside air. “It’s already forgiven,” you said softly, nodding at him.

Daryl stared at you in awe of how, despite everything you’d been through, you still could extend that forgiveness so easily.

Daryl sensed some shift in you and his brow drew down low over his eyes. “Let’s get ya back to bed. C’mon.”

You allowed him to help you back through the farmhouse and even into bed as you struggled not to put any weight on your left shoulder, wincing as you moved. Daryl watched you settled in and stood a bit awkwardly at your bedside. He nervously ran a hand back through his hair. “Well, I’ll let ya get some sleep,” he drawled, turning to leave.

“Daryl.”

He turned back to glance at you and your expression was a bit hesitant. “Hmm?”

“Would you stay? …please?”

He didn’t need to hear anything else. He planted himself right back down in the chair at the side of the bed and watched as some of the tension on your face eased.

“Thanks,” you said quietly with a sigh. Daryl watched as you closed your eyes and shifted, trying to make your shoulder more comfortable, but a moment later your eyes fluttered open again and met his. “He put the gun to my forehead,” you suddenly said quietly.

Daryl’s stomach plummeted and then swirled with anger. He stared back at you, incredulous with rage easily readable on his face.

“I made my peace with the fact that he was going to pull the trigger.” Your voice was somewhat disconnected, distant. “But then… he hesitated. And I took the chance and I fought.”

Daryl gulped. “Ya made it. Yer alright.”

You nodded and looked at him for a long moment, seemingly on the edge of saying something else, but you finally just sighed and your eyelids, now heavy with exhaustion, closed again. Soon, you were asleep. And Daryl stayed at your bedside and drifted off himself. _ _ _ _ _ _

Some time later You tossed down the game stringer, loaded with squirrels, in front of Daryl. “Ten,” you said, a wide grin spreading across your face. “What’d ya get?”

He looked up at you and affected an unamused expression. “Nine,” he drawled, pointing to his harvest waiting to be cleaned.

“Ha! I win again,” you said, absolutely brimming with joy. “I thought you said you were good at hunting?” you teased him.

He rolled his eyes at you and looked over as you sank down beside him. “Ya beat me by one. Ain’t exactly a landslide, is it?”

“A win is a win,” you announced with satisfaction.

He rolled his eyes again, but his expression quickly turned to concern as he caught you rubbing your shoulder. “Sore?” he asked you, his brow drawing down. “Maybe ya shouldn’t be hunting with that bow again yet.”

Your face softened as you caught his blue eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just a little tired, that’s all. Hershel says I need to build my strength up again.” Daryl’s eyes caught on the scar where the knife had been lodged into your shoulder. It was matched by many smaller ones on your arms, all with the same pink hue due to their newness. He could also see the brand on your arm, 1048, the remnant from your time under The Copperheads. Before, you would wear long sleeves in the height of the Georgian summer just to avoid anyone seeing that mark. Now there were a lot more scars added to it, but you didn’t seem to care. It was like you finally had a weight lifted off your shoulders and you felt free for the first time in a long time, unencumbered by your past.

“We should get ya a crossbow, like mine. Then ya wouldn’t have to hold the draw with that shoulder.”

“I like my old-fashioned recurve bow,” you said, pulling it over onto your lap and looking down at it fondly. “Especially because I can still beat you with it,” you smiled at him.

Daryl seemed suddenly fidgety and you picked up on it immediately. His eyes turned down and his expression was suddenly serious.

“What? What is it?”

He shrugged, still seemingly avoiding your eyes. “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Always.”

He flicked his thumb along the sharp edge of his knife. “How—with everything that ya’ve been through, how come ya ain’t just angry? I’m angry just thinkin’ about it. And it didn’t even happen to me.”

“Mmm,” hummed thoughtfully. Your eyes turned out across the verdant pasture, toward the trees you’d spent the day under. “I am angry sometimes. But,” you shrugged, your right hand shielding over the scar on your left shoulder absently, “being angry doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t fix it. It all still happened.”

Your eyes grew a bit far-off, a bit distant. Daryl took several forced, deep inhales and gathered his courage before reaching over and taking your hand in his, pulling it away from your shoulder.

You looked over at him in surprise. Your hand felt small between his. Your gaze was questioning. Daryl’s heart was pounding so hard in his ears he couldn’t hear anything else. He gulped, trying to clear his throat so he could talk. “‘M gonna make sure nothin’ else bad happens to ya. As best I can,” he murmured.

You nodded almost imperceptibly, your eyes still a little wide from the unexpected action of him taking your hand in his. “Only if I can do the same thing for you.”

You saw him gulp nervously before he nudged his nose up in a nod at you. “Yeh, I think—I think that’d be alright,” he said.

You gave him a half-smile that he found incredibly endearing and his nerves finally got the better of him and he released your hand, clearing his throat and awkwardly rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m, uhh, just gonna go grab some more firewood,” he drawled, standing up abruptly and internally cursing at himself as he left you sitting alone by the fire. Fuckin’ coward. Despite all his attempts at denial, Daryl had realized over the last couple weeks that he couldn’t ignore how he felt about you anymore, but now he was stranded in this place between where he was and where he wanted to be with no idea how to bridge the gap. He wandered back with an armload of firewood, internally frustrated and kicking himself, but his frustration vanished almost immediately when he had dumped it next to the fire circle and glanced at you again. You were looking at him with that open expression, this time with a little inquisitive lift in one of your eyebrows.

“Hmm?” he hummed, pulling his bottom lip back in between his teeth and worrying it anxiously.

You tilted your head toward the place he’d previously been sitting and he gulped as he sat down, still feeling your eyes steady on him. He thought that now you looked a little nervous. “Can I ask you something?” you said quietly.

The archer nodded, nervous flutters flitting to life in his stomach.

“Umm… is it just me, or have you slept like shit, too, since I moved out of your tent?”

Once you were no longer staying in the house healing up, Daryl had moved your things out of his tent for you since there was no longer any need to worry about Shane. It wasn’t that you had asked him to, or that he’d even wanted to, it just seemed like he should…Afterwards, you’d actually moved your whole campsite closer to his, directly next to it, but you still found yourself tossing and turning on your cot, unable to fall asleep or stay asleep.

Daryl stared back at you for a moment in disbelief. He’d slept like garbage since you’d moved back, and he hadn’t even had the heart to fill the cleared space you’d once occupied with the stuff he previously had kept there. Now the emptiness loomed, drawing his eyes, the physical manifestation of how he felt something was just missing. When you slept on your cot across from him, he’d wake up in the middle of the night and look over at the shadow of your sleeping form. He always felt some swell of relief and maybe something else he couldn’t quite identify… Something about listening to your calm breathing always relaxed him and he found himself able to shut his eyes and drift off again. Maybe he’d gotten used to it. Maybe he shouldn’t have. But since you’d left, he’d been restless and anxious at night, wishing the material of his tent and yours would vanish so he could check on you.

Your nerves were growing with each moment of silence as you anxiously watched him, waiting for him to say something. “No, I—“ he had to clear his throat, nerves making his voice come out strangely strangled, “I’ve—” he let out a scoff of a laugh, almost incredulous he was about to say it to you, “I’ve slept like shit since ya left.”

“…really?”

He nodded, finally meeting your eyes again. “Mhm. Can’t fall asleep, can’t stay asleep, just feels like I lay there all the time w—”

You grabbed him by his lapel and pulled him toward you, pressing your lips softly to his, your eyes shut tightly, overwhelmed with nerves even while you melted into him. Your fingers cupped his face gently, like he was something fragile and Daryl was reeling.

By the time he reached back for you and got over his surprise you were already withdrawing and he blinked, bewildered, as he took in the wide-eyed expression on your face and your partially parted lips.

“Uhh—was that—okay?” you breathed, anxiety ratcheting up with each passing moment of uncertainty.

“Ya,” he drawled. It spilled from him like warm molasses. He watched as your face broke into a relieved smile and your cheeks burned pink.

“Good,” you murmured, unable to look at him any longer.

“Only I—I wasn’t ready,” he murmured. Your eyes flickered up to his again. He gulped nervously and reached out to move a strand of hair out of your eyes before clasping your face. His blue eyes were flickering between yours and then down to your lips. You could tell he was nervous and it brought a small smile to your face. Your eyes fluttered closed and you leaned toward him, only having to wait a second before you felt his lips crashing against yours.

This time the kiss was heated and urgent and he pulled you into him gently with his hand at the nape of your neck. You happily leaned in, smiling against his lips, your hand pressing flush to his strong chest and the other landing lightly on his side, driving him crazy. Daryl’s hand smoothed over your shoulder and down your bare arm, electricity rising in its wake.

When you broke apart this time, you were both all stunned smiles again, though now you couldn’t look away from each other.

“So, uhh—ya wanna stay with me tonight? Sounds like we both need some real sleep, ya know, and I dunno…” Daryl wasn’t used to asking for what he wanted so blatantly, or making himself vulnerable, but somehow you brought it out of him and he was willing to jump off that ledge if it meant he got to kiss you and touch you and hold you all night… things he had thought about plenty when he was lying on his cot, unable to sleep, but never saw as a reality.

You nodded, that same smile you always gave him glowing on your face. He was constantly amazed by the light you exuded; despite everything you’d been through… everything you’d shared with him.

He needed that. He needed the light. He needed you. You gave him hope.

That night you settled in against him, nervous but melting into the safeness of his arms around you. Daryl worried he was too overwhelmed to sleep, but moment by moment he realized how natural having you against him felt, how safe, how perfect, and before either of you spoke another word you both drifted off in blissful silence.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

[starlessea]

𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙖𝙨 - Chapter 1. Is It A Bird?

A/N Make sure you read the prologue before, or this chapter might not make sense!

Series Masterlist: Step on the Gas

Summary: A dishonourable discharge from the military results in you being hauled off to live with your grandparents in the boonies, otherwise known as the middle of nowhere Georgia. After running over a nail on the road, and pushing your grandpa's vintage Camaro to the nearest auto-shop, you meet Daryl Dixon - the local mechanic. At some point, the world ends, but that stubborn man never gives you a chance to slow down. His smile gives you whiplash, but he still insists that you to step on the gas.

Words: 4869

Chapter Warnings: Language, Injury

You watched the bird fly from behind the clear glass, level with the top floors of the office building.

You followed it the best you could, walking the stretch of the room alongside it. The window was long and wide, filling the wall entirely. This whole section of the building was made of glass, and stood tall against the skyline — so that you could often see the flocks of birds that flew by.

Though, it wasn’t as tall as the ones closer to the inner city.

No, this was more of a dwarfed skyscraper.

You reached the end of the office, and placed your hands up against the cool glass as the bird continued onwards — leaving you behind. Below, the street seemed desolate, just as the sky now did. There wasn’t a single soul lurking down there — but you didn’t trust your eyes in the slightest. Especially not here.

You needed a better view. You needed a bird’s-eye view.

The fire escape steps were rickety, and metal flakes crumbled beneath your feet. They had rusted from the rain, and you tried not to think about how precariously they squeaked as you made your ascent to the roof. You’d done it before, but every time felt worse than the last.

You just couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d cave beneath you — and laugh their squeaky laughs as they sent you plummeting to the ground.

You reached the top, and felt the breeze on your cheek as you scaled the roof courtyard. Up here, everything seemed untouched. It always had done. This high up, people would look like mere ants — harmless, and far enough away that it didn’t matter if they weren’t.

The wind blew, and you stared out towards the building parallel to the corporate one you were currently standing on. It had been a hotel once. But now its roof held something far more valuable than deckchairs and a cocktail bar.

There she was, you smiled, and what a beauty indeed.

It was an army helicopter, sat perfectly still against the horizon — like a bird nesting. It was a camo green, but it didn’t camouflage against the greyish sky in the slightest. Though, it did seem like it belonged there; it was a hawk after all.

A Sikorsky Hawk, to be more specific.

You’d never flown her type before, but she’d been there ever since you first took refuge in the building, like an abandoned bird in an abandoned city. The army had been the first to flee, after all — or the first to die. Either way, the hawk had sat alone for nearly two months, teasing you.

You should have just stayed in Georgia.

It was only meant to be a weekend trip, but somehow you’d gotten stranded in Atlanta during the end of the world. You would have cursed your luck, but then again you were lucky enough to get stuck on the outskirts — only narrowly missing the bombs as they reigned down upon the city.

It was like a meteor shower. Except, instead of falling stars, it had been napalm.

You could remember it perfectly. First the power had gone out, then the water mains dried up, and finally the food whittled down to nothing. You’d hopped from building to building until you came across this corporate graveyard — which had enough supplies to keep you alive for a few weeks. But you should have just left Atlanta whilst you had the chance.

This tower had lulled you in with the promise of safety, but had kept you trapped there ever since.

Walking closer to the roof’s edge, you glanced along the building in the distance. You’d checked it a dozen times now — mapping out all of its exits to try and find a way inside. You had to be prepared. After all, it wasn’t like you could just wait until you got there. Your boot hit the fencing, and you felt the urge to peer over the railing at the alley below.

Don’t look down, you told yourself — but you always did.

A narrow sidestreet separated the office block from the hotel. There was a fence at one end, secured with a thick padlock, whilst the other was open. That would have been fine on its own; except, the biters had all stumbled into the alley as though it were a cattle cage — and couldn’t figure out how to leave once they were there.

Dumb fucks, you thought, watching them pile up against the gate as though it were a concert barrier.

Almost every day, you’d come to see that helicopter — separated by a channel of the undead, their heads bobbing like ripples on the surface of water — and every day you’d turn around and head back down the fire escape.

Your stomach gurgled, and you let out a sigh. The stale lunchroom cereal had recently run empty. You felt for your pistol in your back pocket — the one you’d managed to get a hold of during the initial outbreak.

Six bullets, you counted, before slipping it back into your jeans.

You smiled at the irony.

“Six!” you yelled at the man, placing your card face-up on the bar. “It’s my lucky number.”

Dixon knocked back his whiskey and grimaced as it went down. Joe’s was practically empty by now, but the man lingered about like the aftertaste of your drink — waiting for your shift to end.

“An’ why’s that?” he asked, not looking up from his own hand.

You smiled — the alcohol making you loose-lipped.

“It was your closing time. Six in the evening,” you explained, waiting for him to lay his last card. “But you still fixed up the Camaro anyway.”

Your fingertips rested along the hem of the jacket, feeling the worn leather. The air was stiflingly warm, but you kept it on. After all, it still smelled faintly of the man who’d given it to you.

Like whiskey and gasoline.

Atlanta had gone still and quiet, leaving you to your thoughts as you stood on that rooftop — trying to be brave. Military training was meant to beat that into a person, but maybe you’d gone soft since then. After all, you always preferred to stay above the action than be in the midst of it.

Six bullets, a Hawk, and a cattle grid filled with biters.

You laughed. Everything interesting always seemed to happen on a Tuesday.

Glancing over your shoulder at the bird once more, you tried to ignore the way your stomach dropped and your palms sweat. It was probably from the heat, you tried to tell yourself, but you knew better than that.

“I guess today’s the day,” you said, to no one in particular.

Then, you began to descend that rickety fire escape once again — because what goes up must always come down.

//

What you hadn’t realised, is that the same could be said for that Sikorsky Hawk, which spat you out of the sky like you didn’t deserve to be there.

When you finally came back around — after drifting in and out of consciousness for what felt like much too long — all you could smell was burning rubber.

That’s not good, you thought, as you blinked your eyes open.

Black smoke hung thick in the air, melding with the orange flames that flickered in the distance and caught the trees.

Those damn trees.

You hissed curses through your teeth as the pain finally kicked into gear — albeit a bit delayed. In your haziness, you’d barely realised how precarious your situation was. Like a puppet on a string, you dangled from the branches of a tall, leafless tree — caught by your parachute wires.

Your breaths were shallow and strained, and you slowly lifted a hand — the one not tangled in the cords — to feel your stomach.

Blood.

It was shrapnel from the crash. It stung like a bitch, and would probably need stitches. Well, it would if you could get down in the first place.

You glanced up at your other arm, eyes stinging from the brightness of the sky.

That doesn’t look right either, you grimaced.

It had gotten caught during the fall, and had twisted at an unnatural angle which only made you wince as you tried to free it. Like a marionette, if you plucked those wires ever so slightly, your whole body flailed.

The radios whirred below you, letting out a continuous note of high-pitched static as they caught alight. It reminded you of the screeching of wheels as they spun over tarmac — or something like that.

But, then you saw a man.

And the man saw you.

At first, you barely recognised him without his oil-stained work clothes — wrench in hand. But at the same time, he seemed to blend in perfectly with this new world. He had a crossbow slung over his back, and a rope of limp squirrels looped around his shoulder. A natural born hunter, indeed.

With numb toes, and blood rushing to your head, you called out to him hoarsely — hoping that he’d spot you perched among the trees.

“Dixon,” you spoke, and winced straight after.

Your voice didn’t even sound like your own.

Still, the man whipped around, and stared straight through you as though he were looking at a ghost.

“How’s it hanging?” you teased, and recognition flashed on his face.

It had taken him a while to cut you down, untwisting your limbs delicately from the cables. But once you were free, he carried you in his arms — like some trophy game from his hunting trip.

Then, he noticed the wound.

The mechanic looked down at you helplessly. He still hadn’t said a single word, but his eyes told you everything you needed to know. They rested on your hands — which were pressed down firmly to stop the bleeding — before trailing back up to your face.

He looked older than you remembered, and more hardened. And he didn’t view you with the same shy curiosity as before — you had noticed.

No. This was sadness.

You brought a hand up from your stomach and touched it to his cheek. He flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

You could swear he even leaned into it.

His mousy stubble tickled your palm, and only then did you realise the bloody fingerprints you’d left behind on his skin. You let your head flop against the man’s chest, your ear pressed to his pounding heartbeat.

“Today really isn’t my day,” you murmured there, and he started walking.

//

You watched the sky the whole way back.

It looked so different from the sky in Atlanta. There were no hulking skyscrapers blocking it, nor fast food billboards that had begun to peel away. And there were far more birds flying by — the real kind, not any Sikorsky Hawks.

Dixon remained completely silent, except for when he’d occasionally remind you to keep pressure on that wound. He moved quickly, but he seemed lost in thought — lacking the usual bite you remembered.

He also seemed to have lost his words, you thought.

But then you reached a clearing.

You could hear the commotion before you saw it; there was some rustling behind the trees, accompanied by dry shouts and the clanging of metal. You glanced up at the man carrying you for answers, but he didn’t once look down.

Daryl stepped out into the open air, and squinted from the sunlight. You did the same, turning your head into his chest for some cover from it.

“Ya can drop yer weapons,” you heard him say.

Well, more like felt — since the vibrations rumbled against your cheek.

“Unless yer plannin’ on offing me with tha’ shovel,” he snapped.

There he was, you smiled, that was the Dixon you recognised.

You could feel his heart thumping as he spoke, and you had to coax yourself away to take a look at the scene for yourself.

A group of people holding spades, a bashed-in biter, and a mauled deer.

You laughed. Fucking Tuesdays.

Except, the laugh trailed off into a wheeze as the pain started up, and the blood poured.

Daryl quickly kicked into gear with urgency, and brushed off the group as they tried to ask their questions. “Someone best go get Merle off his lazy ass,” he yelled, “tell him his favourite helicopter pilot jus’ crash landed ‘ere.”

Your head snapped up at his words.

Merle Dixon, too? You weren’t sure you could handle them both.

Except, nobody moved to go and retrieve the older brother. Instead, a small asian man stepped forward — removing his baseball cap and wringing it in his hands.

“I can’t believe it,” he announced, eyes locked on you, “helicopter boy was telling the truth!”

You squinted at his words, trying to make sense of them amidst the heatstroke and blood loss.

But, you didn’t have to try for long. A second man stepped out from behind the frontline of people, also parting with his obnoxiously large hat as he did so. Except, this was no baseball cap; this was a damn country midwestern cowboy hat.

The badge in the centre of it caught the light and beamed it back directly into your eyes, making you cower away. The man shucked his hands into his pockets, and only then did you catch sight of him fully — clad in his King County Sheriff’s Department uniform .

Great, you sighed, letting your head flop back over Daryl’s arm. A fucking cop.

Dixon’s jaw clenched, too. You saw it above you — tensing.

“You come from Atlanta?” the officer questioned, “earlier today?”

That caught your attention. He’d been in Atlanta, too?

You definitely hadn’t seen any survivors on the flight over. But then again, it would’ve been nearly impossible to distinguish the dead from the living at that altitude. You swallowed thickly, and nodded.

“What happened to you?” he pressed.

The group’s chatter had died to a silence, and even Daryl seemed to await your answer.

“Engine failed,” you croaked, parched from a lack of water. “Couldn’t control the descent so I had to jump,” you cursed the last part, “too many trees.”

Then, you pinched Daryl’s arm lightly — feeling woozy from the sun. He nodded, and wordlessly stepped over the rotting corpse near his boot.

“You two know each other?” a voice interrupted, “and you just happened to find her?”

You didn’t like this man’s eyes; you hadn’t since you’d first caught a glimpse of them. He had dark, bouffant hair that seemed far too prim for the end of the world, and was wearing light cargo pants.

Then you noticed the dog tags hanging from his neck, and the combat boots which matched what you knew to be police-issued training gear.

Seriously, you thought, another one?

Daryl didn’t seem particularly fond of the guy, either, because he narrowed his eyes at him in the same way he did the biter at his feet. He looked as though he was considering ignoring him completely. And you couldn’t blame him.

It wasn’t like you were bleeding out, or anything.

“Was trackin’ tha’ deer,” he responded, toeing the dead animal with his boot. “Seen the bird go down an’ followed it.”

Daryl readjusted his grip on you, and you groaned from his heavy-handedness. But you didn’t miss his guilty expression.

After all, he probably tried to be gentle.

“An’ there she was, jus’ swingin’ from tha' tree like a big ol' piñata,” he finished — that southern drawl thick on his tongue.

You watched the other man’s jaw shift as though he were chewing on a bee, and spit at the ground like it had stung his mouth.

“You’re telling me that she crashed a damn helicopter in our backyard?” he barked, narrowing in on you with those sharp, dark eyes. “Drawing walkers from all over?”

Daryl shifted where he stood, making the leather of your jacket squeak as it rubbed together. You were beginning to feel like tinfoil in a microwave — cooking slowly in the sun as you waited for the men to finish brooding.

“Ya hear ‘nything?” the mechanic asked of the group, who turned away from his intense gaze one-by-one. “Din’t think so,” he spat, and you could practically hear his thoughts.

What a bunch of cowards.

“Was in the bow of the woods,” Daryl went on, eyeing the dark-haired man where he stood. “Land dips in at either side, like a noise tunnel.”

He paused, his eyes briefly flicking up to the sky as though seeing the scene once more.

“Only ones hearin’ it were the ones a’ready there.”

Daryl juggled you in his arms again, probably aching from the long trek, and seemed antsy to finally escape those heavy stares. But then, the man shook his head — as though remembering something.

“Now where’s my damn brother?” he growled.

And everyone’s eyes fell straight to the ground, like birds swooping down from the sky.

//

It would be an understatement to say that Daryl Dixon had exploded at the news.

He went nuclear.

If you hadn’t been in his arms at the time, you were certain that someone would’ve been on the receiving end of Daryl’s right hook. You’d seen it before, after all. That man wasn’t exactly one to pull his punches.

But, luckily, you had been there — crumpled in on yourself as the white hot pain also reached nuclear levels.

And so, you were ushered into a small, greyish tent that smelled faintly of oil and gasoline — and the unfortunate alcoholic stench of Merle Dixon — and stripped out of your jacket by a woman who tried her best to quell the bleeding.

But even then, you could still hear the storm raging outside the thin canvas material — the storm that went by the name of Dixon. He’d never shown that sort of temper around you before, so it came as a shock to see it brewing for yourself.

Yells competed with each other outside the tent walls, as a woman with short, greyish hair politely tended to your wounds — pretending she couldn’t hear anything at all.

But, you heard it and bolted upright, straight as an arrow.

Merle Dixon had been chained to a roof like a dog in Atlanta.

What fucking irony.

The smoking ban had loomed over rural Georgia for a while now, but it fell on the deaf ears of the regulars. They still smoked their thickly rolled cigars, and cheap cartons of cigarettes — clogging up the bar and your lungs every time you took a breath.

Dixon sat on the stool, watching as you wiped down the chestnut oak covered in sticky beer rings, and pulled new drinks for the impatient men twice your age. He was mulling over a particularly hard whiskey that day, but wouldn’t tell you the reason behind it.

So, you continued with your rounds until another man approached you, and took the only free seat beside the mechanic.

Big mistake, you smirked, and awaited his reaction.

Daryl Dixon shared barspace with no one - hence, the free seats on an otherwise crowded Friday night. Except, he did nothing but shoot the stranger a side-eyed glance, before returning to his whiskey that needed a top-up on ice.

The newcomer let his eyes slide down over you, in that sleazy way you’d become familiar with by now. He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth and tilted his head back in an exaggerated display of bravado.

And you snorted; you just couldn’t help it.

He scowled at you in response, as his gaze rested on the bare skin of your neck.

“Military dog,” he spat, despite your lack of tags, “where's yer collar?"

Beside him, the mechanic’s jaw clenched as he looked up from the ice melting in his glass.

You laughed. “Howdy, redneck, where’s your cousin?”

And Daryl choked on that same ice.

Surprisingly, the bitterness all but faded away from the unknown man’s face — as he seemed to take your comment in jest. He smirked, and wacked Daryl on the back forcefully as he hacked up his whiskey — yelling something about it being too damn expensive to go shooting out all over the bar.

You couldn’t understand the situation. You’d never seen Daryl act like that with anyone at Joe’s — let alone this particular breed of asshole.

“Feisty, jus’ how I like ‘em,” the stranger quipped back, sending a wink at you that lingered on your skin.

You pulled a face, and went back to wiping down the bar — careful not to lean over too much.

“Knock it off, Merle would’ya?” Daryl shot back, his voice rising in pitch over the name.

The other man — Merle — grinned, before clapping Daryl over the back once more. “No promises, lil’ brother,” he teased.

Then, he knocked back a drink you were certain he must’ve snuck in — because you sure as hell hadn’t poured it for him — and disappeared into the sea of drunkards playing pool and throwing darts haphazardly.

You froze, glancing over to the mechanic.

“That’s your brother? I’m so sorry-”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” he interrupted, before finishing his whiskey and handing you the empty glass. “Asshole deserved it.”

Back then, you saw no resemblance between Daryl and Merle Dixon — but, families always had a strange hold over a person. After all, that was the reason why you’d gotten shipped off to Georgia in the first place; your parents had swept you under the rug like a bad kept secret — simply to try and keep up appearances.

You’d followed your brother into the military, only for it to spit you back out and leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouths afterwards.

The tent door unzipped, and flapped as it caught the evening breeze.

Daryl entered like a hurricane, startling the woman — Carol — as she tended to you. He was followed by an entourage of curious faces who watched as he toed his boots off, and kicked them to the side.

“All of ya best get out,” he grumbled, as he peeled off his leather vest and set it down next to you — his eyes focused on your white shirt that had since been dyed red.

The group seemed to register his words, but no one made the move to leave.

The man let out a frustrated grunt, before fumbling with the small first-aid box near your feet. “Need to give ‘er stitches, an’ I ain’t need no one breathin’ down my neck,” he said, scowling down at the supplies.

You swallowed thickly, that didn’t sound very convincing.

A blonde woman near the tent entrance seemed to think the same, because she chirped up.

“You know how to do that?” she questioned — braver than any of the men who stood in stunned silence.

Daryl’s jaw set. “Y’ain’t believe me?” he bit back. “Think ‘m only good for spittin’ on the ground an’ feedin’ ya damn squirrels?”

The same woman recoiled at his words, and you sighed.

Always had a bark much worse than his bite, that one.

But then the man reached over for the hem of your shirt and you just froze — before slapping his hand away. He also recoiled with the same, exaggerated movements, and scowled at you as though your touch had burnt him.

You wanted to trust him, but part of you just couldn’t.

Daryl must’ve caught the look in your eyes — and recognised it for himself — because he sighed and shook his head, and glanced over at the women nearby.

“Anyone else know how to give stitches ‘round ‘ere?” he demanded, but the majority shook their heads.

All except one.

“I think I-” Carol piped up, before a burly man shot her a look so boldly threatening that it even made you flinch.

The woman paused over her words, before eventually shaking her head.

“I don’t. I’m sorry,” she mumbled, timidly, before that same man slipped his hand in hers and pulled her away.

You recognised that look, too.

And so the rest of the stragglers disappeared from the tent one-by-one, until only you and Daryl remained — deadlocked.

“C’mon, Camaro, quit yer bitchin’,” he coaxed, his voice more soft now that it was just the two of you. “Unless ya wanna bleed out o’er my tent.”

He had the needle and thread all prepared between his fingers, waiting for your permission.

You sighed. “You used to be a lot nicer, you know that?” you remarked, thinking back to the Dixon who shyly smoked cigarettes on that cliff’s edge, watching you like you were brighter than the stars.

You had noticed.

Then, you lifted up your shirt with your trembling hand, as he pressed onto your skin with his steady one.

And so Daryl gave you stitches — filling you up on Merle’s stash of whiskey to dull the pain — and muttering how, despite his work not being pretty, it’d be functional. You didn’t question how he’d come to learn how to sew butterfly stitches in the first place, thinking it best not to ask, nor did you comment on how gentle he wiped away the blood.

Always a man of his word, Daryl Dixon’s stitches were definitely not pretty.

But, to you, they looked like constellations.

He’d made it clear how lucky you’d been that it was only a surface injury; if it were anything deeper, he wouldn’t have been able to patch you up. It was probably thanks to that thick jacket that you’d managed to walk away from the crash mostly unscathed.

You’d seen him eyeing it occasionally as he worked, glancing over at the bloody leather that stained his tent floor.

Like hell would you be giving it back.

After that, he’d also managed to sneak Carol back inside — away from who you could only guess to be her husband. She’d told you that your arm wasn’t broken, but in fact dislocated, and helped set it back into place as your eyes stung with salt tears.

But you couldn’t complain.

After all, they’d tried to put you back together like humpty dumpty after your crash — albeit with staples and scotch tape.

Though, as soon as you were out of the woods and in the clear, Daryl pulled his boots back on and collected his things impatiently — not even sparing you a second glance.

“Where are you going?” you asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Your words left your mouth a bit slurred from the medical-whiskey concoction, but he only pretended not to hear them.

You asked again, until he finally responded. “‘M goin’ to get my damn brother back, where’d ya think?” he answered, frustration laced in his voice.

He stuffed a few things into his rucksack, before slinging it over his shoulder.

“Careful, Dixon,” you cautioned, “you have a habit of finding yourself in a mess when you let your temper get the best of you.”

The man scoffed, and made a point of looking you up and down — calling you hypocritical with his eyes alone.

“Don’ act like ya know me tha’ well,” he growled, startling you with his tone.

But, you couldn’t blame him for his words.

After all, you’d spent more time apart than you had together.

The man sighed. “Gotta go get Merle,” he reasoned, more carefully this time.

He flickered open the tent, and let in the sky. It was not yet black, but a burnt orange, as though preparing to be set alight with stars. It reminded you of those evenings you’d get to close up early, and walk past a certain auto-shop that still had its amber lights turned on, and its door wide open.

And the former mechanic started walking away, leaving you behind out on the sidewalk.

“Daryl-” you called after him.

The word spilled from your mouth like beer overflowing from a glass — pouring over before you could stop it.

He glanced back immediately.

You never called him that.

Even though you knew his name from other people’s tongues, he’d always been Dixon — ever since the moment you read it on his shoddy name-tag. Not once during the month you’d spent with him had you called him Daryl.

Not until now.

“It’s getting dark out,” you whispered, even though the sky was still clearly orange.

You swallowed the dryness from your throat — and with it, your pride.

“Please stay? Until morning?”

Dixon looked back at you, swaddled in one of his clean shirts that he’d buttoned up himself — making you look so small.

And he sighed. He always was the worst liar of them all.

“Jus’ ‘til mornin’,” he repeated, trudging back to that grey tent.

Then, he took a seat beside you, his knees knocking against yours. But you tried to fight against your smile, and racing heart that pounded deep in your chest.

Because what goes up must always come down.

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[1kook]

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.  warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3  word count: 8.7k  

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him. 

And then winter comes. 

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years. 

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household. 

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute. 

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets. 

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick. 

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house. 

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable. 

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold. 

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him. 

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional. 

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.” 

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before. 

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again. 

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty. 

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house. 

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions. 

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever. 

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through. 

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times. 

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner. 

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong. 

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor 

You blink. 

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago. 

Oh, so this was new. 

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on. 

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again. 

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy. 

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning. 

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest. 

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you. 

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck. 

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss. 

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?” 

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck. 

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest. 

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck. 

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds. 

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy. 

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side. 

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?” 

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again. 

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip. 

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers. 

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct. 

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip. 

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt. 

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery. 

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again. 

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him. 

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored. 

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately. 

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth. 

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again. 

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate. 

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear. 

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum. 

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad. 

So you do. 

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.” 

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm. 

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes. 

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth. 

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet. 

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves. 

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that. 

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t. 

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him. 

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully. 

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed. 

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight. 

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off. 

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly. 

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you. 

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face. 

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch. 

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble. 

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?” 

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls. 

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy. 

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully. 

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip. 

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite. 

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely. 

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why. 

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now. 

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months. 

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—” 

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions. 

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing. 

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss. 

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn. 

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat. 

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss. 

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty. 

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off. 

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up. 

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good. 

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. 

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading. 

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds. 

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it. 

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan. 

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...” 

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick. 

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you. 

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you. 

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his. 

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.” 

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks. 

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt. 

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips. 

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,”  you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.” 

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin. 

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm. 

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you. 

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success. 

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself. 

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell. 

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle. 

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out. 

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart. 

 To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death. 

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying. 

It fits perfectly. 

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #goldenclosetnet #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jjk♡ #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #mine

[starshipsofstarlord]

𝑅𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐷𝑈𝑆𝑇

Summary: Kaz had faced two of his fears - almost watching you die and going against his touch aversion. And now he has to deal with the consequences that not only burden him, but also yourself

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of violence, touch aversion,

Word Count: 3255

Masterlist Link

The night, it’s integrity toiled with you, as you say at the camp, with Inej planning on abandoning you all, and Jesper missing that bleating goat. It made you wonder of what direction that you should pursue going in, as you ogled up at the glittered sky, the sequinned stars glinting mischievously back at you. You were nothing other than a speck in the world, as they were in the laminated skyline, the Saints and dark generals were the ones that whisked you down such demeaning paths. The crows were to scurry from their brash threats and existences, the journey of catching the sun summoner had been all for nought.

Not a kruge had been earned in your name, the small bump of adventure had inevitably ended up as being a waste of both resources and time. And now the task of returning through the dreary and life threatening fold lay at your feet; such a plain that was created from pure evil was nerve wrecking. You’d never be considered as one of the goods that served the gods, but you were nowhere close to the Darkling’s maleficence. Had he not only taken hostage of a symbol to all geisha, but your veins were adeptly black, and the toxic venom was spreading with each hour that sourly passed. None of your fellow murder knew of the state that was combusting you; you had saved Kaz, with no regrets of doing so. That dagger had landed in Aleksander’s shoulder, and he had spread his shadowing cloud over to you, tormenting you with the image of complete destruction.

You were lucky to have escaped from his entrapment, Kaz had saved you, whisking your from the overbearing plough of suffering, even grabbing you with his glove covered hands, pressuring himself to do such an act to keep you alive. Though, you didn’t know how much longer you would remain so, and that was why you were gazing up at the constellations; hoping that you’d end up in their blazing glorification. Perhaps you’d survive, nothing was known of your current condition. Or you’d be cursed, turned grisha or something significantly worse. One thing that you’d learned on this gruelling mission was that anything was possible, even Kaz had made a step in his discomfort to rescue you, hauling you away from your inevitable doom by the arm, and stepping into the shrouding darkness. If it had not been for him, then you’d surely have composed into a defiled corpse, ripped apart by the darkness that Aleksander exhibited, and had enhanced through ancient looms that had been integrated onto absorbable parchment.

“I see that you’re less tense; does this mean that you are no longer mad at me?” His voice rang in your ears, prompting you to grind your teeth together as though you were mashing up crystals of salt. Eternally, you were grateful for the risk he had taken to ensure that you would not meet whichever saint you believed in once you travelled through the ropes of pitch and certain demise. You refused to give him the source of satisfaction of giving him your undivided attention; most feared him enough to comply and give him all the attentiveness he demanded as he struck his cane upon a surface, however, unlike those commoners, there was nothing about Kaz Brekker that struck fear in you. He were merely a man, whilst albeit had done some unforgivable things, had suffered same as everyone else, but terribly more so. “I’ll take your silence as a no then, should I?”

In turn, you crossed the folding origami of your arms over the expanse of your chest, and continued to ogle your pupils up towards the passageway of luminescence that hung like a chain in the velvet sky, causing Dirty Hands himself as he had been known, to release a heartfelt huff of frustration. It had taken quite the toll on him to oppose his own serious paranoia, and yet here you were, ignoring him after the cold events. Gulping, you couldn’t help but have annoyance seed in you as he continued to hover his presence beside you, he was using the tactic on purpose, full well knowing that it would eventually have you splintering until you cracked. You’d always had a soft spot for Kaz since the day you had met him; he was so brutally concurred with the ways of making a victim squeal like a sow giving birth, yet there continued to be an innocence within him, of which he hid from most. It was quite the contrast, as were his child like eyes that bore into you like his wish was to make you frail from poised embarrassment until you disappeared into a fine speck on the shoulder of his coat.

That was an irrational thought though, Kaz Brekker simply wanted to know, and not for the first time, why you disposed of reciprocated speech, and chose to pretend to be deaf to his consolation that he was attempting to reprimand with you. “Because if you remain to be angered with me saving your life, then, I would like to know. I’m not going to scoundrel around your presence all evening, we’re going to have to start moving sooner rather than later if we ever hope to get upon the route that I have planned. As useful as your combat is, and irreplaceable as I may think you are at times, I will allow you to go on your own path as you wish. You aren’t the only one that wants to part from the crows; Inej also has intentions to. If this is also because of the sun summoner, then they are freely your beliefs, though I certainly think you have the strength to strive towards something controversially more.” Inej leaving - that was news to you, and thus you finally surrendered, turning to him with spite written upon features, and commenced in supervising his lean form with integral eyes.

“To where do you have plans to go Kaz?” In turn, the volume of your sound increased, as you marked him as your target of choice. “And you’re right, I am pissed that you decided to save me rather than prioritising your own life; if anything were to happen to you, I’m not sure how I’d handle it. I have an inkling of a feeling that I wouldn’t even be able to. That’s because if you weren’t here I’d probably go crazy and envelop myself in a spiralling madness of which I’d be averted onto a path of nothingness. You are the one that has gifted me with a purpose, and time and time again you continue to preserve my life and I’m not sure I can cope with that. Just knowing that you are willing to throw yourself in the eye of danger to ensure that I do not meet my eventual end that is coming anyway. And worst of all, you faced off against that no good, dirty grisha, murderous General. Do you have any idea of what he would have done to you if he were to explicitly, and cruelly as are his routines, contort your body into the whim of his Darkling abilities.”

“I have an idea or two.” He admitted, toying with the fingers of his gloves, relieved to not see what lay beneath the leather. He stared at you in the face, feeling sickened from the sight of the creases that promoted your frown that was directed thoroughly towards him. It wasn’t a good feeling to be on the other end of your diverging glare, it was making him conflicted with the perishing of his emotions. A part of him was laughing inside that he was intimidated by someone, a woman no less, the other was rather impressed with your ample stubbornness. Now that was one thing that the two of you had in common; you both stood like stone, shadowing behind your beliefs or there lack of, as though Medusa had fixed the pair of you with her grey glazed glare, and forced you to be the way that you were. “And it was in fact you who decided to save my life first, I was merely returning the favour.” He now took it as his shift to allow his eyes to travel up into the beyond, the highlights that flawed his irises being triggered by the ambience that strobed in the frustrated sky, that was getting more antsy by each second that passed.

“I saved your life because I care about you, not because I value your skills and require them. That is a vast difference that separated us from being merely a single detail in a rope of stars. We’re separate in thought, and consolably close in real time and space, that fate has chosen us to be. We were both close to death in that second, he could have tarnished us both if that were his main priority, and we should be thankful that he realised that we were not lying when the admittance of not knowing of Alina Starkoff’s whereabouts fell off our tongues like misconducted liquor.” Your voice cracked, thinking about Kaz dead was the last thing that you wanted to obscure your mind, however it was the only thing that was roaming around the space like a moth darting around in a light fixture, having fallen captive to its own instinctive nature to fly too close to the example of fire. “Never, and I mean this Kaz, step in the path of death that narrows in my sights; I’d rather it be me than you of whom takes a fall into such a never ending abyss. You’re the face of this operation, and I am merely a killer that you decided to take under your wing whence times got too tough for either of us to cope alone.”

“I am not bound to make any promises, especially when you speak of accepting death so gracefully. And to answer your prior question, we are returning to Ketterdam, and I- i um-“ he fidgeted, his jaw contained to clench and release in a rhythm as he attempted to get the words out. “I need you to come with me on this, trust me, I have a plan, one that does not involve you dying. There will be no funerals that parallel this task ahead of us, if anything happens, you are my priority.” The heart felt ropes of words interlocked, much like the passage of beaming stars that made a blanket in the material of the sky; they shon stirringly in the abyss of the above, daring to deter you as its source of focus, causing you to freeze up as Kaz spoke his difficult to say words. “And when we get the one million kruge, that is when I will allow you to go out on your own, then you will have the expenses to protect yourself, and disappear if we cannot manage to end this eternal wrath that the grisha and hierarchy establish through the existence of the fold, they turn the tides of where whomever can go, and if they are gone, you shall have the freedom to venture to the place that your heart most desires, you’d no longer have to be trapped by my side similarly to my cane.”

“Everything that you are saying is tipping my head upside down; that I out of everyone, am your priority and that you are to set me free like a bird that has been trapped in a cage? Perhaps, this is a situation that it seems not you have enquired to think of, but I do not want to leave your side, even if I can. If I so much as wanted to, I’d have taken the chance to wrangle free in the midst of the journey from Ketterdam to these exasperating lands that want us to be persecuted for this job that we have taken underneath our midnight wings, though if you hadn’t noticed, I remain here. And whilst I wouldn’t have been peripherally if you weren’t to have saved me from my possible annihilation, I still have no intentions of abandoning you in any way, although that resolutes from you openly willing to take the risk of your own life in order to preserve my own. Never, and I compensate that with defiance, do that again.” You swiped your finger towards him, watching as the crease between his brows stiffened and grew deeper like a crescent that exhibited itself in the lawns of time, he poised his head back at your jurisdiction, clearly offended by your selfless demand.

“I cannot make that promise, there are little to no things that I have connective nurturing for; money and wealth stomp on nearly anything, but to me your life is priceless, even if your opinions do not retrograde the same reflection of worth.” His palm was shaky beneath its armour of leather as he went to reach for your hand, it took him a minute or so until he paid the dues of contact, but he faced his greatest fear, and denied avoiding contact. The prospect of Kaz touching anyone, let alone it being you, stirred a strange sensation through your body, as though you were being electrocuted via a storm, more specifically, a bolt of lightning that shot down from the angry clouds, shooting adrenaline and a high pulse through every limb of your form. “Do not mistake me for not having care towards Inej and Jesper, but without you I’d lose the path of succeeding through all my personal struggles, because you are the one thing that reminds me to continue to fight all of the harms in the world that wish to prosecute us, as though we are rodents that climb out from the sewers and run through the streets, poisoning them. There is a strong suit that wraps around me, stubbornly suffocating my interests, so that I have an avoidance of ever allowing anything to proceed to happen to you - get that through that steel skull of yours, you are smart and strong and my number one mine of gold for me to protect.”

“Kaz…” it felt like a forbidden sentence slipping off your tongue, simply by saying his name. You gave his hand a squeeze, noticing how he stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed a second later, getting used to the notion of silent amorist exchange; his blue eyes scalped every inch of your face, staring at the skin that compressed against your bone structure, the twinkle of the stars illuminating each distinctive feature that condoned your image. “I don’t know what I should say it’s - it is like we have been risking everything for nothing. And I am no gold mine, I cannot get us all that kruge, and I sure as hell can’t beat against the most powerful grisha known to man. I may be strong, but I am not strong enough. I may be smart, but certainly not smart enough. Overall, to everyone I am missing something, and it makes me wonder what else you see in me rather than an opportunist that can bring men to their knees in a second by sweeping beneath them, ready to swipe anything of value that they carry within the income of their pockets.” Drifting on their own accord, your eyes diverted once more to gaze up into the magnificent scenery that stroke above; each star was different within its placement, as well as how much it glowed under the pressure of insistent staring. It was as truly beautiful sight, and as you accorded your eyes to focus on the chord of light, Kaz’s eyes remained tuned upon your perseverance.

“The fact is you could bring any man, including myself,“ he gulped for a moment, feeling just how cheesy his words were as they spewed out, before he continued. Each word he spoke with giving you a new light that you saw Kaz under, he was not just a ruthless killer that likened to getting his hands dirty on a job, he was human like everyone else, many people seemed to forget that. But he had never appeared more humane as he did in the second with you, his hand clasped foreignly in the clasp of your own, and his eyes void of all intent, they were pure and for a second juridical with the haven of content. He wasn’t envisioning good, he was allowing himself to see what was right in front of him. “To their knees.” He finished his sentence, only to go on and elongate the mercenary like talk that he often had a problem with discussing. Though now could be the last moments that he could open up in such a way; it was uncertain how the turn of planned events would turn out, sailing through the fold was a danger all in itself, a toiling threat that was pushing you all forwards with a stern hand on each of your backs. “And you don’t even have to lift a finger to do so, every emotion you make me emit makes me possess a vigil weakness that I try to keep hidden, but in order to get the last of my strength through it, I acquire to get this off my chest before we venture to our next route. I care deeply for you, when I’m around you it feels like I am beneath water, the liquid gurgling in my lungs like sickening liquor. I have never felt this way, not have I ever had a desire to be monitored by these virtual sources, but they’re here, as are we.”

Taking a sturdy breath, you raised Kaz’s gloved hand and aligned it with your lips, gently pressing a kiss to the material that separated your skin. “You will not lose me Brekker, I’m not going anywhere. We’ve gotten this far, and that’s impressive all on its own. The trip back to Ketterdam cannot be as difficult as our journey here, we endured betrayal from that oaf that helped us cross the border, we got in and out of the Little Palace unscathed, and escaped the General on another account. I’d say that’s quite impressive, and behind every ploy you have been the grand mastermind. So let’s go home, and we can pick this up from there. ‘Tis a shame though, the stars don’t quite shine as bright back there, but we’ll have each other, and that is enough to brighten and guide me through the nights.” His lips stretched at the sides, depositing an appearance of relived thought. There had merely not been much of a fight between you on the situation, if he were to have pried any further about your safety he was sure there’d have been, but things had settled before they reached that stage. The primary battle though was to be against one of the most powerful grisha to walk the earth, of whom was keeping the Sun Summoner hostage. But as you had supposed, things would work themselves out. “I’m going to check on Inej, I won’t be a second.” He remembered the smile on your face as you trekked off, it was a notion to which he analysed that you were one of the few people who were kind to him. Once you were out of his vision, he looked up at the stars. There may have been no saints resting up there, but it sure was a peaceful view.

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